The board of directors, of which Sam was the sole member, decided that the operating company needed to own residences in the areas where its likely clientele resided—Islesboro, Hobe Sound, Malibu, and Paris. With the exception of Whales End, they were comparably modest, charming, and likely excellent investments, all bought during the lows of the 1990/91 recession.
Just over 50 percent of all income in the trust and corporation was paid out to various charitable organizations, which Sam spent a lot of time interviewing and choosing. The balance of the trust income was available to Sam to spend or invest as she chose, as the trust did not seek nonprofit status and paid taxes in the United States.
With the pressure off, Warren didn’t mind the work at Weldon so much anymore. His rich wife gave him the liberty not to take any guff from Conover or anyone else, and he had a growing reputation as an honest salesman who wouldn’t recommend trades to clients just to earn a big commission or enjoy the adrenaline rush. As a result, his business grew quickly, and he became the top producer at Weldon. After long discussions with Schiff and some of his analysts, Warren diligently guided his accounts to areas of the bond markets where the returns more than balanced the risks. He advised them away from the exotic, structured products that the finance guys kept devising. As Goering put it, “If you’re playing Hide the Salami and you don’t know where the salami is, you shouldn’t bend over!” Some of Warren’s clients didn’t care—they were after big returns—and he soon released them to other salesmen. He took a lot of vacations, but he was allowed the latitude. He planned to stay at Weldon until he and Sam had kids, then find something that would allow him to spend as much time with them as his dad had with him. He had been hitting again regularly with his pal Neal, and his game was sharp again.
In the meantime, Sam had spent her free time refreshing her college major in art history, after dropping the pre-med idea despite getting nothing but As, and Warren had brought his mom in to work with them, making the operating company, called Gordian Fine Arts, a viable enterprise. She and Sam became advisers to several corporations in managing their art collections, and consultants to a growing group of collectors who were knocked out by the two women’s combination of looks, brains, scholarly knowledge, and nose for a deal. Chas Harper had married a beautiful private banker at the Bessemer Trust who had helped him manage his family’s money, and Nicole had been thrilled to refer dozens of their clients to Gordian rather than the usual art dealers and brokers, who could hardly be trusted.
One such assignment had taken Sam to Chicago, where she helped a major client acquire a $15 million Winslow Homer oil painting, then convinced him to bequeath it in his will to the National Gallery in Washington from his estate. She waived her commission in favor of a deductible donation paid directly to the Florida Academy and caught a flight to LaGuardia, and from there, a commuter plane to Camden, Maine.
The air had been smooth, and the Whaler met her at the dock for the cruise across the harbor to the house, where Warren was waiting. She took the pair of sunglasses Jimmy offered her when she climbed on board. It had been a long trip, but a good one. The boat powered out into the channel, the sun low on the horizon and the lights coming on in the waterfront shops and the large houses, reflected in the almost-black water, across the bay. The breeze was soft in her hair, and she settled deep into a cushion, looking forward to a warm, comfortable ride home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A work of fiction is no different than a good joke—there is an element of the truth in it that makes you laugh, or if poorly told, uncomfortable. In that regard, the truth is that I could never have written this book without the love of my father, who encouraged me to write later in life, because he wanted his son to be prosperous and happy, and my mother and brother who allowed me to grow up, knowing I was cared for. And, of course, my wife, who has made my adult life the envy of any man—not only is she beautiful, loving, and brilliant, but also a professional juggernaut who has never once settled for less than being the best at anything she does, pulling me along with her.
Also important are the panoply of miscreants and clowns (at least one of them an actual clown) who taught me that neither intellect, morals, nor taste were required to succeed in finance, so that even so lucrative a failure as my own might not reflect on my character. But there were also those rare dedicated and decent people who worked with me, and made what success I had not just possible but occasionally fun. Without them I wouldn’t have lasted a month. Sharing every day since with my wonderful children and incredible wife, and a small group of special, caring friends, was a treasure I hope someday to deserve.
Finally, my heartfelt thanks to the editors I have worked with in my brief career as a writer—Richard Story, Deborah Frank, Katie Gilligan, and Melanie Fried there to greet me when I returned from the yawning abyss of a blank page with a sheaf of disfigured paper, and the burning desire to do it again. My gratitude as well, to the remarkable Thomas Dunne who chose to invest his time, money, and reputation in me. I hope his faith is rewarded.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MIKE OFFIT began a twenty-year Wall Street career after graduating from Brown University, abandoning advertising, and earning an MBA from Columbia University. He rose to become a senior trader at Goldman Sachs, and to head the mortgage and asset-backed securities trading desks at First Boston, Prudential, and finally at Deutsche Bank, where, as managing director, he built and ran the Street’s leading commercial real estate finance business. After retiring, he returned to writing, becoming a columnist and contributing editor at the luxury lifestyle bible Departures magazine. He lives in New York City and Bedford, New York, with his wife and their two children.
Copyright Notice
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
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NOTHING PERSONAL. Copyright © 2014 by Mike Offit. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover designed by James Iacobelli.