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breaths.
    "You have no reply to that?" he says with a rising pitch, when I don’t
immediately repudiate his accusations.
    "But what you say is absurd. I have done nothing fraudulent. All I can
be accused of is that I misjudged the situation." As an afterthought I add:
"Please, sir, keep Gary Buxton out of this. All he did was to ask around
at Goldsax whether they had heard of that rumor."
    "It’s out of my hands. It’s now a police matter."
    He rises, so do I. I become aware that I’m holding my breath and
tightly squeezing my hands together, as if to prevent myself from flooring
him with a single Aikido chop. He doesn’t give me time to respond.
    "Miss Walker, your employment with Lewis Stockbrokers is
terminated as of this moment. Until the police have cleared this matter,
I am compelled to put a freeze on your commission account, as well as
hold back as surety all your shares in deposit with us. I’m sure you
understand the reasons for this. You have fifteen minutes to clear your
desk and leave the building. You are forbidden to touch your computer."
It sounds rehearsed. "And don’t forget to hand in your building security
pass to Maggie." He turns his back to me and sits again at his desk.
    I remain standing there, dumbfounded by the suddenness of it.
    "Miss Walker, there is nothing more to discuss," he comments when
he sees me.
    Rather than go to my desk, I again seek refuge in the ladies’ room. I
look at myself in the mirror. Early last week, I was looking forward to a
hefty commission payout. And now I might never see any of it, nor any
of my close to four hundred thousand pounds worth of shares. Even if I’m
going to be cleared of all allegations, Garland might still try to use them
for partial compensation of Ventura’s losses. I would have to fight a
costly court battle and the outcome is by no means certain to go in my
favor.
    And what about Gary? We partially mended our relationship over the
weekend, but I still figure that it remains fragile. I fear that getting
dragged into this may well drive him away for good.
    How can a good thing turn so quickly into disaster? It surprises me
though that my eyes remain dry. All the mirror reflects is somber hurt for
the injustice I’ve been dealt. Admittedly, I made a bad decision, but I’m
no crook. I allowed myself to be let astray by Long. Did he feed me that
rumor deliberately, knowing that it lacked credibility? Would he have
been that mean? If I dismissed the guy as an immature twit previously, I
now feel nothing but scorn for him. Then I catch myself. Wallowing in
self-pity and hatred is only going to sap my energy. I must take hold of
the cold determination not to crumble in the face of adversity — the same
determination that pulled me through the trying years during and after my
mother’s divorce.
    My career at Lewis might be over, but I’m going to fight. I’m going to
clear myself of this absurd accusation. I will get myself a good lawyer. As
I collect my personal possessions from my cubicle, these words resonate
in my mind like a mantra. I will clear myself; I will clear myself.
    At this moment the likelihood of never getting another position as
stockbroker is the least of my worries. The money is good, but the
predatory nature of stock exchange trading and the constant pressure are
far less palatable, not to mention the widespread sick culture in brokerage
circles of bending or circumventing the rules against insider trading.
     From hints dropped by several of my colleagues I know that Lewis is
no exception. Garland, Long, and others cultivate links with clients,
captains of industry, company directors, property tycoons, who are more
than happy to brief them about the performance and planned developments of their companies and doing so even during the so-called closed
period — the two months prior to making public the annual financial
results or financially significant trading developments. Brokers, as well
as company insiders, are by law