package or tomorrow morning’s board meeting—which obviously was a big deal—the elevator was already slowing down. He glanced at the readout and saw that they had come to a stop on the eighteenth floor.
“You’ve seen the heart and brain of the Merc,” Reston said as the doors slid open. “That only leaves the soul.”
Chapter 8
D avid stepped out into what looked to be a lounge, with a restaurant off to his left and an outdoor patio located through a pair of glass doors straight ahead. There was a long wooden bar off to the right, complete with bar stools and a great pyramid of liquor bottles inside a huge glass cabinet. The lounge, restaurant, and bar area were all decorated in muted colors, with leather-lined chairs and sofas, elegant carpeting, and oil paintings on the walls. The decor was in stark contrast to the garrulous traders who crowded together in cliquish groups, different-colored jackets congregating in different corners of the L-shaped floor. Even though trading was in full swing downstairs on the trading floor, there were obviously enough traders taking breaks to give the upstairs lounge the feel of a rowdy downtown bar.
As Reston led David through the throngs, he got a few sideways glances, but mostly the traders continued with their conversations. David caught snippets of their dialogue; he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—it was just that the traders talked so damn loud, probably a consequence of days spent screaming at each other down on the trading floor. He passed one group talking abouta weekly poker game with stakes so high David could hardly believe it was real. Another group was talking about where they were going to go when the trading day ended; David caught something about some sort of club that employed women who danced in cages.
Reston took a seat at a small table by the windows, with a pretty good view of the river and New Jersey beyond. David sat across from him, trying to look comfortable as he sank into the leather chair. David could see tugboats churning through the gray waters eighteen floors below. He wondered how many kids in Harvard ties bobbed up and down in their wakes.
“So how basic do we have to get?” Reston asked as a waitress brought them each a beer in a tall, frosted glass. “I know this is your first day, but where do we need to start? You know what an exchange is?”
David wondered if it was a trick question. He thought back to the analogy Reston and Giovanni had given him at Morton’s—that an exchange was like a soccer stadium. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. If this had been a class back at Harvard, he would have tried to bullshit his way through. Instead, he decided to table his ego for the moment and let Reston lead him wherever the Texan wanted him to go.
“A place where traders come to trade,” he responded, as simply as possible. “Here they trade oil.”
“Wonderful.” Reston sighed, taking a long swig from his beer. “So that’s what two years of business school comes down to.”
David felt a bit of heat rising into his cheeks, but quickly pushed his emotions away. For the moment, he was here to learn; he’d have a chance to prove himself as time progressed. Still, a little attitude never hurt anyone.
“Pretty much. I also know that oil is what makes cars go fast, but I figured I’d save that for my second day.”
Reston looked at him, then grinned.
“Okay, the basics it is. Yes, you’re right, exchanges are, as the name suggests, meeting places for people to trade goods forother goods. Historically, exchanges sprang up near ports, where people naturally gathered together with whatever wares they had to hock. The gathering together was important, because being face to face restricted the ability to get screwed; when you could see the transactions going on all around you, you had a sense for what the market rate was, and therefore it was less likely you’d get taken for a ride.”
David nodded; it was
“You’ve seen the heart and brain of the Merc,” Reston said as the doors slid open. “That only leaves the soul.”
Chapter 8
D avid stepped out into what looked to be a lounge, with a restaurant off to his left and an outdoor patio located through a pair of glass doors straight ahead. There was a long wooden bar off to the right, complete with bar stools and a great pyramid of liquor bottles inside a huge glass cabinet. The lounge, restaurant, and bar area were all decorated in muted colors, with leather-lined chairs and sofas, elegant carpeting, and oil paintings on the walls. The decor was in stark contrast to the garrulous traders who crowded together in cliquish groups, different-colored jackets congregating in different corners of the L-shaped floor. Even though trading was in full swing downstairs on the trading floor, there were obviously enough traders taking breaks to give the upstairs lounge the feel of a rowdy downtown bar.
As Reston led David through the throngs, he got a few sideways glances, but mostly the traders continued with their conversations. David caught snippets of their dialogue; he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—it was just that the traders talked so damn loud, probably a consequence of days spent screaming at each other down on the trading floor. He passed one group talking abouta weekly poker game with stakes so high David could hardly believe it was real. Another group was talking about where they were going to go when the trading day ended; David caught something about some sort of club that employed women who danced in cages.
Reston took a seat at a small table by the windows, with a pretty good view of the river and New Jersey beyond. David sat across from him, trying to look comfortable as he sank into the leather chair. David could see tugboats churning through the gray waters eighteen floors below. He wondered how many kids in Harvard ties bobbed up and down in their wakes.
“So how basic do we have to get?” Reston asked as a waitress brought them each a beer in a tall, frosted glass. “I know this is your first day, but where do we need to start? You know what an exchange is?”
David wondered if it was a trick question. He thought back to the analogy Reston and Giovanni had given him at Morton’s—that an exchange was like a soccer stadium. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. If this had been a class back at Harvard, he would have tried to bullshit his way through. Instead, he decided to table his ego for the moment and let Reston lead him wherever the Texan wanted him to go.
“A place where traders come to trade,” he responded, as simply as possible. “Here they trade oil.”
“Wonderful.” Reston sighed, taking a long swig from his beer. “So that’s what two years of business school comes down to.”
David felt a bit of heat rising into his cheeks, but quickly pushed his emotions away. For the moment, he was here to learn; he’d have a chance to prove himself as time progressed. Still, a little attitude never hurt anyone.
“Pretty much. I also know that oil is what makes cars go fast, but I figured I’d save that for my second day.”
Reston looked at him, then grinned.
“Okay, the basics it is. Yes, you’re right, exchanges are, as the name suggests, meeting places for people to trade goods forother goods. Historically, exchanges sprang up near ports, where people naturally gathered together with whatever wares they had to hock. The gathering together was important, because being face to face restricted the ability to get screwed; when you could see the transactions going on all around you, you had a sense for what the market rate was, and therefore it was less likely you’d get taken for a ride.”
David nodded; it was
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