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Melissa:
So that’s a statement that in simple English I think means she’s coming back for her trust fund. Am I right, Larissa?
Larissa:
That’s what everyone I spoke to seems to think, Melissa. But I have a few spies in Eliza Seymour’s household and it seems as if Eliza isn’t just getting the money free and clear.
Melissa:
No? So there are restrictions?
Larissa (nodding):
It looks like it. Seems that when Daddy Seymour put the trust together to leave the majority of the Seymour estate to his daughter, he knew what kind of party girl his daughter was becoming. So he made sure to leave certain clauses in there that Eliza needed to have certain levels of investment performance and a minimum rate of return as well as hands on management of the money. If she fails to do any of these things, she could be challenged as custodian of the Seymour family fortune.
Melissa:
And I think we know there is one woman who would certainly challenge her.
Larissa:
Right. Wanda Seymour is the jilted stepmother. She married the elder Mr. Seymour late in life and claims that they had a connection based on love, but they were robbed by time. However, the late Mrs. Seymour and Eliza have never actually seen eye to eye.
Melissa:
But to be fair, I don’t think the rest of America has ever seen eye to eye with Eliza Seymour.
Larissa:
I don’t think so either. Remember this is a girl who famously told tabloids that she was feeling the recession that the country was going through five years ago because her yacht was smaller than she was used to.
Melissa:
I mean no one liked her. The rock band Dread Crystal came out with a song that they dedicated to her called ‘Poor Little Dumb Rich Girl’. Her leaving New York City was almost as much a sigh of relief for not just her, but the public as well.
Larissa:
Well, she’s back now. And she’s got $250 billion dollars riding on it. So we’ll see how that turns out.
Melissa:
We will indeed.
Ok folks. When we come back, we’re going to be talking to President Austin Bain, who just won the election and became the youngest ever President of the United States.
Stay tuned after these words from our sponsors.
Chapter Four
Carter
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blake, there’s nothing I can do. My shareholders have expressed their concerns and my hands are tied. I’m truly sorry.”
“Mr. Walker, you have to consider the fact that –”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, bowing his head. Cutting the conversation short, he snaps his heels together and turns around, briefcase tucked under his arm, and marches out of the conference room. Like automatons, his small army of lawyers and accountants get up, following his lead, and they all stroll outside of the room, leaving me by myself.
It’s only 11 am, and this is already the second client who has bailed on me. And that’s just today. These past two months have been some of the worst yet—I’ve already lost seven clients.
I drum my fingertips on top of the conference table and then, exhaling sharply, I reach for the small intercom sitting in front of me and press one of the buttons, the one connecting me to my secretary.
“Send in the next one,” I tell Cheryl with a sigh.
“Right away,” she replies quickly, and not half a minute after, another contingent of battle weary lawyers strolls inside the conference room. The head of that small army is Anderson Smith, a tech CEO who has made his fortune during the early 2000s. I’ve been managing his fortune ever since, but it seems like our partnership is about to come to an end.
“Anderson,” I greet him, calling him by his first name and shaking his hand.
“Carter,” he answers back, and his tone isn’t a cheery one. Not a good omen.
“You didn’t need to bring so many lawyers to tell me you want to pull your money out from my company, Anderson,” I sigh, diving straight into business. Why beat around the bush? It’ not like begging for him to stay will do any good; in fact, it’d make matters even worse.
“They insisted,” he replies as he takes his seat on the other side of the table, his lips curling into a pale smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to take any chances with my money, Carter.”
“You’re not taking chances with me. You know I’m the best. What happened—what is happening—is just a misstep.” I look him straight in the eyes, trying to look as if I’m telling the truth, but Anderson doesn’t look convinced. You know what’s frustrating about this whole thing? I really am telling him the truth of it. The thing is, investors are cynics; trust and confidence are alien concepts to them. Unless it comes in a spreadsheet, they don’t believe it.
“Let me be honest with you, Carter. I know that you’ve been losing clients these past two weeks. At this rate, your hedge fund will be at risk … and I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to take any chances. I’m too old for that now,” he says, and I can tell that he’s being as honest about it as he can. He’s pushing sixty now, and he doesn’t want to take any chances. If I go down, he wants to have his money safely tucked somewhere else. And, hell, can I blame him for that? Still, he and all the other clients who’ve been deserting me aren’t seeing the full picture.
