bat and twirled it in his hands.
“Anything I can do to help,” David said, though it had sounded much less lame when it was just a thought in his head. “I’ve been reading up on oil and the exchange nonstop since my appendix exploded—but I think it’s still going to take some time before I’m up to speed.”
Giovanni laughed. “It took me ten years to get up to speed. But it’s a different world now. And that’s my point—it’s the whole fucking world, not a little trading floor in a forgotten corner of New York. Oil is the biggest thing going, and it’s only getting bigger. The whole world is watching—and guys like Gallo are going to have to learn to adapt.”
Giovanni swung the bat in a low arc, nearly knocking a picture of George Steinbrenner off the glass shelves.
“Adapt to what?” David asked.
Giovanni winked at him. “That’s what you’re here to help figure out. How does this exchange fit into what’s going on in the rest of the world? What’s next? Automation? Expansion? Exchanges are springing up all over the place. Business is spreading. London, already big and growing every day. What’s next? Hong Kong? Tokyo? I don’t have a fucking clue. I’m an old guy in an old suit taking care of the other old guys in their old suits. But you and Reston, you’re the future, and you’re going to be my eyes and ears. Here at the Merc, and around the world.”
David’s heart was pounding again. A week ago he was looking forward to visiting old-age homes and calculating estate taxes; now Giovanni was talking about big issues, worldwide possibilities. He wasn’t sure, specifically, what his role was going to be, but he liked the sound of it so far. Sadly, more edification was going to have to wait, as Giovanni was suddenly pointing the baseball bat toward the door.
“Now get your dago ass out of here, so I can get some work done. Harriet has some crap for you to go over for a meeting with some Washington politicos I’m taking tomorrow morning, so don’t waste any more of your time getting into fights with the animals downstairs.”
David hurried toward the door. As he passed through, Giovanni shouted after him:
“And, kid, I’m glad you didn’t die at the board meeting. Would have been a lot of fucking paperwork to fill out.”
Chapter 13
F our hours later, David was so deep in oil, he felt like one of those ducks they used to show on TV after the Exxon Valdez destroyed the coast of Alaska. The task Giovanni had assigned—via Harriet, of course, who actually smiled as she dropped the offending material into the in-box that had miraculously appeared on the desk in his cubicle while he was at home recovering from his appendix bomb—was fascinating in theory. David had to calculate what the potential risk to the oil market in general—and the NYMEX in particular—would be if a short but successful revolution ever took place in Iran. But given David’s lack of knowledge of the industry, and his even more pathetic grasp of what really went on down on the trading floor, he was forced to start at the basics and work his way up. Four hours of Internet research and visits to the Merc library, and still he felt like a third-grader trying to write a college term paper.
After a fifteenth attempt at putting his thoughts together, he let his pencil clatter against the desk and rubbed his hands against his eyes. He had a feeling that Giovanni had assigned the task as an introduction by fire—and David was beginningto feel a little more than singed. He realized that he was going to need help.
He could really think of only one option. He grabbed a notepad from the drawer in his desk and strolled across the fifteenth floor toward an office to the left of the elevators. He was about to knock when the door swung inward with a creak of mechanical gears.
David stood in the open doorway, his closed fist still in the air.
“Isn’t that cool? I had a guy install it after I saw it in a movie.
“Anything I can do to help,” David said, though it had sounded much less lame when it was just a thought in his head. “I’ve been reading up on oil and the exchange nonstop since my appendix exploded—but I think it’s still going to take some time before I’m up to speed.”
Giovanni laughed. “It took me ten years to get up to speed. But it’s a different world now. And that’s my point—it’s the whole fucking world, not a little trading floor in a forgotten corner of New York. Oil is the biggest thing going, and it’s only getting bigger. The whole world is watching—and guys like Gallo are going to have to learn to adapt.”
Giovanni swung the bat in a low arc, nearly knocking a picture of George Steinbrenner off the glass shelves.
“Adapt to what?” David asked.
Giovanni winked at him. “That’s what you’re here to help figure out. How does this exchange fit into what’s going on in the rest of the world? What’s next? Automation? Expansion? Exchanges are springing up all over the place. Business is spreading. London, already big and growing every day. What’s next? Hong Kong? Tokyo? I don’t have a fucking clue. I’m an old guy in an old suit taking care of the other old guys in their old suits. But you and Reston, you’re the future, and you’re going to be my eyes and ears. Here at the Merc, and around the world.”
David’s heart was pounding again. A week ago he was looking forward to visiting old-age homes and calculating estate taxes; now Giovanni was talking about big issues, worldwide possibilities. He wasn’t sure, specifically, what his role was going to be, but he liked the sound of it so far. Sadly, more edification was going to have to wait, as Giovanni was suddenly pointing the baseball bat toward the door.
“Now get your dago ass out of here, so I can get some work done. Harriet has some crap for you to go over for a meeting with some Washington politicos I’m taking tomorrow morning, so don’t waste any more of your time getting into fights with the animals downstairs.”
David hurried toward the door. As he passed through, Giovanni shouted after him:
“And, kid, I’m glad you didn’t die at the board meeting. Would have been a lot of fucking paperwork to fill out.”
Chapter 13
F our hours later, David was so deep in oil, he felt like one of those ducks they used to show on TV after the Exxon Valdez destroyed the coast of Alaska. The task Giovanni had assigned—via Harriet, of course, who actually smiled as she dropped the offending material into the in-box that had miraculously appeared on the desk in his cubicle while he was at home recovering from his appendix bomb—was fascinating in theory. David had to calculate what the potential risk to the oil market in general—and the NYMEX in particular—would be if a short but successful revolution ever took place in Iran. But given David’s lack of knowledge of the industry, and his even more pathetic grasp of what really went on down on the trading floor, he was forced to start at the basics and work his way up. Four hours of Internet research and visits to the Merc library, and still he felt like a third-grader trying to write a college term paper.
After a fifteenth attempt at putting his thoughts together, he let his pencil clatter against the desk and rubbed his hands against his eyes. He had a feeling that Giovanni had assigned the task as an introduction by fire—and David was beginningto feel a little more than singed. He realized that he was going to need help.
He could really think of only one option. He grabbed a notepad from the drawer in his desk and strolled across the fifteenth floor toward an office to the left of the elevators. He was about to knock when the door swung inward with a creak of mechanical gears.
David stood in the open doorway, his closed fist still in the air.
“Isn’t that cool? I had a guy install it after I saw it in a movie.
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