The Trophy Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

and triple chins. While mentioned out of courtesy, he wasn’t really a candidate for the top job and certainly didn’t want it if it would interfere with his travel.
    Laboring next to Elder was Henry Martin, the bank’s expert in investments. Basically, he was a trader with all the gambler’s instincts required to turn hefty profits out of most of his bets. “A money machine,” he was frequently called, and he was proud of the title. But while gamblers were essential in the back room, no bank wanted them out front where they might run into a big depositor. Henry wasn’t really a rival for the top spot.
    Walter had to look in the other direction to spot the one man who could beat him to the chair when the music stopped, Mitchell Price. He was standing near the free weights, leveraging another railroad wheel on each end of the bar in preparation for his regimen of bench presses. At thirty-nine, he was the youngest of the senior officers, the leanest, and probably the most fit. Mitchell was the bank’s expert in the electronic systems that had replaced currency and paper as the arbiters of global wealth. His work was distinctly different from that of any of the other officers and it just might be that Jack Hollcroft, sensing that the future belonged to the computer literate, would nod toward Mitchell Price.
    Walter Childs moved vast sums of money from country to country to protect InterBank’s position in foreign currencies. His claim to the brass ring was that his skills most nearly fitted the bank’s unique role. He had salvaged hundreds of millions of dollars by taking a quick exit from the peso before Mexico’s economic woes had cut the value of the currency in half. Then he had
made
hundreds of millions by mountinga rescue operation at usurious rates. At age fifty, he was a bit too old to be a boy wonder, but old enough so that no one would question his experience. While he ran mile after mile on a fast-moving treadmill, Walter tried to present the calm demeanor that was essential for the top man in times of crisis. So while he kept his eyes fixed on the monitors, he showed little surprise with any of the information and rarely used the telephone.
    He returned to his desk just as the evidence of a new dollar-yen crisis was appearing. When the yen fell, every Western bank got nervous realizing that local industries would once again be buried under boatloads of cheap Japanese imports. Walter spent the early evening organizing an orderly buy of yen through all the branches and affiliates. The price rose and the momentary crisis was over even before most European banks were aware of it. It was seven o’clock when he summoned his limousine for the long journey home.
    He snapped on the courtesy lamp so that he could continue working in the backseat of the car, setting his briefcase on the seat beside him and spreading the papers across his lap. He found himself wishing that he were meeting with Angela instead of heading home. Angela would appreciate the victory he had just achieved in supporting the Japanese currency. She would understand instantly the crisis that had been avoided and would know that he was one of perhaps only a dozen men in the world who could have pulled it off. Emily wouldn’t fully grasp his importance to the situation. She would respond with something unappreciative like, “I’m happy for you, dear.”
    When they turned into the driveway, the headlights showed the open garage door with Emily’s car missing. Walter was momentarily alarmed because the garage light was out.
    â€œLooks as if you’ve been abandoned,” Omar chided from the front seat.
    â€œProbably just the last rubber of bridge running long,” Walter answered cheerfully as he gathered his papers. But hewas uneasy. It didn’t make sense that the garage door would be left open.
    He thanked Omar, initialed the limousine log, and then let himself in through the