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Then when Jack stopped the car and without hesitation got out, handed the lead kid his key and five bucks, then headed for the entrance, Sir Reginald saying, “You’re just going to leave the car with him?” Jack turning back to see Sir Reginald get out of the car, the lead kid already around to open his door, Sir Reginald looking through the kid like he didn’t exist; no “thank you,” nothing. Jack knew then that this guy Sir Reginald was a douchebag. But Sir Reginald Schoenfeld and Philippe Delecroix, Walker’s other foreign partner, just happened to have $250 million they were willing to invest in Walker & Company. Sometimes you just had to suck it up and live with it.
    Jack came back to the moment, how strange Milner was behaving. Leaving over a quarter of a billion of value on the table just wasn’t like him. Clients acting out of character meant busted deals, usually at the eleventh hour. He looked over at Mickey, see if he noticed anything. Mickey and Harold had already started jawboning each other about stereo equipment, their perpetual argument. Solid state versus tubes. Vinyl records versus CDs. Stereo schmereo. A couple a big kids.

    Richard felt as if LeClaire’s question had given him his first opening, like this trip to New York hadn’t been a waste of time. “I was doing great in advertising, but…”
    “Richard, my friend, I accept that. But why are you here?”
    Richard glanced at his watch. This was his shot. “I told you I’ve been a student of deals. And deals guys. I’ve read just about everything on James J. Hill, Harold Milner, Carl Icahn, Sam Zell, even J.P. Morgan and Jimmy Walker.”
    “What about Donald Trump?”
    “A comb-over windbag who licenses his name to real developers. Are you kidding?” Richard saw LeClaire smile, a genuine smile this time that showed his teeth, his face losing its angular lines and dissolving into roundness. Richard went on, “The guys I mentioned were the ones that convinced me to go back to business school.”
    LeClaire said, “But I’m still waiting to be convinced.” He lounged back in his chair, cradled his teacup in both hands and settled down as if to wait for Richard to make his case. “Just tell me about money.”
    “I see money as the true medium of the financier. It has an allure and an intrigue of its own; money begetting other money, compounding upon itself. It’s a fascinating notion that almost defies the idea that matter can neither be created nor destroyed. You stick some in a little company, add brains and sweat and before you know it you’ve got a big company.”
    “So how do you feel about making money yourself?”
    “I’ve never had enough of it, and I can’t ever imagine having too much. If I get there I’ll let you know.”
    “What do you know about being an investment banker?”
    “From a day-to-day, get-the-job-done standpoint, not much. But on a broader level, I’m more a student of deals than anybodyat Michigan, and that’s given me a grounding in reality for the concepts I’ve learned in my finance classes. I don’t think my classmates understand the idea of ripping a company apart and putting it back together as more than when you started. I do.”
    LeClaire looked at his watch. Richard felt his stomach drop, thinking he was going to cut the interview off. Then LeClaire started talking. “I should tell you something about us. Starting with me. I’m a graduate of Ecole Polytechnique in France, was on a fast track at Groupe Credit Generale, then sent by GCG to Harvard Business School, graduating first in my class. I was then seconded by Philippe Delecroix himself to Walker shortly after the amalgamation of Walker, Schoenfeld & Co. and GCG. I am a living example of how a motivated, young banker can excel financially and in creative and career development at Walker. I am on track to be the youngest Managing Director ever elected at Walker, except for Jack Grass himself.”
    Richard stayed quiet. Interviewers