Chapter 15 Chapter Fourteen

Sunday, July 1st.The finance ministers and central bank governors of the seven industrial groups gathered on the fourteenth floor of the imposing Deutsche Bundesbank building in Frankfurt, sitting in brown high-backed leather seats in front of oval conference tables with oak panels chair.The high-ceilinged, wood-panelled room on the top floor has a Max.Abstract polychrome tapestry by Ernske.Fifty meters below the meeting room is the underground vault of the Commonwealth Bank, which stores a large amount of banknotes, but very little gold.What sets Deutsche Bundesbank apart from the world's major central banks with gold reserves is that it stores only a small amount of gold bullion on its own premises.About eighty metric tons, or just over two percent of the total, were held in the Frankfurt vaults.The rest is stored in the vaults of other central banks, including the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, the Bank of England and, to a lesser extent, the Banque de France.The guards patrolling the perimeter of the Deutsche Bundesbank are as much about protecting its wealth as it is about its people.Today, the number of security personnel is greatly inflated. That is because some important officials who held a meeting on the fourteenth floor also brought bodyguards.

Seasoned bankers and politicians sit around the Commonwealth Bank boardroom, glass ashtrays and bottles of soft drinks on tables.They smiled, chatted and waited.Anthony.Next to Barrington sat his counterpart at the Bank of France, Jean-Française.cloud.The two old friends chatted enthusiastically, forgetting the growing tension. Two minutes later, the president of the Deutsche Bundesbank, H.Miller called the meeting open with an air of ready-to-argument. Delegates from France, the United Kingdom, the United States, Japan and Canada all leaned forward from their leather chairs with a display of gracious curiosity.After a week of anxious waiting, they were about to figure out why the meeting was called.Giancarlo Giancarlo, President of the Bank of Italy.Catania sat there, cursing the no-smoking sign in his mind, eager to refresh himself.Two days ago, Fieri's repeated cross-examination aroused his sense of foreboding.The look on Miller's face reinforced that feeling.

The 6-foot-5 German with an IQ of 150 put his forearms on the shiny mahogany conference table, leaned forward, supported the huge weight on his forearms, and glanced at the ministers attending the meeting them.As his falcon-like eyes moved from one person to another, his jaw jutted forward, revealing an unabashed aggressiveness. After Miller glanced around, he was silent for a moment, ready to start.He began by thanking everyone for coming to the meeting on short notice and wishing it hadn't been too much of an inconvenience, but saying that it was necessary to convene the meeting.He panted like a man overburdened and overburdened, and his voice seemed to drop an octave.

We all know the power of rumors in financial markets and how destructive they can be.All the heads in that circle nodded solemnly, uh, a very disturbing rumor caught my attention.He spread his hands on the table, as if examining his fingernails. We all know that British financier Richard.Zeng De: He has had extraordinary trading performance in the foreign exchange market.However, there are two journalists who are looking around for news.They knew, or thought they knew, two things: first, that Zender had achieved unprecedented success in the foreign exchange market; and second, that he was very close to some finance ministers and central bankers, myself included.The two journalists working for a British newspaper are currently pulling the two facts together, and although they haven't written anything yet, they will soon.From what I've read, they alluded to the fact that Zender not only seemed out of whack with these people, but maybe a little too close to policy.Miller paused, looking around at the thirteen faces that were staring at him, tense, silent, and staring at him, I don't think I need to explain the meaning of it.He paused again, with an inexplicable smile on his face, and now that I know, there was nothing to be surprised about.Those two reporters were pure gossip.I discussed this with Anthony and we agreed that some restraint was necessary.What I'm trying to say is, be careful and maybe cool off your relationship with Zender.The last thing we need is some kind of scandal, although we are completely above reproach, and I believe that is the case.All the heads around the table nodded wisely, their shoulders drooping slightly.Miller continued: "Plus, of course Zender is a pretty useful guy, a great philanthropist who has donated over $100 million to many different charities.We don't want to see him being embarrassed by the newspapers.He's completely innocent, just a rare prodigy.He shrugged his shoulders, but you all know that journalists, especially British journalists, are the creatures of envy.They're running around trying to make Zender dirty.So we'd better be cautious.Not only for his sake, but also for our own sake.He leaned back in his chair, smiled blessedly, and I'll stop here on the subject.But since we're all here for the meeting, let's do one constructive thing.

The meeting adjourned after half an hour and the participants unanimously passed a decision.The pound is undervalued, the UK economy is recovering, and the market is too pessimistic.Miller suggested that it would be wise to push the market in the right direction.So the G7 unanimously agreed to conduct limited market intervention that afternoon to support the pound. Participants agreed that the decision was wise.Barrington is especially relieved to have stimulated his own currency.No one objected.No one was in the mood to argue.The omens of a financial scandal left everyone on edge, wondering if it was true, who, if anything, was wrong, or if, as Miller suggested, it was just a journalistic prank Or just gossip.A total of six of those who attended the round table with people who had a personal relationship with Zender were sifting through their memories for past indiscretions.The problem is, journalists can twist anything.A small misstep can lead to a huge mistake: career prospects are ruined, decades of ambition are ruined.Everyone is stealing glances at their peers, hoping that if there's a problem, it's someone else's problem.

The meeting broke up, politicians and bankers filed out, and high-speed elevators sprinted down to the ground floor.Black bulletproof cars greeted them there, and exhaust fumes from engines polluted the air.Once seated behind tinted glass, those public smiles are hidden. Anthony.Barrington lingered in the conference room on the fourteenth floor, waiting for the others to leave.heh.Miller waited with him.With the two of them alone, Miller sat down next to Barrington. Do you think they will believe it? Barrington smiled. Oh, I think so.The pound is undervalued, let's face it. Well, we intervene after lunch.So, if there were moles, we'd give them plenty of time, right?

As it should be.If there is a mole, we hunt it out. Very well, I will leave this to you.But what about poor Zender.Now everyone thinks he's up to something. Barrington smiled. I told you he had the possibility.It's not that we can produce any evidence, nor that I particularly want to.In any case, he carried too much weight and made too many assertions about economic policy.The problem is, everyone thinks he has some kind of god.They all listened to him, as long as he opened his mouth, he could cause market fluctuations.Barrington shook his head.This will not work.Zender is too famous and earns too much money to our detriment, and I wouldn't be too upset if he got a little cold shoulder.Barrington stood up, thank you for all your help in this matter anyway.

Miller waved his hand and said that you are welcome: We are all affected, aren't we?We must do something. Indeed, I just need a quick phone call before I leave.These lines are all kept secret, right?Barrington gestured to the phones on the conference table with his head. Of course, Miller said, somewhat displeased, please.Hit casually.He packed up the documents, turned and left, and I'm leaving now, President. The two shook hands.Barrington watched him disappear down the spiral staircase, back to his office on the eleventh floor.He stayed alone in the conference room, and gave James in London far away.Bartrop dialed the phone.

It's all done, everything is starting.I hope to kill two birds with one stone.We're taking action on the market this afternoon. That's wonderful, I hope your girl keeps her eyes open. Giancarlo.Catania saw the Italian finance minister go to lunch with his French counterpart.After he waved goodbye to them, he got into his special car and sat in the back seat hunched like a trapped animal. Five minutes later, his special car stopped outside the unremarkable hotel building where he stayed.Catania stepped out of the car and strode through the entrance with all the confidence his profession gave him.To the doorman who sprinted up to open the door for him, he was the most carefree man in the world.

Catania strutted through the hotel's marble foyer, looking around for public phone booths.After hearing what Miller said, he was not at ease about the phone in his room.He saw a row of twenty public phone booths, and thought it impossible for every phone to be tapped.In any case, he had to try his luck.Fieri was waiting, his stubby fingers waiting expectantly on the phone, waiting for his call.He wanted to keep the calls short, anonymous as usual, long enough to convey the necessary information and long enough to convince Fieri that everything was alright.He got into a public phone booth and tapped Fieri's personal number.

Fieri sat alone in that cold office.He fidgets, and the stolen Matisse painting hanging over the paneled wall looking down on him offers no relief today.As soon as the phone rang, he couldn't wait to grab the receiver.He listened carefully, occasionally humming once or twice.His tone was harsher than usual when he spoke, but he sounded content. You're going to give me a full report when you get back, huh?This is a directive, not a requirement. Catania agreed and hung up.Fieri never received a full report.There was no way he would let that rumor reach Fieri's ears.That's okay, it looks like that Zender rumor won't touch him directly.Thank goodness he never met Zender.Only this time he had a clear conscience.It did occur to him, though, as he sat at the gleaming conference table, that moving out of Zender might just be a red herring, a coded warning.Well, even though he can't do much, let's take it for granted.He couldn't let it go.He couldn't smile and say, sorry, I don't think I'll do it anymore, and retire with dignity.No matter which side will not tolerate him doing this.As for bringing up safety hazards, the slightest hint that the operation has been compromised would be his own repercussions.Because he is the weak link, the safety hazard.All he could do was bite the bullet and pretend that everything was normal.This is his best chance.If he could, he would devise some scheme to outwit them all.This is not impossible.First thing first, though, is to make another brief anonymous phone call. Three minutes later, he returned to his room and spoke to his wife.He speaks with love and tries to appear as carefree as possible, as if everything is normal.He said he would be on his way home shortly and would see her at dinner.He sat on the bed and looked at his own image in the opposite mirror with a smile on his face.Just let He.Miller eavesdropped with a bug. Fieri hung up the phone with stubby fingers and gazed at a Matisse painting on the wall for inspiration.It sounds like Catania looks normal.After all, the meeting did not bring much danger, and the purpose of convening the meeting was only to help the British economy get out of the recession.But why take those confidentiality measures.This is very strange.G7 meetings are usually announced to the media in advance.Ministers and central bankers often enjoy being photographed on a flight around the world while they are busy with world financial issues.But the meeting was unannounced, so he bets there won't be any communiqués after it. Fieri is on the fence about whether to be skeptical.A G7 meeting has been held in secret, but aside from secrecy, the results of the meeting suggest that it was nothing more than a fairly ordinary meeting.There was no reason to suspect that anyone had any inside information about Catania.But the possibility is always there: a slip of the tongue, an accidental slip, or even outright betrayal, incredible as it is. He felt out of sorts.Even after logical analysis, he still couldn't dispel his inner doubts.He reminded himself that he was right to be vigilant.If Catania was seized, he would not be able to bear it.That would deal an irreparable blow to his organization and himself. He was determined to keep tabs on Catania, but he also wanted to make money, so greed got the better of him in a contest of vague misgivings.He turned on the Reuters ticker and called his broker. Yes, Giuseppe.yes i yes i am fine.And you?very good.That's right, I'm going to take in GBP, it's USD/GBP oh, I don't know, £500 million, spot, the sooner the better, right now, but it's going to be split up, yes, into ten major accounts , call me as soon as you finish yes, I'll be here.Fieri put the phone back and stared at the monitor, temporarily concentrating on the irresistible earning of money. Antonio.Fieri started Bikara.Vjitale was five minutes earlier, and while he was on the phone with Milan's agent, she was sitting on the sofa smoking one cigarette after another. When the phone finally rang loudly, she jumped up, picked up the receiver, first announced her name, and then listened carefully, her beautiful face was ruined by her tight frown.She said good-bye curtly, hung up, and dialed a number. Intercontinental Bank's proprietary traders hung around the floor, waiting for a move.They have held positions for two trading days.Today is the third trading day, and so far, there is not even a hint of an upward trend in the pound.If there is no change in a short period of time, doubts will rise, which will continue to weaken their confidence.Then one of three things will happen: they will lose faith in their position and liquidate it completely; they will keep adding more to convince themselves, and possibly the market, that they are right; More and more painful with each passing hour. They're all too familiar with the tormenting sense of worry that comes when confidence fades.That's a feeling traders shy away from.It leads to paralyzing or frenzied behavior, and rarely to prudence or profit.Every trader, in his own way, tries to avoid doubts.Dante.Scarpirato sat in his office smoking a cigarette, but his face was indifferent. Matthew.Arnott sat in front of the trading desk, fidgeting, with one hand half-hanging in the air, his fingers tightly grasping the telephone line, his wrist shaking rhythmically, and the receiver hanging unsafely in the air for a spiral rotation.Simon.Wilson was chattering away.Sarah.Jason stared at the monitor.Since going to work that morning, she has felt that Arnott's eyes are watching her, watching her every move.She saw from the reflection on the monitor screen that he was watching her with a frown, as if evaluating her.She was furious about it, but she was so absorbed in the flashing green numbers that she pretended not to notice.Neither of them brought up the dangerous subject of what had happened last night, and it was best to avoid it.Each was puzzled by the other's silence. At 12:50, the light on Line 1 on the display board flickered.Three different fingers quickly pressed the button.Sarah got a head start.On the other end of the line was a female voice, agitated and high-pitched, with an Italian accent.She said she was looking for Matthew.Arnott, the words are hasty.Sarah put the phone on hold and turned from her chair to face Arnott, who was two feet away. looking for you. He picked up the receiver and dialed number one.All he said was reconciliation, and he quickly put on his coat and left the trading desk. Scarpirato's voice suddenly stopped him. hi, where are you going?You are not very forgetful, are you?We hold a heavy position of 300 million pounds.No one is allowed to lunch until I speak. Arnott glared at him, who said he was going to lunch? Scarpirato looks embarrassed and walks out of the office.Well, I think you want to go out to lunch, unless you've become more civilized and like wearing coats indoors, for the first time ever. Arnott smiled maliciously, my behavior has become civilized.I'm wearing a coat indoors.I'm not going to lunch, I'm going to the bathroom.Are you satisfied?Scarpirato looks annoyed at his back as he leaves. Stupid excuse, Scarpirato muttered to the entire trading desk, he had just put on his coat when he was clearly going to lunch.He never wears a coat indoors. Sarah stood up and walked over to the automatic coffee machine.She glanced at several office notices pinned to the bulletin board to the left of the coffee machine, and loitered for a few minutes to relieve the tension of sitting at the trading desk.Holding a cup of steaming milk cheese coffee, she was just about to return to the trading desk when she saw Arnott entering the trading room through the security gate.On her way back to the trading desk, she caught him making a detour.He turned left, avoiding the proprietary trading desk, toward a conference room.As she passed the conference room, she saw him holding the phone in his hand.She went back to the trading desk and sat down to sip her coffee. In the conference room, Arnott called four different brokers, buying £100 million from each and selling dollars.He lowered his voice as he spoke, leaning his lips against the mouthpiece.He locked himself safely behind closed doors so no one could eavesdrop on his conversations. Three minutes later, Sarah watched as he returned to the trading desk, then strode into Scarpirato's office.Maybe it's a theory?He is not the kind of person who can swallow his anger after being reprimanded.Sarah kept an eye on the office, expecting to hear high-pitched voices and angry gestures.Nothing like that.The two were conversing intently, their heads bowed.Arnott returned to the trading desk, and Scarpirato followed, striding out, poised for a shootout.He bent over the trading table between Sarah and Arnott, who were all watching him intently.Wilson sat across from him, fiddling with his tie. I want to increase my position.Also buy two.500 million pounds in stock.Sarah and Arnott each bought 100 million.Simon, you buy 50 million, do it immediately. Sarah leaned back in her chair and thrust her hands behind her back. Are you going to tell us why, or do you want us to follow your orders blindly?Calling the shots annoyed her.She hadn't been paid to be a civil servant, and she admitted in her heart that she was out to make him angry. He looked at her with startling anger and said: Do as I say, Jason.I explained it before.I don't have to explain it to you anymore. Of course not, Dante.She smiles sweetly, and you can walk away and light another cigar.Don't worry about me, I'll place the order right away.Before he could answer, she pressed the direct line for the Bank of Paris and asked Johnny.McDermott: What's your dollar-to-sterling spot rate? one.Four five five five, sixty five.He answered quickly. I want to take in 100 million pounds at an exchange rate of one.Four five six five. make a deal. make a deal. She bought £100 million, filled out the registration form, stamped it with a time stamp, and put it in the settlement tray.Then, with a straight face, she picked up her handbag and announced that she was going out to lunch and that someone else could take her place for a while today.She had expected Arnott to vent dirtyly.Unexpectedly, he agreed in a gentle tone.He said, no problem, he will take over today.Sarah was going to drink half a bottle of Titanic champagne at Piguet Polk's restaurant, and she thought to herself, this is the first of its kind