The Deadliest Option Read Online Free PDF

suspended for two months when he was with Marcus, Jones in Richmond.
    “Let’s talk about this so-called climate, if we may?” Dr. Ash put his question to Wetzon. He pursed his lips, puffing as he spoke. His belly pressed against the table edge.
    “The climate is the erratic nature of the market,” Smith said.
    “For the first time, brokers are looking for long-term security,” Wetzon added. “Money, stable firms, nonpressured environments.”
    “Yes,” Dr. Ash puffed. “Good, good.” He nodded to Hoffritz.
    Hoffritz smiled without parting his lips, exercising the unlit cigarette, which began to droop. “Shall we discuss the new profile of the Luwisher broker? We’d like to see as many of these people as you can show us.”
    “Just get them over here and we’ll close them,” Destry said.
    Neil Munchen stared into his coffee and looked glum.
    “Okay, Carl?”
    Dr. Ash took a sheet of paper out of his portfolio and slid it across Smith to Hoffritz, who squinted at the page.
    Smith cleared her throat daintily and looked at Wetzon, who took a legal pad and a pen from her briefcase.
    “We want to see brokers who are married, with children, with responsibilities like mortgages, private schools. Good producers grossing two-fifty or three hundred.”
    Wetzon stopped writing. This was weird. While most brokers had heavy responsibilities, how could a firm eliminate from consideration the younger broker? It didn’t make any sense.
    “And we’d like to see some women—don’t tell me you girls can’t come up with some.” He dropped the mangled cigarette into his cup.
    Smith’s smile froze on her face. Wetzon could almost read her mind. “Girls” was a red flag, especially to Smith. Wetzon looked up but didn’t change her expression. Hoffritz didn’t even know when he was being insulting.
    “And incidentally,” Hoffritz continued, “we’re putting Tom Keegen on this, too.”
    “Tom Keegen!” Smith exploded, not even trying to keep her cool. Smith hated Tom Keegen, their major competitor. She had had a run-in with him years ago. “Everyone knows Keegen double-dips, and he’s doing it right here at Luwisher Brothers.”
    “We’ve seen some good people through him lately,” Chris said.
    Wetzon put her pen down. The smarmy bastard. Chris knew Tom Keegen was a dirtbag. Everyone knew. But on Wall Street now, if Muammar Kaddafi sent them brokers, they’d work with him. The times they were no longer changing—they had changed.
    “We like his work,” Hoffritz said. “And we like your work, girls, so show us what you can do—”
    The door to the conference was flung open with a tremendous burst of force and Ellie Kaplan stalked into the room. “What are you darling boys trying to get away with here?” She was a mess—wrinkled silk suit, her normally sleek gray hair disheveled, her face swollen and distorted—in no way like the chic woman in the glittery silver dress at the banquet. Ellie stopped in her tracks, staring at the spot on the wall beyond Hoffritz’s head and yowled, “What have you done with his portrait?”
    “Now, Ellie darlin’—” Dougie jumped up and put his arm around her, stroking her back, and she burst into tears and threw her arms around him. Distaste overwhelmed his face.
    Wetzon, instinctively rising to help Ellie Kaplan, caught the looks exchanged by the Gang of Four, because clearly, Neil Munchen was an outsider.
    “Ah, Wetzon darlin’, maybe you can help poor old Ellie out to the ladies’ ...” Dougie’s voice drifted off. He peeled himself away from the devastated woman and thrust her bodily at Wetzon.
    “Of course Wetzon will, won’t you, Wetzon?” Smith’s voice was filled with meaning.
    The phone on the credenza began to ring, three short ones, a pause, and another three short rings. Neil picked it up. “Yeah?” He looked at Hoffritz and pointed the receiver at him. “For you.”
    Hoffritz got up slowly and took the phone. “Yes. Well, you know what