Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(29)

“Yes. And what’s worse, the ten bad ones don’t get thrown out. They just get put in the next security that we bundle up, even though they already tested bad. If they get pulled in the sample test of the next security, they get put into a third. Only if a mortgage gets pulled three times in the sample tests, which is very improbable, does it get thrown out. That’s the three-strike loan. It makes no sense. It’s obvious fraud.”

“Jesus, Freddie. Is this in the report?”

“It is.” He looks up behind me.

The door is over my right shoulder and has opened and closed several times since I’ve been here, but this time I turn to see and in she walks. The lighting in the room seems to change. Nothing is actually brighter, but it’s as though everyone in the Starbucks suddenly realizes we are sitting in seats of a theater and have in this moment located the stage. She seems to be a source of light herself, not blinding or imposing but warm and a subtle draw of attention.

I know her from somewhere.

“She’s here, she’s here, she’s here.” Freddie rocks in his chair and whispers this more to himself than to me, as an internal pep rally to get ready for the big game. He stands and makes his way over to her. He has an awkward heel-to-toe gait like he’s walking in a ski boot.

He wants to make a gallant greeting but can’t calm himself and instead roughly grabs her shoulders with both hands and delivers a kiss to the cheek that is a blow to the face, and I see her head snap to the side as though caught by a left hook. She smiles. This is clearly not the first time she has been greeted by Freddie. She gives him a short-armed but affectionate hug and he pulls her toward me and our table so that she has to skip a few times to catch up and get her heels back underneath her center of gravity.

I stand to shake hands. “Rebecca, this is Nick Farmer. Nick, this is Rebecca James.”

Of course I know her. She’s a correspondent for CNBC. She’s on the TV with the volume down in our office and I see her every day. She has wavy blond hair over the shoulder and wide-set icy-blue eyes that are smiling. Her hair and makeup are done for television, which is a little much for off camera but accentuates her already beautiful skin and the planes of her features.

“Nice to meet you, Nick.”

“Yes. It is.” Jesus, I have to do better than Freddie. “A pleasure to meet you.”

We all sit down. The Starbucks is in the downtown financial district and everyone seems to recognize her, though she would turn heads without recognition too. She seems not to notice it.

“Can I get you a coffee?” I ask.

“No, thank you. Already had one this morning.”

“Of course. One a day, et cetera, et cetera.” Son of a bitch. I sound like a fool.

We’re silent for a moment and Freddie drinks his soda and I drink my coffee as a tribute to her.

“So, Rebecca, I didn’t get a chance to catch Nick up on our conversation last night.” Oh, no. I’m starting to put it together. Freddie got drunk with an old college friend and spilled beans about confidential Bear information, and the old friend happens to be a reporter for CNBC who is looking for a scoop and now smells blood. I have the urge to excuse myself from the table.

“Freddie and I had a few drinks last night.” She laughs. I have an image of Freddie with his shirt off and tie around his head making Indian noises while photocopying his report for her.

“I see.”

“Freddie mentioned Bear is taking some aggressive market positions.”

“I see.”

“I know you’re in sales and trading. I’m wondering if you can tell me more about the strategy?”

“Would you excuse us for a minute? Freddie, a word in private.” I walk to the far side of the room and wait with my back to him.

Freddie comes around into my view. “Are you out of your mind, Freddie?” He looks ready for scolding. “What did you tell her?”

“Not much. Not everything.”

“What?”

“Nick, she’s cool.”

“She’s not cool. She’s a reporter. She’s looking for a story. The bigger the better.”

“She’s a friend. She wouldn’t screw us.”

“So she’s here for her health. Or for your health.”

“No, it’s for information, but she wouldn’t abuse it.”

“Freddie, you’re playing with fire and I don’t appreciate you pulling me into this. What did you tell her?”

He pauses. “I don’t remember exactly. I think I just told her there’s a lot of risky subprime debt out there and Bear is exposed to a lot of it. That’s stuff people have said before.”

“Maybe an independent mouthpiece. No official representative of a bank has come out and condemned his own bank’s positions. Especially not anyone who reports directly to the chief risk officer.”

His shoulders are getting lower and closer together in the front, which means he is understanding. “What should we do?”

“End this. Cut it off, right now.”

We walk back to the table and sit down. “Sorry to be so rude,” I say. I look at Freddie and push him with my eyes.

“Rebecca, I was talking with Nick and I think it’s better that we don’t get into any of this. I could get in trouble.” He looks over at me to see if that was enough, and I redouble my efforts to give a harsh look. “Not because of what the information is, but just because I’d be talking about it at all. Good or bad, it’s confidential, and I can’t talk about it.”