The Subprimes by Karl Taro Greenfeld Page A

nonprofit corporation, giving counsel to the wealthiest and most powerful of American business and political leaders, who came to Pastor Roger when they had their occasional doubts about their policies or strategies. The climate, they sometimes observed, did seem a little, you know, off-kilter , like too cold in the summer, hot in the winter, all these fires. Miami flooding, New York City flooding, Santa Monica flooding. And those whales! What the heck did the pastor make of that?
    His job was to reassure them. This is God’s will. The Earth, and all its resources, are but tools for men.
    In his darkened studio a CNN host was asking what he made of Whalemageddon, those dozen or so whales on an East Hampton beach?
    â€œThe great beasts are serving man,” Pastor Roger intoned, “are giving themselves over to us so that we may better exploit the resources of the sea.”
    â€œMoving on,” a blond anchorette jumped in, “we hear that you are working with Arthur Mack? He flew down yesterday to seek your counsel?”
    â€œI’m personally involved in the Arthur Mack case. I spoke with the district attorney up there in New York and told him that I would vouch for Mr. Mack and that I was offering him spiritual guidance. He is a lost soul. And he has sinned against his family. But let’s separate his failings as a family man from his career as an entrepreneur and pioneer in the carbon credit derivative swap business.”
    â€œHe is accused of defrauding his investors.”
    â€œEvery entrepreneur I know has made a few mistakes,” Pastor Roger said. “I am working to reconcile Mr. Mack with his family. To reconnect him with his faith so that he might be reborn. We owe our businessmen second chances.”
    â€œIndeed. All the ladies in the studio are gaga over Mr. Mack.”
    PASTOR ROGER STILL WROTE HIS sermons in a low-ceilinged office above his garage. He lived in a humble, five-thousand-square-foot house in Southlake, Texas, his home a fifth the size of the neighboring houses, both of which he also owned. He retired back to Southlake in the middle of most weekdays to write his sermons and it was here that Arthur Mack wassummoned after his fitful sleep. There were two older ladies seated on a sofa, both dressed in skirt-and-jacket suits with gold brooches on their chests. They seemed to be sisters; both had the same widow’s peak and brown-going-gray hair. They nodded simultaneously when they were introduced to Arthur Mack.
    â€œThis is Dottie and Dorrie Pepper,” Pastor Roger said.
    Arthur greeted them. He associated their names with a large privately held energy concern. Among the businesses they owned: Pepper Carbon, Sunrise Energy, Pepper Petroleum, Potash Corp., Pepper Equipment, Olmstead Petroleum, Birch Towels, Burlington Fabrics, Pepper Minerals, Swanson Foods, Barker Fibers, Columbia Coal & Energy, HG Extraction, Pepper Extraction, Pepper Bank, and Ortho Chemicals.
    â€œWe see the world much as you do,” Dorrie said. “We believe that entrepreneurs and job creators, such as yourself, and ourselves, should be unencumbered by the deviltry of regulation.”
    â€œWe see you as another John Brown,” said Pastor Roger.
    â€œThe singer?” asked Arthur Mack, confused at why Pastor Roger was equating him with a black soul vocalist.
    â€œThe abolitionist,” Pastor Roger said. “You must stand up for the cause of liberty, freedom, freedom to trade, to invest, just as John Brown sought freedom for slaves to trade and invest. The history of mankind is the long journey to the free market. The arc of history bends toward free trade. The market is the expression of God, the invisible hand is his hand, God’s hand, directing our affairs. To exclude any man from that market is to keep him in bondage.”
    â€œAmen,” said both women.
    Arthur had taken a seat in a wooden chair next to Pastor Roger’s desk. The pastor sat facing