answered on the second ring by a woman chirping heavily accented English.
I asked for Stanley Man by his full Mandarin name, properly placing the family name first.
“Man Sek-Lung, please.”
“Who is calling, please?”
“Paris Smith. Addison, Beaufort and Shulman. Toronto. Canada.”
“One moment, please.”
There was a pause unusual to the frenetic pace of Asian business.
“Hello. Mr. Smith, are you still there? I’m giving you a forwarding number for Mr. Man.”
“What do you mean, a forwarding number?”
“Please contact Mr. Man at the following number.”
She slowly announced a number that I realized, as I double-checked it against my computer screen, was Stanley’s home telephone number. I re-dialled quickly, nervously.
The telephone was not answered until the fifth ring.
“Stanley?”
“Yes.”
“Paris Smith. What’s up? You taking the day off?”
“Not quite, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean?”
“The bank and I parted company Friday night, Paris. Actually, I was called in and let go.”
“Stanley. Shit. Were you expecting anything?”
“I suppose it’s been in the wind the last couple months. But I thought the timing would be a lot different.”
“You come out of it okay?”
“Better than I thought. They could have gone with a severance package as low as three months’ salary. I was hoping for six. They gave me twelve. And I’ve been keeping a few options open in Singapore and Hong Kong, and one in Beijing. So I’m in great shape.”
“Glad to hear that. But who takes over the file for Bangkok Commercial Bank to run with our deal now?”
“Well, Paris, that’s the part that’s not in great shape.”
“What do you mean?”
“In short … there is no deal.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“I’ve got nothing else to tell you. The deal is dead.”
“And don’t tell me that either.”
“Paris, that deal is deader than my job. That’s the whole reason I got the axe.”
“I don’t understand. You and I designed that credit line to guarantee some very high fees to BSA. It’ll probably be the richest deal BSA does this year.”
“Except there is no deal. It’s off. The deal is dead.”
“The deal can’t be dead. You can’t cancel a done deal. There’s six and a half pounds of contracts.”
“And that’s the problem.”
“What?”
“There are no more contracts, Paris.”
“What do you mean? You can’t just cancel out all those contracts or throw them away. We’d sue BSA for breach. Hell, we wouldn’t even have to sue. We’d just have to go through the motions so that the story spreads around. Nobody would ever get into bed with BSA again. And somebody else would step up to marry us at the altar as soon as it got out how rich the deal was. Hell, for that much profit we’d probably hear from Credit Lyonnais or Barclays or JP Morgan Chase.”
“That’s just it. BSA won’t be in breach of contract, and they won’t be walking away from the contracts.”
“What then?”
“They sold the contracts.”
“Sold them?”
“They had to.”
“How? How can you sell a contract? And who did you sell it to?”
“I’m not exactly sure how. But I know why. And I know who.”
“Well, then, who?”
“Amsterdam Bank.”
“Amsterdam Bank? No fucking way either of us would ever deal with them. We put this whole bond deal together to screw Amsterdam Bank. How could they even get into the game, how could they even get into the ball park, let alone get into the deal?”
“You want the short version, Paris? Or do you want the long details?”
“Give me the short version.”
“Amsterdam Bank sent someone in to BSA. They let it be known that they own the controlling share of half a dozen insurance companies across the Pacific Rim. And between them, all of these insurance companies hold one awful shit-load of Bank of South Asia stock in the Hong Kong, Singapore, and Australian stock markets.”
“And?”
“And they threatened to start dumping all of the stock unless they become a partner in the deal.”
“And BSA caved in to that?”
“Hey, BSA took a couple of big hits in China and Vietnam and a few other places that over the last two years that have left it overexposed and under-capitalized. If those Amsterdam Bank insurance companies start dumping the stock, the share price will dive. As soon as the share price caves in, BSA’s equity shrinks and it can’t meet reserve requirements. Then the Bank of International Settlements steps in. Rumours trickle out into the capital markets. BSA is fucked. They can start turning the branches into hamburger stores.”
“Amsterdam can’t do it. They’d never get away with it.”
“There’s nothing to stop them. Think about it. It’s not like dealing with a single company in a single stock market like London or New York where everyone lives in almighty fear of the regulators. It’s a handful of different companies and half a dozen different stock markets. They’re not afraid of anything except losing a couple of dollars worth of profit on their stocks. Which they’ll just swap for shares in other bank stocks anyway.”
“There’s still probably some part of it that’s against the law somewhere.”
“And you and me, and everybody else in this business, know that when you’re dealing with this much money on anything there is no law.”
“For money? Amsterdam?”
“Of course not. You know they wanted to set an example. Stamp out this problem before it got started. Stamp out anyone else from ever thinking
