Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,14

is Malachi Zorn. He is an American, based on Long Island, New York.’

‘And what’s his problem?’

‘He costs other people a great deal of money. My clients are usually competitors, but they are united in the conviction that their businesses—’

‘Their banks?’

‘Yes.’

Carver gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Unbelievable. You want me to stop bankers losing money. I never thought I’d stoop that low.’

Ginger laughed. Shafik looked at her sharply, then allowed himself a smile. ‘Very good, Mr Carver, but this is not just about bankers. Malachi Zorn makes a great deal of his money placing very large bets against corporations. He takes short positions or uses derivative instruments that capitalize on falling asset prices and even total collapse. The very act of taking these positions taints his targets. Perfectly good, well-run, solvent companies can be destroyed. And all these companies have shareholders, the majority of whom are funds run for the benefit of ordinary citizens: investing for their future, for their pensions. They are the ones who get hurt by a man like Zorn.’

Carver had been eating olives while Shafik made his speech in defence of shareholder capitalism. ‘And there was I thinking this had something to do with senior executives getting nervous that their bonuses might be a zero or two short this year,’ he said when it was over.

Ginger laughed. ‘I hadn’t realized that you were such a cynic, Sam.’

‘Huh … no matter how hard I try to be cynical, the truth is almost always far worse.’

Shafik gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Grow up, Carver. The only way all the little guys make a small amount of money is if the big guys make lots of it. That is how the system works. Anything else is just … communism.’

‘But why do you want Zorn removed now?’ Carver asked. ‘It sounds like he’s been operating for quite a while. Why the sudden desire to stop him?’

‘Because …’ Ginger began. Then she stopped herself and looked at Shafik. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘Not at all … go ahead.’

‘Up until now Zorn has always worked alone,’ Ginger continued. ‘That’s been the source of his mystique: one man, betting his own money against the system.’

‘Or a spoilt playboy playing his selfish games at other people’s expense,’ Shafik snapped.

Ginger flicked her eyes up at the heavens in mock exasperation. ‘You’ll have to excuse my boss, Sam. He takes our work very personally sometimes.’

‘I don’t give a damn about your boss,’ Carver replied. ‘Tell me about Zorn. What’s changed?’

‘He’s getting partners for the first time in his career: serious investors. He’s using their money to start a fund: Zorn Global. Very private, very exclusive, but also very well-financed. He’ll have tens of billions of dollars behind him, all provided by ultra-high-net-worth individuals. No institutions at all.’

‘So he’ll have more leverage, and be able to do more damage, as they would see it, to your clients?’

‘You have got it in one, Mr Carver,’ said Shafik.

‘Well, you’re right about one thing. I’d certainly have turned down the job.’

‘But …?’

‘But now I’m considering my options. And I want to know the details. When does this have to be done? Where? How? That kind of thing.’

Ginger spoke again, ‘It has to be done quickly. Zorn is launching his fund at the end of next week in London.’

‘How come he’s not doing it on Wall Street?’

Shafik answered the question, ‘His new fund has investors from around the world. It will operate globally. Wall Street serves the world’s biggest domestic economy, but London is the centre of international finance.’

‘And it’s also where many of his investors like to be at this time of year,’ Ginger went on. ‘They go to parties, Royal Ascot, Wimbledon. You know the kind of things. Zorn’s crazy about tennis. He’s going to be at Wimbledon for a few days next week. He’s going Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.’

Carver couldn’t stop himself from asking, ‘What about the days in-between?’

‘Ladies’ quarter-finals, semis and final,’ said Ginger. ‘Zorn ignores them – he’s a sexist when it comes to tennis.’

‘Or a realist,’ Shafik observed.

‘But for the men’s days,’ Ginger went on, refusing to rise to the bait, ‘he has tickets for himself and his guests: debenture seats, the best for Centre, Number One and Number Two Courts, six at a time. He likes to know that he has his choice of all the most important matches. He’s spending tens of thousands of dollars a day, but what does he care?’

‘He even enquired about hiring a box at Lord’s,’ Shafik said, with