thus leveraging his position twofold.
If he took $300 million from Reventlow, he would have to go to all his lenders and renegotiate his agreements.
“No,” said Astor. “We can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
Astor stood and made a point of looking at his watch. “We can’t find an arrangement. Fund closed. Is there anything else?”
Reventlow’s brow tightened, and red arrows fired in his cheeks. “We are both talking about three hundred million dollars?”
“Three hundred million or three billion, it’s all the same.”
“But—”
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased with our returns this quarter, however. We’re expecting a major event ourselves in our primary position. Now, if there’s anything else…”
“You can’t turn me down. I have to—we have to—invest this money.”
Astor moved toward the door. “Goodbye, Septimus.”
Septimus Reventlow rose from his chair, his pale face paler, his calm demeanor ruffled, a man in the first stages of shock. Clearly, no one had ever told him to take $300 million and shove it up his ass.
Astor allowed Reventlow to walk himself out of the office. Returning to his desk, he opened his drawer and popped a Zantac. It was barely ten o’clock and his stomach was already acting up. He wasn’t sure what was going on inside his gut, only that it felt like Vesuvius getting ready to blow.
Reventlow.
Hot money always did that to him.
Astor passed Shank on the way out.
“What’s up?” said Shank. “You can’t just skip out.”
“I have something I need to do.”
“Like?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“What about the position?”
Astor stopped at the door. “What about it? Everything’s fine. Just a blip.”
“Exactly,” said Shank. “But blips never happen with the yuan.”
Astor didn’t answer. He was already moving across the trading floor. Shank was right. Blips never did happen with the yuan. Unlike other currencies, the yuan was not freely floating. The Chinese government maintained a strong hand on its daily ebb and flow. It was only recently that the government had allowed the currency to be traded by foreigners at all. The sudden move made him anxious. Maybe that’s what was causing his stomach to go haywire. Either way, he’d worry about the position later. Right now he had another priority.
9
H alfway across the globe, someone else was worried about the blip.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Magnus Lee, chairman of the China Investment Corporation, or CIC. “And lady. We have a full agenda. I suggest we begin.”
Lee stood at the head of a conference table on the twentieth floor of the New Poly Plaza building in Beijing. It was the last Monday of the month, and as such, time for a meeting of the investment committee.
Created in 2007, the China Investment Corporation’s sole purpose was to invest the country’s vast foreign exchange reserves. For decades China had exported far more goods and services than it had imported. The result was a cumulative surplus of $3.5 trillion, an amount equal to the annual gross domestic product of the Federal Republic of Germany and less only than those of Japan, China itself, and the United States of America. Three-quarters of that money was placed in the safest, most conservative financial instrument on the planet: United States Treasury bonds. But one quarter was allowed to seek out more attractive returns. The money allocated for investments in equities, corporate bonds, real estate, and what financiers enjoyed calling “special situations” was placed into what was called a “sovereign wealth fund.” It was this money that the committee had met to discuss.
Lee had established the fund with a stake of $200 billion. Since then he had run the money up to $900 billion. He liked to think of himself as the richest man in the world. Still, $900 billion was only a small portion of his country’s total reserves. Like most rich men, he was congenitally greedy. He wanted more.
From his
If he took $300 million from Reventlow, he would have to go to all his lenders and renegotiate his agreements.
“No,” said Astor. “We can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
Astor stood and made a point of looking at his watch. “We can’t find an arrangement. Fund closed. Is there anything else?”
Reventlow’s brow tightened, and red arrows fired in his cheeks. “We are both talking about three hundred million dollars?”
“Three hundred million or three billion, it’s all the same.”
“But—”
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased with our returns this quarter, however. We’re expecting a major event ourselves in our primary position. Now, if there’s anything else…”
“You can’t turn me down. I have to—we have to—invest this money.”
Astor moved toward the door. “Goodbye, Septimus.”
Septimus Reventlow rose from his chair, his pale face paler, his calm demeanor ruffled, a man in the first stages of shock. Clearly, no one had ever told him to take $300 million and shove it up his ass.
Astor allowed Reventlow to walk himself out of the office. Returning to his desk, he opened his drawer and popped a Zantac. It was barely ten o’clock and his stomach was already acting up. He wasn’t sure what was going on inside his gut, only that it felt like Vesuvius getting ready to blow.
Reventlow.
Hot money always did that to him.
Astor passed Shank on the way out.
“What’s up?” said Shank. “You can’t just skip out.”
“I have something I need to do.”
“Like?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“What about the position?”
Astor stopped at the door. “What about it? Everything’s fine. Just a blip.”
“Exactly,” said Shank. “But blips never happen with the yuan.”
Astor didn’t answer. He was already moving across the trading floor. Shank was right. Blips never did happen with the yuan. Unlike other currencies, the yuan was not freely floating. The Chinese government maintained a strong hand on its daily ebb and flow. It was only recently that the government had allowed the currency to be traded by foreigners at all. The sudden move made him anxious. Maybe that’s what was causing his stomach to go haywire. Either way, he’d worry about the position later. Right now he had another priority.
9
H alfway across the globe, someone else was worried about the blip.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Magnus Lee, chairman of the China Investment Corporation, or CIC. “And lady. We have a full agenda. I suggest we begin.”
Lee stood at the head of a conference table on the twentieth floor of the New Poly Plaza building in Beijing. It was the last Monday of the month, and as such, time for a meeting of the investment committee.
Created in 2007, the China Investment Corporation’s sole purpose was to invest the country’s vast foreign exchange reserves. For decades China had exported far more goods and services than it had imported. The result was a cumulative surplus of $3.5 trillion, an amount equal to the annual gross domestic product of the Federal Republic of Germany and less only than those of Japan, China itself, and the United States of America. Three-quarters of that money was placed in the safest, most conservative financial instrument on the planet: United States Treasury bonds. But one quarter was allowed to seek out more attractive returns. The money allocated for investments in equities, corporate bonds, real estate, and what financiers enjoyed calling “special situations” was placed into what was called a “sovereign wealth fund.” It was this money that the committee had met to discuss.
Lee had established the fund with a stake of $200 billion. Since then he had run the money up to $900 billion. He liked to think of himself as the richest man in the world. Still, $900 billion was only a small portion of his country’s total reserves. Like most rich men, he was congenitally greedy. He wanted more.
From his
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