“So are you saying that you tried to do something about all the shit Crane was doing? That’s what he meant by interfering with his business?”
“Yes. But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not stupid. I didn’t threaten to blow any whistles. I mean, one thing I know is that it’s impossible to stop these guys. Or at least impossible for me. Maybe some big FBI SEC investigation could do something, but I wouldn’t depend on that. No way.”
“So what did you do exactly?”
Olivia sat back in her chair, crossed her long legs, and then her arms. It wasn’t her intention, but crossing her arms emphasized the fullness of her breasts. Beck actually looked down to stop from being distracted.
“It really wasn’t all that much. A couple of days before Crane attacked me, I saw Milstein sitting at his desk, looking older, more worn out than I’d ever seen him. I guess I felt sorry for him. That’s a stupid mistake, I know, but I walked in and asked him how things were going.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said, there’d been better days. I asked him if I could do anything. He said no. And then, I just said, ‘You know, there’s not a lot that’s wrong with this place. Most people are doing the right thing. Maybe you should do something about the ones keeping you up at night.’”
“Meaning Crane.”
“Yes.”
“And he knew who you meant?”
“Of course.”
“And what did he say?”
“He just said, ‘I wish it was that easy.’”
“Meaning?”
Olivia shrugged. “Meaning he needs the profits Crane is generating, even though it causes him a lot of worry.”
Beck thought about it for a moment. It didn’t seem like much, but if Crane was unstable, maybe the threat of having his operation shut down would have been enough to push him over the edge.
“But why would Milstein tell Crane what you said?”
“I’m not sure he did. He might have said something to one of the other partners. I don’t even know if it was that. Look, it’s my job to assess risk, monitor positions. I haven’t been totally quiet about Crane, but it’s not like I got up on a table and yelled, This has got to stop.”
“But you think it was you going to Milstein that set him off?”
“Yes. “
“Anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Anything else that might have set him off?”
“Of course. Guys like Crane are way off the risk charts. They’re under huge pressure. Things can blow up any minute. Maybe a big position went south. Who knows?”
“How much money is this guy playing with?”
“I don’t know his exact positions, but I’d say well over a hundred million. That’s not the leveraged money. That’s the principal.”
“How much is well over a hundred?”
“Call it a hundred fifty.”
“And how much of that goes in his pocket?”
“Not just his, all the partners.”
“How much?”
“It’s the usual setup. Two and twenty.”
“What’s that?”
“Two percent management fee. Twenty percent of the profits.”
Beck calculated two percent of 150 million, frowning at how big the number was.
“Yeah,” said Olivia, “three million in management fees, minus expenses. And if there are profits, then the numbers go up very fast.”
“How much is fast?”
“Crane is swinging for the fences, so thirty percent easy. Fifty would be more like it. Twenty percent of seventy-five million? Say fifteen million or so. For as many years as they can run it. Fifteen million in pure profit, since the fees are more than enough to cover expenses.”
“Spread around to how many?”
“Not many. That much money goes a long way in a firm the size of Summit.”
Beck thought about what people would do with that much money at stake. Breaking a couple of fingers by accident and screaming threats didn’t seem so hard to believe now.
“So after the blowup, what happened?”
“He sort of used up all his anger and then walked out of my cubicle.”
“Did he say anything about your hand?”
“No. It was like he couldn’t have cared less. I doubt he even realized he broke two of my fingers.”
“So then what did you do?”
“I put on my coat, picked up my purse, got to an elevator as fast as I could. Went downstairs to the guy at the main security desk, but it was after normal work hours and there was just this young guy there. I didn’t bother with him. What was he going to do? My hand hurt so much I felt like I was going to pass out. I went out, hailed a cab, and went to the hospital.”
“Didn’t shut down your computer, turn out the lights…?”
“No. Just got the hell out of there.”
“And then what?”
“The closest emergency room is Lenox Hill. I got lucky. There was a hand surgeon available. He set my fingers. Told me I might get away with no surgery. I went back a week later, and he said everything was good.”
“Did you tell them what happened?”
“Yes. I told the triage nurse. She said she’d report it. Told me to just worry about my hand. I don’t know what she did or when, but by the time everything was done, the police hadn’t shown up. There was no way I was going to sit around waiting for them. So I left. The next day, I called the precinct. I went in and filed a complaint.
“Of course, Crane denied everything. Filed a counter complaint and is suing me for false whatever, and I got fired. I talked to an assistant DA. Basically, he said I had no witness, so no case.”
Olivia looked down at her lap, perhaps to hide her expression.
She looked up. “I never set foot in that office again. Barred. I’m not sure if I’m actually fired or suspended until all the legal stuff is resolved, but I don’t have the money to fight it. And Crane put out the word that I should be banned from working at any other firm. Filed complaints with FINRA and the SEC. I tried everything, believe me. I tried multiple times to get a hold of Milstein.”
“Did he ever contact you?”
“No.”
“So nobody helped you, you’re screwed, and Crane is still just fine.”