prohibited from taking advantage of such
information by trading on their own account. It is obvious that the brokers
who are first to act on such information or even a rumor, such as a
possible takeover bid, can cash in on that by buying up shares and then
selling them after the share price has risen. Even if the rumor is false —
and a few brokers plant them deliberately — this can be exploited as long
as the broker offloads the shares again before the rumor has been
debunked. Tipping off a financial journalist, keen on hot publishing
materials, will help to ramp up the share prices, as so-called ‘mug
punters’ and gullible speculators act on the rumor.
It is far too easy to get around the prohibition against insider trading.
You let a broker at another firm carry out the deal — an accomplice with
whom you split the profits and for whom you return the same ‘little’
service. There is practically no chance of getting caught by the Financial
Services Authority, the large volume of trading on the stock exchange
providing an effective screen.
Monday, 1:20 p.m.
Back in my apartment, the first thing I do is to phone my father’s office.
He is a lawyer, albeit of the corporate type, but he still is the best person
to advise me. It’s also opportune that he hears of my trouble directly from
me rather than through second-hand gossip. His secretary promises that
the moment he returns from lunch she will pass on the message that he
urgently calls me back at my apartment number.
Next I dial Gary’s direct office number from my cell phone. I want to
make sure my land line is kept free, should my father call back promptly.
I owe it to Gary to warn him of what happened, of Garland’s accusations,
particularly his suspicion that he is my accomplice. The very thought of
that makes me irate. Accomplice of what? Nothing happened! I’m
innocent, and Garland is simply using me as a scapegoat to appease
Carvaggio. Nor do I believe that Carvaggio will let himself be that easily
appeased. From my dealings with him, I guess that he has to be taken by
the horns and told in no uncertain terms that since he approved the sale,
this is the end of the matter. Lewis will lose the Ventura account, but so
be it. I never felt really comfortable about this client. The very fact that
the outfit is registered in Liechtenstein, a notorious haven for tax evaders
and money launderers, but operates out of Milan doesn’t look kosher. I
once searched for their location on the Google street view map — a villa
somewhere in the eastern suburbs, surrounded by a high stonewall with
glass shards embedded on top. Rather suspicious.
Gary isn’t yet back from lunch. So I try his cell phone. He answers,
apparently just on his way to his desk. I tell him that I’ve bad news. He
cuts me off, asking me to call back in a minute. I guess that he is going
to their conference room, to be alone so that nobody can infer anything
from his answers. I wait and then hit the recall button.
"Gary, I got fired this morning. Garland accused me of insider trading
and defrauding Ventura. But he also hinted, and that’s what’s really
upsetting, he hinted that he thought you were my accomplice."
"Shit, the bastard."
"I’m really sorry, Gary —"
"Being sorry can’t even come close. I’m utterly annoyed with you, no,
more; I’m fucking pissed off. You got me into this shit. You now also get
me out again. You hear me?" I’ve never heard Gary use foul language
like this.
"How can I?"
"You tell that fucking detective that you lied about having sought
confirmation of that rumor from me, that it was somebody else."
"But both Garland and Long know that it was you."
"I don’t care. Just do it."
"Gary, are you serious? You want me to perjure myself? I’m already
in trouble."
"Yes. It’s all your fucking fault. For what I care, you can tell them you
never sought any confirmation at all, that you simply made that up to
protect yourself."
I cannot
information by trading on their own account. It is obvious that the brokers
who are first to act on such information or even a rumor, such as a
possible takeover bid, can cash in on that by buying up shares and then
selling them after the share price has risen. Even if the rumor is false —
and a few brokers plant them deliberately — this can be exploited as long
as the broker offloads the shares again before the rumor has been
debunked. Tipping off a financial journalist, keen on hot publishing
materials, will help to ramp up the share prices, as so-called ‘mug
punters’ and gullible speculators act on the rumor.
It is far too easy to get around the prohibition against insider trading.
You let a broker at another firm carry out the deal — an accomplice with
whom you split the profits and for whom you return the same ‘little’
service. There is practically no chance of getting caught by the Financial
Services Authority, the large volume of trading on the stock exchange
providing an effective screen.
Monday, 1:20 p.m.
Back in my apartment, the first thing I do is to phone my father’s office.
He is a lawyer, albeit of the corporate type, but he still is the best person
to advise me. It’s also opportune that he hears of my trouble directly from
me rather than through second-hand gossip. His secretary promises that
the moment he returns from lunch she will pass on the message that he
urgently calls me back at my apartment number.
Next I dial Gary’s direct office number from my cell phone. I want to
make sure my land line is kept free, should my father call back promptly.
I owe it to Gary to warn him of what happened, of Garland’s accusations,
particularly his suspicion that he is my accomplice. The very thought of
that makes me irate. Accomplice of what? Nothing happened! I’m
innocent, and Garland is simply using me as a scapegoat to appease
Carvaggio. Nor do I believe that Carvaggio will let himself be that easily
appeased. From my dealings with him, I guess that he has to be taken by
the horns and told in no uncertain terms that since he approved the sale,
this is the end of the matter. Lewis will lose the Ventura account, but so
be it. I never felt really comfortable about this client. The very fact that
the outfit is registered in Liechtenstein, a notorious haven for tax evaders
and money launderers, but operates out of Milan doesn’t look kosher. I
once searched for their location on the Google street view map — a villa
somewhere in the eastern suburbs, surrounded by a high stonewall with
glass shards embedded on top. Rather suspicious.
Gary isn’t yet back from lunch. So I try his cell phone. He answers,
apparently just on his way to his desk. I tell him that I’ve bad news. He
cuts me off, asking me to call back in a minute. I guess that he is going
to their conference room, to be alone so that nobody can infer anything
from his answers. I wait and then hit the recall button.
"Gary, I got fired this morning. Garland accused me of insider trading
and defrauding Ventura. But he also hinted, and that’s what’s really
upsetting, he hinted that he thought you were my accomplice."
"Shit, the bastard."
"I’m really sorry, Gary —"
"Being sorry can’t even come close. I’m utterly annoyed with you, no,
more; I’m fucking pissed off. You got me into this shit. You now also get
me out again. You hear me?" I’ve never heard Gary use foul language
like this.
"How can I?"
"You tell that fucking detective that you lied about having sought
confirmation of that rumor from me, that it was somebody else."
"But both Garland and Long know that it was you."
"I don’t care. Just do it."
"Gary, are you serious? You want me to perjure myself? I’m already
in trouble."
"Yes. It’s all your fucking fault. For what I care, you can tell them you
never sought any confirmation at all, that you simply made that up to
protect yourself."
I cannot
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