The Last Trade Read Online Free Page B

twenty-nine-year-old life.
    At first he had begun to tell the voice on the other end the proper procedure for executing a transaction of this nature, but within seconds the voice was telling him , explaining the exact protocol, the account numbers, the complex series of wire transfers, and the way in which the transactions were to be divided, each for no more than ten thousand dollars U.S., and staggered, hundreds per hour over a twenty-four-hour period.
    This, Lau surmised, was to minimize the chances of the transaction showing up on whatever sophisticated tracking software the authorities are using these days. The FSA in London. The FBI, CIA, or Department of Treasury in the States, Hong Kong’s own Securities and Futures Commission—conventional wisdom says even the Russian mob has some modified bootleg version of the software, software that some say Bin Laden used to move and make money prior to 9/11.
    Not that Lau mentioned this to his client. He just knew, and he’s certain that his client knows even more. Besides, it wasn’t Lau’s job to moralize, recommend, or question. For this trade his job was all about the confirmation of numbers and the execution of a mandated procedure. Of course Lau had to alert his boss about a deal of this magnitude, but Emily Cheng, senior managing director, international equities, said exactly what he’d expected: “If the money comes through cleanly on the wire, and the account checks out, I don’t see why not.”
    â€œDon’t you wonder with something this big who it is, or even why?” Lau asked Cheng, seemingly out of curiosity but mostly to cover his ass. Because he wanted to make sure that if the deal came back to bite him, he wouldn’t be the only one to take the heat. “You’re not curious why someone wants to short U.S. tech stock now that it’s finally starting to come back? I mean, Apple alone, with or without Jobs . . .”
    Cheng shrugged. As Lau’s director, she’d make a nice under-the-radar commission on this as well. When the group performed well, she did well, so she wasn’t about to ask questions. “Like I said, if the transfer is good and the account is legit, for a billion-one, I don’t care if he’s taking a short on the Moon.”
    For the first time in months Lau allowed himself to flash the smile of a man about to make a killing.
    A quick credentials check confirmed that the transfer was good and the account was legit. Registered to the American trading account with JP Morgan Chase of one Rondell Jameson in the city of Philadelphia in the state of Pennsylvania. Who knew? Who knows? Lau thought. Maybe the guy actually exists. Then he did something that the caller had specifically said he was not to do. “If you tell anyone besides your manager, or if you inquire into or act on any of these securities in any way, there will be serious consequences.” Despite the warning, Lau went off-line almost immediately and looked into the stocks on his smart phone, linked to a personal trading account. As if they’d ever be able to find out, he thought, as he proceeded to lay down a matching series of shorts. Of course, for much less money. His credit line with this account was thirty thousand dollars U.S., thirty thousand dollars he didn’t have, but his gambler’s instincts told him that this was special, and if even part of it came to pass, he’d be set for years to come. So he defied the one rule his client insisted upon, and he got in on the action himself.
    After placing his personal trade, he did something he hadn’t done in months, something he had told himself he wouldn’t do again. He called his family back on the mainland. After a dozen rings someone picked up, grunted, and hung up. Most likely his father, he surmised, but it could have been any of them.
    Now, safely home with the deals in place, staring out at the first of the grand party