The Last Hedge Read Online Free PDF Page A

environment?”
    “Well, Ray, things have been a little tight financially: I’ve been hit pretty hard by the markets. I’m reworking some investments, and I need a little cushion.”
    “We all do. Dylan, I’m not in a position to go around making large financial promises in these market conditions.”
    “I realize that. But, I have the track record and the experience, so a signing bonus is not out of the question.”
    “How much are you looking for?”
    Dylan was working through the calculation in his mind. Fifty thousand in cash might buy time for him and the gallery.
    “100K.”
    Ray smirked.
    “Based on your performance and what we project you to do, we could put an advance in an escrow account, and have your compensation rewritten to include that. Would that help?”
    “Would some of that be available up front?”
    “You’re pushing it. When I do an advance like this, it’s conditional. You have one year. If you don’t meet the revenue goals stipulated in the contract, you’re out. No severance, no unemployment, no bonus. That’s the deal. You want money up front, you gotta’ work for it.”
    “Okay, Ray. I can accept that.”
    “Then you’re our man. Congratulations and welcome aboard!” They shook hands.
    “Thank you,” Dylan said. “But there is one last question.”
    Ray looked at him quizzically. He wasn’t the type of man who responded well to frequent demands.
    “I’d like to bring my trading assistant with me. His name is Binky.”
    “Binky?”
    “It’s a prep school thing.”
    “Is he good?”
    “He’s a borderline mathematical and computer genius. I’m not sure if I can get him, but I’d like to try.”
    “Good. Sounds like the type we could use around here. Work out his compensation with Martha and I’ll approve it. Just don’t break the bank, though.”
    “I won’t.”
    “Congratulations, Dylan. Welcome aboard!”

Chapter 4
     
    Dylan had told Binky to meet him in a bar near the corner of East 86th street and Third Avenue. It was typical of the neighborhood, a low-key Irish pub on a side street off of the avenue. It was half past five and the bar was empty, awaiting the afterwork crowd that usually gathered each evening. Dylan took a seat at the bar and ordered a Guinness. Ten minutes later, Binky walked in.
    “Hey, dog. What’s up?”
    “Binky, how are you?”
    “Good man, What’s up?”
    Binky was the nickname for Charles Bannister, a prep-school moniker from Choate Rosemary Hall. Binky was in his early twenties, patrician features, with an oversized mop of brown curls that accentuated his youth. He was wearing his favorite pair of faux-nerd horn-rimmed black glasses. He was wearing his usual outfit: black sweater, white shirt, black slacks and shoes. Hacker, musician, Neuromancer . Binky’s nickname came from his prep-school habit of walking naked, dripping and tiptoed, back to his room from the cluster of shower stalls down the hall. One morning, the resident advisor had caught him in mid-stroll, and snapped at his ass with a long, white towel. “Get some clothes on, you binky bastard, and don’t ever let me see you walking naked through the hallway again.” Binky had complied with his request, but the nicknamed stuck and remained.
    “I’m good, Dylan. When do you start the new job?”
    “Next week. I’m pretty excited.”
    “How much money do you guys have under management?”
    “Come on, Binky. You know I can’t get into that.”
    “I understand.”
    Dylan knew that if he had told Binky the modest amount that they had capitalized compared to his previous firm, Binky would have spilled his drink.
    “Dylan,” Binky said, “you could give me a hint.”
    “Hints are not facts.”
    While they were speaking, a group of attractive women entered the bar and seated themselves. As they ordered drinks, Binky turned to watch them.
    “So,” Dylan asked. “How are you doing, Bink?”
    “Ah, I’m doing okay. Nothing great. I’m a little bored.