Saga of Wealth

Fortune

Saga of Wealth

Cassia Cassitas

Fortune

Saga of Wealth

1st Edition

Curitiba

2013

Original Title: Fortuna A Saga da Riqueza

Cover: Allacriativa

Published by Cassia Cassitas at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 by Cassia Cassitas

Copyright of translation © 2013 by Cassia Cassitas

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

http://www.cassiacassitas.com.br

ISBN: 9781310362675

B869 – Brazilian Literature

To my grandmother, Maria Ana,

for everything she represents.

When the music is playing and everyone is dancing, no one pays attention to the control of risk.

—Nouriel Roubini, March 2009

Table of Contents

A story that crossed the ocean

Coins of Modernity

Barbarism in two acts

The future of a leveraged past

Pictures of Prosperity

Assets and Liabilities

The Difficult Art of the Decision

Adjustments

Fluctuations of funds and of lives

Inheritance

A story that crossed the ocean

"To use one’s time, one’s intellect, and one’s own strength to achieve what one wanted was like finding a treasure."

1

At precisely 7:44 p.m., the car pulled out of the Iguatemi Mall and stopped in front of a modern building in Morumbi as rush hour traffic was beginning to taper off. The electronic door opened, and Carolina drove into her space on the ground floor of the garage and parked. She got out of the car and stared at her husband’s car.

What was it doing in the garage at this hour? Was he home already?

In the past few months, it was true, Ricardo’s routine had been erratic; however, he never returned home from the office before 10 p.m.

She carried her purse, some bags, and her notebook toward the hall, which was on the same floor. In the hall she pressed the elevator’s button and, while waiting, straightened her blouse and turned sideways to look at herself in the big mirror. She proudly rubbed her large belly, which was now six months into her pregnancy.

At that time of the day, the neoclassical crystal light was already on, enhancing the lovely appearance of the beautifully decorated hall. The doors slid open, and she entered the elevator. After tapping in the access code of her floor, she leaned against the wall of the elevator as it lifted her and admired the panoramic view of the city lights, which always dazzled her. Then the door opened and brought her back from her thoughts.

She entered the apartment and found Ricardo in the living room, sprawled on the couch and watching TV. How odd.

She deposited her purse on the sideboard near the door and set her bags on the floor. Hi, Love! she called. You’re home already?

He gave her a weak hello and kept his eyes glued to the screen. Leaning back on one side of the couch, he had loosened his tie, pulled off his shoes, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He’d placed one leg on the couch and the other on the floor. He was breathing heavily, as if agitated.

If you had told me you were getting here early, she said, I would have come right home.

He said nothing, and she wondered what was on TV that had so captured his attention.

A Globo News reporter was interviewing a group of people, who were talking about the impact of the American housing market on worldwide financial institutions. Some expressed the opinion that the inflationary bubble of real-estate prices in the United States was going to take them into a recession comparable to that of the 1930s, while others used data and statistics to argue that the expansionist economic model had been adopted decades ago, with success in the generation of jobs and the circulation of money.

Ricardo watched the program as if he were participating in the discussion. He shook his head and muttered to himself. She could barely overhear his words.

Depression isn’t a fact, gentlemen. It’s not an event frozen in history that you can encapsulate in a report. He sighed. Look around you. There are periods in which millions of people without the means to earn a living wage are drifting along, reduced to nothing in the society. All because they can’t find a job, and they know that the problem will continue. That is degrading. That is the reality we live in!

He argued with the economist and pointed his finger in the direction of the speakers. His watch lay on the table amid the disconnected cell phones. He always took off his watch when he was upset.

Carolina shook her head. It was just the usual economic bad news. As usual, Ricardo remained under the control of his own mental addiction to stress.

She took off her heels and coat and turned to lock the front door. She turned back to him. I stopped at...Did something happen, Ricardo?

He sighed again. I left to think. But no matter where I go, they’re talking about the mortgage problem, the impact, the blame. Every second we get new data about the number of loans, the depth of the investments, and the situation with the borrowers.

It’s true, she said. It’s all they’re talking about, isn’t it? She crossed the room and sat in the chair next to him. She leaned over to give him a kiss, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Without daring to touch him, she stayed like this, waiting for a chance to get closer. If only he would take the hint.

Ricardo, you look pale. Would you like a glass of water? I’m getting worried. Are you okay?

He threw up his hands. I can’t stand it anymore. Management’s putting on a cruel amount of pressure, and my head is about to explode. They talk and hold meetings, demand reports and more reports. What do they want—someone to write an apology? Am I supposed to take the blame myself for what is happening?

Ricardo stood up, pulled off his tie, and tossed it to the floor. He held his head in his hands as he paced from one side of the apartment to the other, continuing a whispered rant with himself.

She sought eye contact and used a comforting tone. What’s happened? Is there anything new? She tried to keep her emotions under control as she rose and picked up the tie. Then she faced his pale face.

He looked at her. The news is in all the papers, on television, on the Internet. I was always against those ‘modern methods of capitalization.’ Capitalization! My God, how can they refer to worthless bonds as capitalization? Either they’re all completely dissociative from the real world, or I’m going crazy. No one broke the law. All the details are in the contracts. Did they not read the contracts before authorizing the investment of their money?

Usually reading is enough. Normally, if they can’t understand what they read, they trust their financial advisor.

He shook his head and stared at the TV. Look at these guys! Listen to these arguments. Carolina, are you listening to these statements? Each step in this disaster is there: the low long-term interest rates, the appearance of financial innovation, continuous escalation of prices, the valuation of assets as a function of a supposed future value.

He paused to catch his breath, fixing bloodshot eyes on her. Look at how calmly they give this rationale, even though it contradicts any school of economics. Can we be certain this time is different? No, we can’t! They know it isn’t true, that the situation cannot sustain itself, and in a few days it will be exposed in all the papers.

She began to tremble inside. I’m very worried about you, Ricardo. This problem is beyond your control. It’s up to the government, the senate, and the international regulators. You need to calm down, or else you’ll be history before this is! She hesitated. Why are you rubbing your legs? Is that tingling back? Come. A bath will help you relax while I make us a light dinner.

He kept rubbing his legs. I need to think. I left work early to get some distance.

Then you came to the right place. A shower will refresh you, and afterwards we’ll talk. She smiled, stepped toward him, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

Ricardo shrugged and allowed Carolina to take him by the hand into the bedroom. As he began to undress without saying a word, Carolina went to the bathroom and started the water, setting the temperature at twenty degrees Celsius. Then, she took the liquid soap for special occasions and put it in the shower.

She hung his white towel by the box and returned to the bedroom. You may even borrow my special emulsion!

Sitting on the bed, he mechanically unbuttoned his shirt but didn’t seem to have the strength to take it off. His body shook as if he had a fever. In concern she pressed her hand to his forehead, but his temperature felt normal. She helped him take off his shirt, unclasped his belt, took off his socks, and helped him to his feet to let his pants drop.

Then she asked, Do you need anything else?

No. He trudged toward the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, she dropped her calm facade. She let the clothes she had gathered fall onto the bed and pressed a hand to her heart. How she hated to see him this way.

For a year she had watched him debate between his principles and the job requirements of the investment firm. The nightmare had entered their lives a few months ago, on the day he came home late, stupefied by the ideas he had heard in the long meeting about the modern practices of capitalization. Hours of meetings had led to hours of conversation at home.

His first response had been to study, to look for articles that contradicted the economic rationale the country had adopted in recent decades. This was a necessary foundation, he had told her, and if he was to argue with his superiors and demonstrate that the adopted measures would not bring the proposed results— a wasted effort month after month. Their reaction was predictable, but Ricardo couldn’t see it. And now he was reacting like this more and more often.

The sound of Ricardo dropping his soap awakened Carolina from her thoughts. She grabbed the clothes and ran to the kitchen.

***

Ricardo didn’t move. Surrounded by Italian marble walls and floor, he spent a long time under the warm, generous jets of hot water coming from his latest-generation shower. Relief came from the bluish light over his tormented head. If only the water could wash the numbers away.

But he’d always had a passion for numbers. The financial world had fascinated him since childhood, when he’d spent hours listening to his father, an astute man who had made a fortune working with numbers and data. Yes, calculations had shaped José’s perception of the world, teaching him that it was only a matter of time before progress filtered down into the daily lives of people and transformed what lay ahead. He had never abandoned the language of finance. Everyone in the world understood profit, dividend, and loss.

Ricardo shook his head and closed his eyes. That was how his father’s generation understood globalization. In the high-tech environment of large urban centers, news arrived more quickly. Later, they reached the smaller cities and influenced the most ancient of activities, beginning with the interests of the youth and finally arriving at the schools. And then, one day they are in the factories and in the fields, having an effect on the workers and on the farmers.

In his memory, Ricardo watched as José nodded to himself believing that everyone can prosper whatever the situation.

He believed in production stimulating commerce and commerce creating demand for more production—and on and on in a benign circle. That was his conception of how society became enriched, reducing the number of poor from one century to the next and making the rich even richer than before.

With this rationale, José had educated him to work in a world of inequalities, in which the unprivileged fought every day to overcome their position and to do so without forgetting their principles and concerns for society.

Ricardo wiped the water from his eyes. It was funny that in the midst of all the turbulence of his life over these recent months, only now did the memory of his father come to mind.

He turned off the shower and stayed there for a while, basking in the sumptuous silence of their suite for a long time. He remembered his father’s look, the glow that had always impressed him when José explained important things about money. This had been his father’s favorite subject.

Absorbed in his memory, Ricardo dried off, dressed himself, and headed with new energy toward the kitchen, where Carolina was busy at work.

I was thinking about my father, he said. I think the old guy would exult if he were still alive. Imagine! You remember how he liked to read about economics and the impossibility of anticipating the outcome? That little Italian was clever! I think he would be jumping up and down if he were here...

Ricardo closed the final sentence with a laugh.

***

Carolina felt like kneeling down in thanks for the miraculous improvement in Ricardo’s mood. Instead, she laughed with him, trying to keep the focus on her father-in-law and childhood events and memories.

Your father really was funny. She giggled. He would say that a tram of the rich had braked in order for the grandparents to get on. Everyone liked his stories. He always had an audience ready to listen.

Ricardo leaned against the counter. Back then, he would listen to all the news on the radio and read the São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro newspapers. From time to time, whenever something new happened, something special, he ordered a paper from Minas Gerais or Brasilia. He insisted on getting informed about all of the reports in order to formulate his own opinions.