"I see," Ronald Johnson said vaguely. He adjusted his neat blue tie.
"No, you do not see," Looncraft said. He knew that in trader's logic, a transaction was either profitable or unprofitable. In that way, they were as binary in their thinking as his computer. Buy cheap and sell dear was their prime directive. So when the chairman of LD and rebought the same shares at significant cash losses, it simply did not compute. "And you would like to know why," Looncraft added.
Ronald Johnson leaned closer, his eyes almost feverish.
"Is this something new?" he asked hoarsely. Looncraft suppressed a smile. He knew that shine. It was greed. He had seen it in younger eyes than Johnson's-seen it grow brighter as the eyes behind it grew dimmer. He saw it in the mirror every morning.
"No," P. M. Looncraft said. "It is not a new market strategy. "
Ronald Johnson's face fell. He was disappointed.
"As you know, we divested ourselves of all Global stock when the price reached forty-six points."
"Yes, sir. I executed that liquidation personally."
"While I was out of the office," Looncraft added pointedly. "Had I been in the office, my curious young man, I would have overridden that move. For I have heard rumors of an intended takeover of Global."
"By whom?" Johnson blurted out.
Looncraft shushed him with a wave. "It would be illegal if I were to tell you. But I heard it. I heard it perfectly."
Ronald Johnson smiled. He knew that when P. M. Looncraft said he heard rumors of an intended takeover, it was gospel. And Looncraft knew that within minutes of leaving his office, Ronald Johnson would buy as many shares of Global as his personal portfolio could absorb.
"When I arrived at the office," Looncraft continued, "the damage had been done. I've been monitoring the situation with care. I first thought that I would wait until just before the closing bell and buy back Global at rockbottom prices. A happy accident-although I disliked not enjoying a solid position in Global for the brief hours that was true."
"But when the market rebounded . . . " Ronald Johnson said.
" I had no choice. Obviously, the takeover rumors I had been hearing had reached other ears. Thus the hasty and admittedly costly buy order."
"Yes, yes," Johnson said eagerly. "It makes sense. Those shares will be worth much more. But it's still a tremendous amount of stock. Too much. What if the price drops again?"
"There is no such thing as too much stock," P. M. Looncraft said severely.
"Perhaps you're right, sir. But it is risky."
"That is why it's called risk arbitrage, and why the term 'junk bond' was invented."
Ronald Johnson blinked. He realized his superior was not simply talking about acquiring soon-to-be-hot shares. He was hinting that LD self be involved in a takeover of Global Communications.
He cleared his throat. " I think I understand."
"You are a very bright young man."
"But our position is massive. If the stock falls again, we could be ruined. All of us."
"Negative thinking," Looncraft clucked. " I do not believe in negative thinking. I would appreciate it if you did not spread such sentiments around the trading floor-or at one of those watering holes you traders like to frequent after hours."
"No, sir. Count on me, sir."
"I will," said P. M. Looncraft, touching his intercom. "Send Lawrence in. Instantly."
Almost before Looncraft's gaze left the intercom, a tall management type stepped into the room. He wore conservative gray pinstripes and a gold silk tie. A complacent expression settled over his clean-shaven face as he said, "Yes, Mr. Looncraft?"
"Give Johnson your tie," said P. M. Looncraft.
The complacent expression fell apart. "Sir?"
"Your tie. Give it to Johnson." Turning to the floor trader, he added, "Johnson, would you please lend this man your tie for the remainder of the day so he will be presentable?"
Ronald Johnson came to his feet, beaming. "Yes, sir, Mr. Looncraft. Of course, sir. I appreciate this, I really do. "
"But, Mr. Looncraft," Lawrence moaned, his face dropping like that of a man whose proposal of marriage has been rejected, "I am supposed to have this another three days."
"Let me remind you that the gold tie belongs to the firm," Looncraft said aridly.
"But, sir, I earned it. This is my month to wear the gold tie. "
"It belongs to Johnson now," Looncraft told him. "He has earned it by his concern and ernestness during a most unsettling business day. Johnson has performed with great presence of mind, and LD o recognize that service."
Lawrence stiffened. His hands stayed at his sides. He ignored the offered blue tie.
"I must remind you, sir," he went on hoarsely, "that company policy expressly stipulates that the gold tie may be worn for thirty days before an employee is required to surrender it." Tears were streaming from Lawrence's eyes now. This was a humiliation. He was being degraded for no reason that he could fathom. " I must protest this in the strongest terms."
"I accept your protest," P. M. Looncraft said evenly. "Now, give Johnson your tie."
Lawrence whirled on Johnson like a cornered animal.
"Johnson! What is Johnson? A sniveling wet-behind-the-ears trader. I have been with LD twenty years, and the first time you call me by name is to ask me to surrender the tie. I have attained the gold tie seven times. That is an LD
"Duly noted. Now, give Johnson your tie," Looncraft repeated. His voice remained even.
Lawrence looked at the impassive face of his superior, then at the outstretched hand of the eager young trader, Johnson. " I won't have this," he sniffled. " I won't be treated like this. I quit!"
And Lawrence flung off the gold tie, throwing it in Johnson's shocked face before storming out of the office blubbering.
Ronald Johnson gingerly picked up the tie from the maroon rug, and after apologizing for his coworker's unfortunate outburst, began to tie it around his neck in a standard foulard knot.
"I can't tell you how much this means to me, Mr. Looncraft," Johnson said fawningly.
Looncraft rose from behind his desk. "I understand," he said, smiling humorlessly as he shook the trembling hands of his young employee. "Now, I want you to get back to work. You needn't trouble yourself with these well-intentioned concerns of yours. You have a bright future with us."
"I know," Ronald Johnson said, his eyes bright with that familiar gleam.
P. M. Looncraft returned to his desk, knowing he had chosen well. He had selected Johnson to manage the Global account because the man was, whatever else, conscientious. This was as it always was with conscientious men. Offer them mere money to ignore an irregularity and they would spurn it with ill-disguised distaste. But offer them recognition or glory, and they were your servants. It had worked since the early days of Looncraft, Dymstar d. It had worked for his ancestors, back in the days before there was a United States of America. His ancestors would simply wave a sword over a man's head and call him knight, and the man would give up his life for that title and those who conferred it upon him. It was the same with the gold tie. It was just a silk tie. Anyone could buy one. But when P. M. Looncraft dubbed it the company tie and forbade any employee to wear one like it, every man on the floor doubled his productivity to vie for the gold tie. Status-hungry traders who couldn't be bothered to earn raises because they were already earning obscene amounts in commissions were slaves to their desire to wear three feet of golden silk around their necks.
Still, Looncraft was disappointed in Johnson. He had not tied his tie with a full Windsor, and that was the mark of a slacker. Ah, well, the man was probably Scandinavian. Most Johnsons were.