The Coaster by Erich Wurster

life would have been a vacation for Sam.”
    â€œI know,” I said. “I’m like a fat guy trying to run a marathon. But I’m not making the schedule.”
    â€œWho is?”
    â€œJames Madison.”
    â€œOh, too bad,” Harriet said. “I hate that prick.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked. “I mean, it’s obvious he’s a prick, but do I have anything to be worried about?”
    Harriet shook her head. “He’s a good lawyer. In fact, to be a good lawyer, you almost have to be a prick. He’s just got no sense of humor.”
    â€œI noticed. Listen, Harriet. Once everything settles down, I want to talk to you about helping me out on this trustee stuff.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by ‘helping you out’?”
    â€œI mean ‘doing all the work.’”
    â€œThat’s what I thought. I’m not sure what anyone else has in mind for me, but I’d say you’re pretty much the boss now, so it’s going to be your call.”
    â€œI don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, so think about it and let me know.”
    â€œI will. Did you come all the way over here to tell me that? Especially when you’re sooooo busy ?”
    â€œI’m far too busy for the likes of you. I’m here to talk to a couple of your analysts about an investment possibility Sam was working on.”
    â€œWhich one?” Harriet asked.
    â€œA company called Sanitol,” I said. “They’ve developed some kind of cleaning process.”
    â€œI remember it. Sam spent a lot of time looking into that one. It was a huge investment, if I recall.”
    â€œThe biggest deal by far,” I said. “Could you see if Sam had a file or some notes on it? If I knew what he was thinking, it would be a hell of a lot easier for me to make the call. Sam has forgotten more about business than I’ll ever know.”
    â€œA kid with a lemonade stand has forgotten more about business than you’ll ever know.”
    â€œTell me about it. When Nick and Emily had one, I paid for the supplies and did all the work, and they kept the money.”
    â€œYou’re a good dad.” Harriet smiled. “I’ll look around and see what I can find.”
    â€œThanks. You’re the best.”
    ***
    The Bennett Capital financial analysts were housed in a room divided up into half a dozen small cubicles. The analysts themselves were all young, nerdy types who wore ironic tee-shirts, jeans, and crocs. Sam ordinarily required his employees to wear suits, but he made an exception in this case because, one, these guys were brilliant and, two, they would never be allowed anywhere near a client. They weren’t even supposed to use the front door.
    In a movie, there would be at least one black kid and one woman. But here in real life, the true demographics held. They all appeared to be Asian, Indian, or Jewish young men, although they could have passed for boys. They looked like the student section at a Duke basketball game. I took this as a good sign. Unlike the permissive American society under which I was raised, these guys’ cultures valued intelligence, education, and hard work. There’s a reason they’re all doctors and technological geniuses.
    Investing in the modern era was effectively controlled by young computer jockeys like these. It wasn’t a people business anymore; it was a numbers game. The sheer volume of information available was too immense to be processed by the human mind, at least in the time needed to make an informed decision. So the “experts” had to rely on these young kids who knew nothing about dividend yields and price-to-earnings ratio but everything about crunching numbers and analyzing data.
    I like young computer geeks. They think nobody knows anything and I truly don’t know anything, so we get along great. I walked into the room, which was riddled with empty cans of