Page 71

“With client money?”

“We’re managing money already under our control.”

I stared at him.

“That distinction may comfort you. I’m not sure it’ll comfort the clients.”

“No one has lost a dollar.”

“Yet.”

The word came out before I could soften it.

He took a drink, then set the glass down harder than necessary.

“You’ve spent six months telling me this was temporary,” I said. “First it was one bad position, then two clients pulled back, then the Cleveland office cost more than expected. Every time I ask how much trouble we’re in, you tell me it’s manageable.”

“It is manageable.”

“Then why are you moving cash between accounts?”

He looked toward the blinds instead of at me, and that was when I knew the number was worse than anything I’d seen on the legal pad.

I stood and crossed to the window. Six floors below, downtown Madison looked orderly in the evening light, with cars moving through intersections and people waiting at crosswalks while the city carried on as if no one in an office above them was trying to keep a brokerage from coming apart.

“What happens if you can’t manage it?” I asked.

“We sell positions we’d rather hold.”

“At a loss.”

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

He took another drink before answering.

“We may have to unwind several accounts.”

“How many?”

“That depends on the week.”

I looked back at him. “The dinner at the club.”

His gaze sharpened. “What?”

“Everything seems to depend on that damn dinner.”

For the past few days, I’d been thinking about the conversation at Walter Hale’s house when my father had mentioned trust instruments and Walter shut him down quickly enough that even I understood he’d gone too far. I’d asked questions afterward, but he’d brushed them aside, saying only that the Hales had structured things carefully for their daughters and that Walter was protective of both of them.

Then he’d told me to worry about my own future. At the time, I’d let it go because arguing with my father about money that belonged to the Hale’s had seemed unnecessary.

Now he went to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out another folder.

“What’s that?”

“Options. The Hale relationship gives us breathing room.”