The Kracht of the Rising Sun

CHAPTER 1

Monday 2nd week of April 1989

Geneva, Switzerland, 13h00

5 weeks before General Election date in Japan: N-5 weeks

Victor slowly awoke to the distant sound of voices, the cobweb of his deep sleep slowly fading away along with the dreams of a beautiful brunette. Victor opened one eye and gazed at his clock: 13h03. Time to get up and start a new day. Victor is perplexed though. Vania had not come to wake him up and greet him in his usual manner: jumping all over him and scratching him in order to obligate Victor to pet him as he does daily! A black and white spotted half breed—a mix between a Labrador and a German short hair pointer, that kids often mistook for a Dalmatian, systematically followed the same routine every morning: sleeps with one eye on Victor’s side of the bed and patiently waits for him to move, not so much wake up, just move. At the mere hint of movement, with its 50 kg, it will jump on Victor’s bed and gaze at him its eyes conveying the message that it was time to wake up. Once Victor was on his feet, Vania will literally attack him, corner him and not budge until it had a thorough three to five minutes back, throat and belly petting. During all of this time, except when it offered its back for petting, its gorgeous light brown human like eyes would remain focused on Victor and one eye will intermittently blink and convey its daily message: I do not care where you are going, just do not forget to bring me along—please! PS. Take the sports car. It is more fun when I let you drive my car and accelerate!

Emerging out of his bed and in search of his faithful companion and brother in arms, Victor ambled to the other part of his house very much surprised as to how he could hear voices coming from what sounded like the kitchen. It was after all literally miles away. On his way out of the room he saw that the volume on his interphone system was turned to low and that was the reason of the faint voices he could hear. He was at a loss as to who would have raised the volume remembering full well having muted it the night before. Instead of turning it up and listening some more to know what was happening, he decided to go in search of his friend. The walk from the master bedroom to the kitchen took forever.

Vanistan was a 1750 beautifully restored and decorated Mansion that was built by a rich landowner of that time to mimic Baronial Castles of that era. This was the second acquisition Victor made after starting his bank the first being his offices. Located on the outskirts of Geneva close to the French border with the Ain Department, it was also conveniently located near the A1 highway leading to Lausanne, Zurich, etc. Expensive looking furniture, paintings and statues adorned the walls and alcoves along the long corridor reminiscent of the ‘Galleries des Glaces’ of Versailles. A parquet floor lines with marbles on both sides created a seamless Museum like look. Silky brocaded window treatments was mixed with full-length mirrors and wood paneled walls complemented by blue and gold Persian runners. The ceiling was five meters high with intricate crown moldings, made to order Venetian crystal chandeliers and mirrors. It created an impression of vastness and grandeur. It was not like that when Victor bought it. He had everything redone and spent a huge amount of money on restoration and modifications to his liking and not as a traditional renovation. He hated anything old and had everything redone while with a grandiose splendor, still with all of today’s amenities.

First was his office and personal salon dubbed ‘Salon du Dauphin’ for its resemblance to the original one at Versailles. His home office desk a solid large mahogany antique with gold leafs at its four corners and on its legs replaced the bed of the Dauphin as in the original room at Versailles. Then came a series of living rooms each roughly with an area of fifty square meters. On the left side of his quarters was another corridor that led to the indoor swimming pool and the stables.

The first one had a Maharaja like decoration and furnishings. Intricate hand carved wood furniture, priceless silk carpets, and colorful Benares silk saris covered the walls and hung from the ceiling. Some blue and gold brocade thrown in there offset the mixture of earthen colors, terracotta and yellow. The second was themed after Venice with a Renaissance styling. The third salon had a Moroccan feel to it with its extensive use of white colored surfaces with intricate hand made plaster moldings. The fourth had an Empire flavor reminiscent of a bygone Napoleonic era.

Four equally themed dining rooms followed. The first was an all-marble affair with burgundy colored day beds duplicating as seats set around a marble table. The aim was to create a Roman style dining room. The second one was set in a British Edwardian era whereas the third one was more a Louis the Fourteenth affair.

Passing in front of the smoking room, a small oak room with a bar, leather chairs, chimney and two huge air extractors he thought to himself that he should ban smoking all together in his house. He was allergic to cigarette smoke. Funnily enough he had no qualms about either cigar or pipe smokes. Looking out of one of the many arched windows he could see the East Stables amid a copse of trees. The East stables housed all his cars—thirty of them whereas the West ones housed his horses.

Nightlights illuminating the gardens were still on. The white stone statues of various life-size Greek and Roman figures that encircled the stone esplanade off the stairs of the main entrance were all lit up.

‘True everything is solar powered, but still, what a waste!’ grumbled Victor as he continued his walk to the other wing of the property oblivious to the spectacular scene facing his house. Manicured lawns with fountains, gazebos, two rose hedges one on each side of the long winding driveway interspersed with tall oak trees, the Jura mountain chain on one side, Lake Geneva with The Mont Blanc in the background on the other side. The driveway ended some eleven hundred meters away with the main entrance gates flanked by Victor’s employees’ residences.

He stopped in front of the newly finished dining room dubbed as the Renaissance Dining room. It was an octagonal room with its ochre color walls and light colored parquet floor with marquetry table seating twenty. The massive table was flanked by padded leather chairs with another custom made Italian crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, five meters above ground amid a series of intricate crown moldings. The working fireplace that was placed in the middle of the French doors lined wall, had a mantel made of bluish marble with inlaid gold leaves at its corners. The space above the mantel was still empty, as Victor’s family crest was not finished yet. The French doors opened on a walk around terrace with a man made lake and river in the background amid various trees and completely at the back a high stonewall some one-kilometer away that encircled the entire property. The long corridor turned right towards the kitchen and guest suites. But, unlike the front corridor, here it cut the wing in two. On one side were the kitchen followed by the pantry, informal dining room and family room while opposite were the library and the home theatre rooms. At the end of that block of rooms were eighteen guest suites nine on each side of the corridor. Each had its own independent exit on the grounds. The ones on the left had a view on the land with France and the Jura in the backdrop whereas the ones on the right could see the English Garden with the Mont Blanc and its eternal snowcap top sticking out of the horizon like a sore thumb. Each suite was comprised of a main room, a walk in closet and a living room, the entire area being the size of many two to three bedroom European apartment.

Finally, Victor reached the kitchen area. A girl, Victor had known her for less than two weeks, his butler’s wife who was also his housemaid and his cook were all having a heated argument with Vania as referee. Vania sensing Victor’s presence turned and ran to him while the others oblivious to his arrival continued their passionate argument. Listening quietly while petting Vania, Victor finally understood the reason of the commotion. The entire argument was about letting the bimbo prepare his coffee and breakfast and bring it to him in bed! The cook and the maid knew better: no food in the sleeping areas and the coffee and breakfast had to be done in a certain way. Already suffering a mild headache because of all the morning’s noise, for Victor it was still morning, he walked in and said:

For God’s sake, let her do it. I want some peace and quiet in here!

The room fell silent and the bimbo with a smirk the size of Manhattan on her face turned her back on the hired help and went to Victor and kissed him on his lips. Victor immediately withdrew, as he was very uncomfortable to display any kind of romantic emotions in front of anybody and said:

Get on with it already! I am in a hurry today! And, silencio por favor! I already have a headache!

Even if the words rang like a slap to her face Miss Bimbo kept her calm and quietly said:

Buenos Dias mi Amor. Please take a seat. It won’t be long!

Buenos Dias to you too. Victor replied taking his favorite seat opposite a TV set in the informal dining room, which was also his breakfast room. The TV was set to an American twenty-four hours news channel that just started broadcasting and that took Europe by surprise by its new format. He looked absently at the cute presenter while trying to remember what, if anything, did he promise the girl that emboldened her so much that she would act as the new mistress of the house! His coffee was finally brought to him and put on the table. Thinking that maybe after his coffee he will be able to remember what was Miss Bimbo up to, he stood up, took his cup in his hand and walked out to the terrace that overlooked the landscaped gardens and lawns of the ten hectares of forest and land that shielded the 18th Century Mansion from prying eyes of nosy tourists and locals alike.

As soon as he sipped the first mouthful of coffee he immediately spat it out on the ground! Yuck! he said as he stormed back in the kitchen. Miss Bimbo who was coming out was taken aback with the fury on Victor’s face.

Mi Amor, que passa? She said crooning.

Que passa? I’ll give you some que passa! Even coffee you don’t know how to make! he roared in front of his help who already knew the outcome and had already prepared fresh strong coffee for him.

Huh! What? What is that supposed to mean? As I recall you were not complaining last night or any of the other nights for that matter! I get your point jerk! I am out of here! Have a sorry, miserable life maggot! she answered and stormed out of the room. She was quickly escorted by Alfred the Butler accompanied by Farid, Victor’s driver who was also his friend, out of the property with Farid being nice enough to drive her to town!

PREAMBLE

Victor Peters was born some twenty years from the time of our present account. He was 1m 70, 75 kg, thick barrel chested, dark hair and fair complexion. Born in Bavaria, he was educated in the best German, French and Swiss schools, Victor at the early age of 22 started his business or should I say: his business was forced unto him by educational events and requirements. In the need of thirty thousand dollars in order to pay for his annual tuition fees at Harvard, Victor tried to find ways to earn money while finishing his studies in one of the most prestigious French universities, Paris Dauphine, located in the 16th arrondissement of Paris at the Place du Marechal de Lattre et de Tassigny bordering the Bois de Boulogne and the Neuilly Sur Seine.

He turned his attention to business as he quickly surmised, never in two life times of flipping burgers at the local McDonald’s will he ever be able to raise enough monies to cover his tuition fees. Unknown to him was the fact that he was approved for a full scholarship—fact that a simple phone call could have clarified.

But as fate would have it, not calling Harvard for fear of the cost of the phone call—after all the French France Telecom was horrendously expensive at that time for calls to luxury destinations—America and Japan, changed the destiny of an insular Nation and many of its representations whether private individual or huge conglomerates. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet.

After quitting his job at the Champs Elysées McDonald’s, job that he held for two hours, when the stark realization came to him of his futile attempt, Victor walked the entire Champs Elysées Avenue to the Arc de Triomphe and continued to walk until he reached the Porte Maillot to catch his bus to go home. Once he was seated in the Petite Ceinture PC bus line he came over a discarded Tribune Financial Newspaper—France’s reply to The Wall Street Journal—it’s reader after checking the news just left it on the seat and walked away. Not in a particular hurry to go home yet to his parent’s place, Victor took the paper and started going through it. This is how he discovered that the British pound sterling was paying fifteen percent for a one year CD. He also found out that paper-discounting rate was three percent in Swiss Francs. He spent all night thinking about what he read and just before the outbreak of dawn, he finally fell asleep a plan thoroughly formulated in his head.

The very next day, armed with his best smile and wearing his best and only suit, he went to Rungis at the local branch of the Société Génerale Banque, one of France’s biggest bank. He met with a vice president of the International Trade Department whom he encountered at a cocktail party at the Hungarian Embassy some months ago. Victor was invited to the cocktail party by one of his school friends who was the son of the Hungarian Ambassador to France.

Rungis is located near the Orly airport. All foodstuffs from legumes, to fruits, and livestock transported daily through the big markets of Rungis where part of it will be loaded and sent to their destinations across France and the rest will be wholesaled. Banks located at Rungis clear tens of millions of French Francs, Dollars, Swiss Francs, Pounds Sterling, and German Marks every day.

René D’Argent, Victor’s contact, a middle age French banker, aptly named, (argent means money in French) was quite amused by Victors request of an exchange risks cover between the Pound Sterling and Swiss Francs. He was even hilarious when Victor told him that the amount of the CD to be wrapped was of only two thousand dollars René D’Argent was so amused that he told Victor:

Know what, in order to consolidate our relationship and with regards to our future dealings, buy me a cup of coffee at the Fouquet’s on the Champs Elysées! This will be the cost for your wrap.

The Fouquet’s at the corner of the Champs Elysées and the Avenue Georges V was one of the most reputable Institutions that have catered for the rich and famous for well over a Century now. It’s outrageous prices, its most selective menus and food quality and freshness all added to its fame and exclusiveness.

Victor went home to his parents place very happy and immediately prepared to travel to London by overnight coach. He rode the tube to Place Stalingrad where coaches left everyday for various destinations such as London, Antwerp, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Madrid and Lisbon. After paying for his ticket he boarded the cigarette smoke filled sixty-person coach and settled in one of the back seats making sure to grab a window seat. Not particularly to see outside, but more to have a place to lean in if he ever managed to catch some sleep. The bus started snaking its huge mass around the streets of Paris and soon it reached the outskirts of the town and used regular roads instead of the highway to make its way to the port city of Le Havre after going through Amiens and Beauvais among other sleepy towns. Finally around midnight the bus reached its first intermediate destination. Going through customs and immigration, the bus boarded the P & O Ferry for the crossing of the bumpy channel. Victor who would have liked to sleep was obligated to leave his sleeping quarters and go to the upper decks of the ferry—a world of duty free items assaulted his senses accompanied by tantalizing odors of fried fish and chips, slightly burnt toast, steak and kidney pies and typical English fare. Of course these odors would be tantalizing if you were either really hungry—like if you had not eaten in days or if you did not know better. After a ninety minutes journey the ferry docked at the Port of Dover with its famous white cliffs visible even in the gloomy, slightly foggy weather. Again the passengers, a motley collection of students from around Europe and the US with some older retired people, were forced to go through customs and immigration, this time British. After yet another delay, the bus chugged alongside the steep road climbing the cliffs of Dover. Another two hours ride on the wrong side of the road saw Victor dumped at Victoria coach station, just a block from Victoria railway station. It was 5h30 French time, meaning 4h30 British time.

Now Victor waited for the good people of London to wake up and for a normal day life to resume. Victor waited with all the bums and other night creatures that populated a cold, damp and deserted railway station in the wee hours of the early morning. After some close calls with local characters trying to bum a few quid or cigarettes or both, clutching his money to his breast pocket, Victor counted the minutes until the local McDonald’s restaurant would open. Finally the big clock’s left arm reached 7 a.m. Victor rushed out of the station and walked towards Westminster Abbey with Big Ben not far away. He finally reached his destination and was hence able to freshen up, eat a breakfast and wait in a heated place until the nearby Barclay’s bank’s branch opened.

Just before 09h00 Victor brushed his teeth, splash some Armani cologne on his chest, put on a white shirt, a blue Hermes silk tie, a gift from his mother Mrs. Peters, that was already knotted by Mr. Peters his father, Victor was unable to tie a knot, he stepped out of the restaurant looking a much different person. He rehearsed his pitch a final time while walking to the bank.

Finally the big event: it was time to initiate his plan. A Mr. James Burton was the branch manager. As it was still early, Mr. Burton decided to pass time in this decidedly slow day and meet with the nice young man who was seated in the waiting room, himself instead of the bank’s lesser employees. He was the big boss and as such had to lead the way and show how it was done. Victor, for his first important meeting business meeting that is, was neither afraid nor tense. When he reflected back on that first meeting years later, he was surprised how care free and at ease, he was! It was as if he had always been doing that. It was the starting point of his career and the culmination of his idea. On the contrary, it was disconcertingly easy!

Good morning. I understand that you are here to open an account with us?

Good morning Sir. My name is Victor Peters. I would like to open an account with your esteemed institution. I would like to deposit some money and invest it for one year.

‘That’s usually what we do—moron!’ muttered Burton under his breath while keeping a straight face and looking Victor straight in the eyes. Victor, looking directly in Burton’s eyes, could just make up his amused cum disdainful look. Without losing his composure and keeping his calm said:

I would like you to write a Certificate of deposit maturing in one year’s time in British Pounds for me. I understand that you are paying fifteen percent per year right now?

Yes, I am afraid we are! What kind of money are we talking about here? Burton’s sadness resulted from the fact that England in order to borrow money for everyday business had to offer astronomical rates in order to attract investors because of the current financial maelstrom that hit the island’s insular economy more than ever in danger of being ostracized because of the erratic behavior of its Prime Minister who was, to paraphrase a term of that time, losing it!

Two Thousand Dollars in Pounds! Victor said gravely. It was, after all, his entire fortune! Burton tried to remain stoic and be all cool and professional about the entire matter, but he failed miserably and could not suppress a smile! Mind you, it was not like if Two Thousand Dollars was a joking matter. It represented, in France as well as in England, four to five months of minimum wage. It was what Burton made per month! His smile was more because he could have left one of his minnows to take care of Victor and do something else in the meantime, like grabbing Ms. Julie, his new secretary, and trying to convince her to go have a drink with him after work. His wife was at her mother’s place in Aberdeen and he had a free evening and nobody to share it with. Victor was somewhat annoyed at Burton’s smile, but did as if Burton never smiled and carried on:

I will come back every week and deposit the same amount with you as long as I get the same type of return.

It was Burton’s turn to be surprised as this could represent a Hundred Thousand Dollars invested after one year. Suddenly it was no laughing matter anymore.

Hmm, if I may ask, where will you get that type of money? What do your parents do for a living?

My father is a chartered accountant and my mother runs a German bank’s hedge funds in Paris.

Ah! Oh, ok. Which bank might that be?

Deutsche Sparkasse

It suddenly dawned on Burton that may be Mrs. Mathilda Peters was doing some trading on the side on the British Pounds or something. Trading that she could not do for herself at her job. But, then, why on Earth invest for one year? Why not just buy British Pounds and then convert it to other currencies and make a profit? Though he was confused, he decided to go along and said:

Well then that is what we shall do! Please come back this afternoon and I will give you the certificate of deposit.

Thanks. Will 14h00 be ok? asked a beaming Victor.

By all means. 14h00 it will be then!

It did ruin Victor’s plans to go to the movies at Leicester Square, but, it was his career or rather what he hoped was going to be his career and besides, it was not like if he had other pressing matters to attend to! And thus, started his business!

After, finally, a full day sightseeing in London and another night on the bus with his certificate of deposit safely tucked away in his breast pocket, Victor was back in Rungis to collect another piece of paper guaranteeing any shortfalls between the Swiss Francs and the Pound Sterling as may or may not be the case in twelve months time. The trip to Rungis was much shorter thanks to the RER C train line. René d’Argent met with a disheveled and worn for wear Victor Peters at his office.

Eh Victor, comment vas tu?

I am great thanks. I have the document from Barclay’s Bank, London.

A beaming Victor said.

So, you did it then. Well let’s see it. You do understand that I will call them to verify that they will indeed pay fifteen percent in one year’s time?

In reality, it was a security check that René was going to do. There were so many fraudulent documents you never knew when one was presented to you. There was no time for idle chitchat as Victor had to catch the 11h00 TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse—French High Speed train) to Geneva. Once the verification made and the second piece of paper in his possession, Victor hastily made his was back to Paris and to the Gare de Lyon railway station, the train hub to Geneva.

Settled in a not very comfortable second-class seat, Victor dozed and did not enjoy the exhilarating ride to Geneva at speeds exceeding Two Hundred and Sixty kilometers per hour. Certainly, he did not see the rushing green pastures and wheat fields, the snow capped mountains and the other sights that littered the journey. He was tired after his trip to London.

At 14h30, the train entered the Cornavin railway station. He was finally in Geneva! He rushed out of the train, queued impatiently to go through Customs and Immigration both French and Swiss, did not even know how lucky he was at not having to explain to the French Customs what he was doing bringing paper money to Geneva and was out of the station by 15h00. He stood out there and took in the sights wondering where to go from there. He knew what to do. It was only a question of knowing where to go!

There were many banks facing the railway station. The big buildings that housed on one side the UBS Bank and on the other the SBS Bank were so intimidating that he decided to find another one. They, did not intimidate him just, based on the image they were projecting, he thought his business of not being important enough for such mammoths.

He walked through the underground passage full of shops and eateries and emerged at the Place du Mont Blanc just opposite the railway station. He could see the majestic Mont Blanc in the backdrop. He did not have time to contemplate the splendor in front of him. Instead, he backtracked and walked to a local branch of Credit Geneva Bank. Once inside, he made his way to the receptionist and asked to open an investment account. As fate will have it, Mr. Jean Gaminian, the branch manager was hovering around when Victor walked in. He decided to take care of Victor himself as the rest of his staff looked to be busy finishing their day’s job. The bank was soon to close its doors to the public.

Mr. Gaminian was two years short of retirement and was quite surprised when Victor told him what he wanted to do.

Now, let me get this straight. You want me to open you an account, deposit the certificate of deposit of Barclay’s bank on it along with the exchange risk guarantee.

Yes Sir.

And you want me to lend you money against that. Is that right?

Yes Sir.

Gaminian paused and thought for one full minute before saying:

How much are we talking about here?

Two Thousand Pounds.

Let me see the paperwork.

Victor handed him the two pieces of paper. He took them and walked out of the small conference room where he seated Victor. He went back to his office and called Burton and D’Argent. After confirming the authenticity of the two letters, he also found out from them about Victor’s wish to repeat the same process every week. He came back inside with a set of documents in his hand.

It is your lucky day. I just spoke with Mr. Burton and Mr. D’Argent. So, you want to repeat this process weekly then?

Yes Sir. Replied a surprised Victor.

What the heck, let’s do it! Good signatures everywhere, indeed, why not!

Victor had just created his first security and profited twelve percent—Two Hundred and Forty Dollars—half France’s monthly minimum wage!

One month later, Eighty Four percent profit richer and ten years older because of his constant travels back and forth from Geneva to Paris to London and back, Victor was on one of his runs to Geneva when he fainted at Gaminian’s office. He was exhausted! Too exhausted to continue. Lack of sleep, bad food and pressure got to him. Jean Gaminian witnessing Victor’s slow death, decided to help him and gift him the power of leverages! Victor’s $3680 became $40,000. With the 1st profits, Victor was able to pay for air tickets and netted 200% after the 1st leveraged month. This ushered him in the era of instant communication with telex and fax. With DHL, Victor was able to cease travelling all together. No more Geneva, Paris London for him. Established in Geneva, His creation and discounting of paper thriving, his leverages quickly reached the ten million dollars mark and that within his first six months. He had made as net profits over three hundred times the amount he needed to go to Harvard. Suffice it to say that his glorious quest for education, his American dream and the American attraction were all long gone!

CHAPTER 2

Jean Gaminian, an established Swiss private banker had many clients whom he had been servicing for over thirty years. He had always represented his bank with pride, dignity and dedication. Even when he knew that his bank was screwing his clients, he had stood with his bank, defended its management and done any and all things, if not more, that could be expected of an employee. But, his rewards never came.

Countless times he was passed over for promotions. His life long dream of one-day forming part of the upper level management never materialized—worst, he never even became branch manager. Not because of his shortcomings or because of his lack of dedication—but only because he was not Swiss born. The Gaminian family fled their native Armenia before being part of the genocide and came to France. Ten years later they moved to Switzerland. Jean Gaminian, ultra catholic but not Calvinist, not Swiss born and definitely not a member of one of the two hundred ruling families of Switzerland could thus never form part of the nomenclature. Having understood his limitations due to his birth and having comprehended that his bosses saw him more like a menace because of his intelligence, hard working rate and public relations capacities, Jean was dejected to say the least and had been waiting for somebody like Victor to show up for a long time!

It was the same Jean who after six months of continuously raising Victor’s credit line—leverages, invited Victor for a cup of coffee outside the bank. When going to a remote café to meet with any private banker it usually means that some decidedly neat proposal is coming your way. And Victor was not unhappy with the events that followed this meeting. Jean proposed him a non-secured credit line of twenty million Swiss francs. The interest rate was barely five percent. The money would be available to Victor for one month only. The catch was that the funds would be made available at one of Credit Geneva’s sister bank in Tel Aviv. The condition was that the funds could never leave the bank. Intrigued with the ‘for show’ money only, Victor said:

What do you want for that?

I want you to apply for a banking license from the Swiss Authorities. You will show the blocked funds letter and use it as your capital. As soon as the License is granted one of my contacts will open an account with you and deposit thirty million Swiss francs. You need to pay him a twenty percent return for six months. Surely you know how to do that and more? This will enable you to replace this contact’s deposit and put your own money with the Swiss Central Bank while showing one of the local ruling families that you know how to make money. This will go a long way to attract their friends, families and other contacts!

What is in it for you?

Nothing! Nothing for me!

I seem to recall an old gentleman telling me once that if something looks or sounds too good to be true, it is either certainly that or that there is a much bigger invisible catch.

Figure it out and call me when you are ready.

Victor’s mind ran Indy 500 in one Nano second and he replied:

I seem to recall that you have a little granddaughter. In this day and age education is costly. Look at me I could never find the money to go to Harvard. I am thinking ten percent of all funds and interests generated in favor of your clients will go a long way to help take care of these bills!

Meaning that in this specific case, the five year old will become a millionaire three times over with another six hundred thousand coming her way in six months time.

That’s my boy!

Lets do it. Can I have the accounts statement and funds confirmation letter before close of business today?

Here it is. I knew you would come along and do it.

Victor immediately sent a copy by DHL to Barclays Bank and did his transaction. But, the discounting of the certificate of the deposit was made by one of the local banks, one of Credit Geneva’s competitor. This was free extra money without even actually having the monies! Needless to say that this was one of the first coup of his life and certainly not the last, as you will soon find out. After thirty days, Victor made a profit of twenty seven million Swiss francs—almost twenty million dollars!

Summer came and went and Victor was now an established Swiss Banker with a new bank, owner of all shares and with a net worth of over one hundred and fifty Million dollars. This took into consideration both capital and assets. Everything accomplished within ten months of operations!

Life was good, thank you Harvard University! As were it not for this illustrious institution along with France Telecom, Victor would still be logging hour after hour of mind numbing greasy burger flipping. Who said that only in America one could succeed over night?

Victor acquired an Old Late Nineteenth Century Castle with a peculiar shape and History. The first owner built it with a mix of Moorish, Swiss, French and English architecture. The end result was revolutionary. Or, weird! On one side, really stunning and on the other ugly as no distinct established pattern could be determined. In fact this castle was like Victor—no clear knowledge of heritage, lineage and or belonging. But, Victor also knew that life; work life that is, was not just about creating paper.

CHAPTER 3

René D’Argent was hinting at him that soon the British would index their currency on the European Union Monetary Basket. The day this happened not only would the pound sterling no longer be allowed to offer fifteen percent returns, they will be blocked in a plus or minus three percent variation based on the Economic Monetary Serpent—a trend line indexing and managing all currencies of member states of the European Union, but also interest rates which will have to go down in order not to create a dishonest attraction of funds by offering higher returns on deposits. Victor knew that if this should happen, it will be the end of his lucrative business model and that it will be a long time before he could find such market anomaly along with a René D’Argent able to bury all of the exchange costs in the Rungis daily transactions.

As such, while performing his daily duties of increasing his capital ten fold as well as his clients’ money, Victor was on the look out for new ventures. Victor was also trying to find other banks or individuals who could reiterate the proof of funds shenanigan. It is in this quest that he met with Mitch Malvinsky.

CHAPTER 4

Manhattan, New York, USA

Mitch Malvinsky was a twenty-eight years old New York born, self-proclaimed International Financier/Businessman. In other words one who did not know exactly what it is that he did! Wheeling and dealing and trying to put his nose in all different types of businesses, from real estate to commodity trading, to investment advisor and loan broker, Mitch did it all. If only his profits were that broad, Mitch would have been a happy camper. But there it is, you have to specialize yourself in something first, start making money, consolidate your base and then expansion and finally diversification.

Mitch was under the impression that the sun revolved around him and that what ever he came up with as a plan will surely work. Or rather any plans he stole would be a better description of his intellectual capacities. Mitch had a prestigious Wall Street address where he held his office. Rent in that building sky rocket yearly and potential clients who came to visit him started by being greatly impressed, then fifteen minutes into the meeting started asking themselves what were they really doing in there and finally most of them, to the exception of Bankers and Brokers working in adjacent Brokerage Houses and banks, would leave vowing never to come back again.

The reason for Bankers and Brokers putting up with Mitch was Stefan. Stefan Malvinsky. Stefan in his mid fifties was a bonafide American success story. Born in Poland in 1932, Stefan’s parents were among the few who recognized early the threat that Herr Adolf would represent to the Jewish community. After the Kristallnacht events on the night of November 9th 1938 when a group of Nazis attacked Jews throughout Germany and parts of Austria and which left in its wake a trail of broken glass from the windows of Jewish owned stores, buildings and Synagogues, Stefan and his entire family fled to New York and freedom.

Stefan is a self made man. Running a huge Ponzi scheme à la Madoff, he was able to raise money and then just got lucky with Oil futures in the 70s. He consolidated his earnings with various real estate investments, one of which was the building where Mitch held his office. Stefan is the ultimate dealmaker. But in order to be that, he is first and foremost the worst conniving bastard and cheater that Wall Street had ever known since the roaring Twenties! No honor, only profits! Profits at all costs without regard to the Human side of things was his mantra. With a net worth well over One Billion Dollars personally, excluding his firm and with the latter being positioned just behind the Paine Webbers and other Merrill Lynches of this World, one would think that Stefan was a happy and accomplished man. That would be the biggest mistake of all!

Stefan made deals to make money. But money, for him, was merely a tool to achieve and exercise power! To be able to pick up his phone and call all the movers and shakers of this World on their private lines, to be able to influence policy making of small and big Nations alike; these were the reasons for Stefan’s dedication and commitment for the most wonderful game of all: manipulate and shape destiny to one’s liking through incredible deals and mind boggling profits!

Many finance professionals such as bankers and stockbrokers came to Mitch for only one thing: peddle their ideas to him and hope that he would be convinced and pass it on to Stefan. For the stockbrokers, the game was to share enough good tips in order to be hired by Stefan’s firm First Manhattan or to be given some funds to manage.

Mitch cultivated these contacts as he found out that given some money he could greatly benefit from them. They were after all sharing their best tips with him. Alas his lifestyle did not spare any change with constant wining and dining women in the trendiest restaurants and clubs in town, payments on his BMW M5, payment of his loft, he was constantly broke.

Victor started using Mitch in order to access his banking contacts. Mitch never told Victor about Stefan, wanting to play the rich and powerful New Yorker or rather the successful Wall Street trader.

The bankers thought that Stefan was monitoring the deals. But as it was merely a statement from them confirming funds on an account—statement issued against a temporary credit line, they did not know what was the real purpose. In the end as long as they kept making their monies, there were no problems. They made constant profits, month after month. But rumors started circulating that Stefan might have some financial problems as month after month, ‘he’ was paying for tens of millions of dollars of credit facilities. This had as effect to positively enrage Stefan when he heard the constant hum about his so called financial troubles!

In the meantime, Mitch was making at least one hundred thousand dollars every month and was ecstatic, as he had never made so much money. He even started thinking that with that type of money, he would be able to show his mettle to his uncle as well as his huge moneymaking capacities. He was certain that his uncle having no kids of his own albeit being married nine times and having countless liaisons with various young women around New York, was going to bequeath the Brokerage House to him when he retired, if he ever retired that is! Stefan on the other hand did not think that as far as for him he was indestructible—not even God could stop him… And besides his nephew was a moron.

CHAPTER 5

Paris, France

René D’Argent was married to a nice French woman who was working at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. That by itself was an extraordinary feat as his brother-in-law, Michel Dagobert, was one of the many French Soldiers who vigorously opposed General de Gaulle’s grant of independence to Algeria. They formed part of the feared French Legion and all of them were positively, certifiably insane.

They were convinced that the company of sheep was better than that of women! One must guess that staying in the harsh Algerian desert’s heat, month after month, year after year must have something to do with their choices of life! One might think that because of the desert part, camels would be more in line than sheep! But, there was an obvious height problem! Besides, camels’ hooves and teeth could be deadly… They were a breed apart that was not only exclusive and elitist but also xenophobe. Their motto used to be: 1) Kill all the Algerians, Arabs and other Arab looking persons in France, 2) Kill anybody—or rather ignore anybody who was not a legionnaire.

They were the ones who tried to kill the General de Gaulle by themselves and then by hiring the mythic Carlos the Jackal to help them succeed in their endeavor. Obviously to no avail. After some years of wandering in countless no man’s lands and having his share of legal problems, Michel changed his line of work and became very active in parallel markets.

Have you ever wondered what is it that a ‘business man’ does? In each line of sale and purchase of goods, you have what is called an informal and formal market. In the formal market, you will find all the registered and bonafide buyers and sellers, also in the formal market there are so called ‘brokers’ calling themselves: businessmen. Supply shortages have led since time immemorial to hording and price gaging. In certain cases, due to government restrictions and control, goods have been and are being offered outside official channels at various prices.

But keep in mind that some big names in search of monies because of temporary cash shortage, will not want their competitors to know about their situation. They will then offer goods at a greatly discounted price outside normal channels. This will be done through ‘trusted’ intermediaries and using various offshore companies in order to mask the identity of the original seller. It is in this instance that the term ‘At the right place and at the right time’ must have been coined. Imagine having such contacts and being proposed such products at such steeply discounted price!

But here is where truth and reality diverge. More often than not, the ‘privileged’ partner does not have direct contacts with potential buyers and, sometimes, are even forbidden such direct approach by the seller. In such cases, they have to start blasting through the world the sale specs and hope that a real buyer will come and acquire the goods. But at time, this takes forever and the same offer amputated of relevant information and usually at a greatly inflated price will tour the world and come back to the original seller without his credentials on the term sheet… The other problem is that usually the sale had already taken place while the term sheet is still on its World tour continuing to circulate with distorted information.

No product is immune from this parallel market. Many products are concerned from sugar to oil; from shares of public companies to gold bullions; from arms to currencies, all aspects of trade and commerce are touched.

Michel was very active in gold, currency and sugar ‘trading’. Victor met Michel when the latter came to Geneva in search of a ‘small’ bank to help him close a deal. For brokers around the world, the main problems that they face while trying to earn a living are: 1) existence of the merchandise in question and 2) protection of their commission, most of the time certainly not in that order.

Then obviously, if you are a French man, you have to indulge in the national pastime of tax evasion. What better destination than Geneva with its age-old secrecy rules of its banking industry?

The small town of Ferney Voltaire is located in the Ain (01) Department in France. It is nestled between the Jura mountain chain and the Swiss Border. It forms part of the metropolitan area of greater Geneva. Had Voltaire never come to Ferney in 1759, the town’s name would have been Fernex. But Voltaire from 1759 to 1778 had a decisive and profound influence on the then small village. Imagine that had not the Calvinists of Geneva been against the theatre, Voltaire would have never left Geneva and bought the estate of Ferney in France. People from Geneva came to Ferney to watch his plays, potteries and the watch making industry. All courtesy of Voltaire, the local patriarch.

Michel came to Ferney Voltaire—and crossed the border, as stealthily as possible, evading control from the French Customs and the Border patrol, into Switzerland and the town of Meyrin. He then made his way to Cologny at Victors bank in order to open an account and try to obtain Victors help to close his deal. Out of ten tries he was able to close one deal. He was so happy that he decided to become friends with Victor! Keeping in mind that Victor was very alone, he was happy to have a crazy guy to go to dinner with and be regaled by unbelievably great stories and other mishaps that marked Michel’s adventures in the desert. At least at dinner he was sure to spend a good evening where his only risk was to die of uproarious laughter.

The services required from Victor were to receive a commercial letter of credit from bank (A) at an inflated price. Victor’s bank will then do a back to back—issue another letter of credit based on the strength of bank (A). This new letter of credit will be at a lesser amount and sent to bank (B). Bank (A) is the end buyers bank and bank (B) is the sellers bank. Victor’s bank made sure that Michel’s commission was protected in between and usually received a fee for this type of services.

CHAPTER 6

Tokyo, Japan

Hito Takamate was sitting on his dark brown tatami lost in peaceful contemplation of his bonsais, fountain with its trickling water amid his rock garden in the early morning when the sun was still in deep slumber and struggling to emerge and grace the world with its presence.

Hito did his deepest thinking at that time, mainly with her Majesty Raslamoule Takamate still sleeping after a late night of hard sake drinking and possibly frolicking in one of the various bars that caters for the Gaijin’s night drinking, dancing and other entertainments. A Gaijin means a foreigner in Japanese and has, typically, a rather bad connotation to it.

Hito knew that he had to do something about his wife’s escapades, but was too fearful of losing face by not being able to go to the end of any action he might envisage or worst yet, that the decidedly macho Japanese society thought that he had to do.

His was a marriage of love and sacrifice. Hers was a marriage of convenience that enabled her to get out of the grasp of an ultra conservative, hyper traditionalist and over protective father. Theirs was a marriage-heading straight out to sea with a category five hurricane heading their way!

Raslamoule’s father while being from ancient times was quite rich given his number four position with the local mafia—the most feared Yakuza. With all of his fingers intact, one knew immediately that he had never faltered from the Yakuza’s leadership’s orders. A conservative whose rules as well as established ones could neither be forgotten nor bent, he brought work home and ran his household very much the same way. Moneyed and utterly spoilt while being greatly repressed, Raslamoule chose the first nice looking boy who came home for dinner. Through an elaborate play involving sex and blackmail she was able to coerce Hito into marriage threatening him with exposure because of an alleged pregnancy. She was out of the parental nest in less time that it took to say sake!

Hito’s dilemma was simple: divorce his wife—the civilized way, kill her for the loss of face that she caused him or kill himself for his inability to control his wife and for losing face!

As if that was not enough he was being harassed at work for information. Hito worked at the Ministry of Finance and was the head of the Foreign Currency Division. His job was to oversee that Japan does not run out of foreign currencies. Japan was barely emerging as a global powerhouse because of all of its expats around the World as well as the emergence of its various companies that offered cheap products as well as quality electronics. But being more or less a rock barren island in terms of natural resources, Japan needed plenty of foreign currencies in order to buy all of the natural resources, goods and energy she needed in order for all parts of the country to work properly, namely the manufacturing part. It did not matter that they had huge trade surpluses with almost any other country in the world, even oil selling countries!

There was a huge local currency control and even though its citizens were running amok around the World buying any and all Western luxuries and buildings they could lay their nouveau riche and greedy hands on, they were still limited in the amount of foreign money that they could have while traveling abroad. For special purchases of real estate, factories, technological know-how, competitors, companies and others, they had to request for special permits and only once granted by the government, were they able to accomplish their goals. Hito’s job was to ensure that sufficient foreign currencies were made available in a timely fashion.

The 80s were the time when the US was trying to balance its Import/Export budget—still is for that matter. Americans discovered Japanese high-end tech electronics and cars. They just could not resist the quality, durability and cheap prices! They kept on buying and buying. While the gap between imports and exports continued to widen negatively for the Americans, the orders kept piling on and on—Japan and its companies kept getting richer and richer. US carmakers started to suffer due to poor demand and huge supply. It was the second worst blow after the two 70s oil crises. Factories started to shut down and people started getting laid off. As a counter measure to this economic onslaught and with the end nowhere in sight, the US started imposing some kind of imports restrictions. This protectionism was not as blatant as the one imposed by the Japanese. In order to counter this move, Japanese companies started to invest in American factories trying to have part of their manufacturing done locally. This ensured that the goods were suddenly partly made in America and could no longer be either banned or otherwise sanctioned lest its disastrous effects on the American work force. But, this was not at all an easy process. With the cultural, work ethic and methods’ differences, the great divide between Oriental and Western Cultures never seemed so huge and so insurmountable. In order to try to bridge this abysmal gap Japanese companies started by identifying specific geographical locations that were hard hit by unemployment, plants closures and firing. They, then, started discreetly buying some of the factories, retooling them and then hiring people again. They became more or less heroes that enabled entire economic regions to thrive once more. They became the white knight!

Before being able to do anything though, the Japanese Company in question had to prepare a file and request the Japanese government to accept the currency exchange. With a firm date in hand, then and only then was the deal going to proceed. Hito’s department was the one that oversaw all these transactions.

Toshida Matoshito is the president of Mato Motors. Mato Motors hit it big when the US turned to small, economical cars instead of bulky gas-guzzlers from Detroit. His main competitor Mariko Motors led by his childhood nemesis Akinawa Mariko continuously challenged Toshida for the number one position on the local scene. The rivalry between both presidents started when they were very young. They used to play together as early as the sandbox! One of them—nobody remembers who, started bullying the other one—only to find an equal reaction that rivaled in bully scare tactics! Since then the war of the bullies began and extended to present days. Spying operations were mounted monthly if not weekly at certain times by both parties in order to steal the opponent’s technologies, to learn about the opponent’s finances and future development plans and targets. Elaborate plans were cooked up, deep cover moles planted and even at times, sabotage of research facilities and plants were not uncommon or unheard of! At stake was the numéro Uno position between the two and a top five position in this insular and too proud Nation! A company had to first succeed at the National level before being allowed to go abroad and expand. You had to first prove who you were. Then, consolidate your base and only then expand! This elitist way of doing business more or less ensured success abroad—success and the face it carried being the most important part for the Japanese—at times, even more important than the bottom line.

CHAPTER 7

The Imperial Palace, Tokyo, Japan

The Emperor just received news of a vote of no confidence in the actual government. His spies were everywhere and tried to keep him informed in real time about events at the National Diet—Japan’s National Assembly and legislative organ of the insular Constitutional Monarchy. Scratching his head and wondering whom the next Prime Minister was going to be, he lit his cigarette and sat by the vast window overlooking the inner courtyard of his Palace and its gardens. Was it going to be somebody easy to work with and who will have Japan’s best interests at heart or will he pass his party’s petty interests before the fatherland? Was he going to compromise with America or play hard? Was he going to be somebody who was going to negotiate the GATT (General Agreement on Tariffs and Trades) with the Empire’s best interest in mind without alienating the occupier—the enemy? After all American troops still operated on Japanese soil. Would he be somebody who will be liked or feared by the Americans? More importantly, whom were the Americans going to favor among the contenders in the now inevitable elections? Shortly thereafter a courier arrived and was ushered inside. He brought with him the confirmation of the Emperor’s information: the Government was out! Left with no alternative than the official dissolution of the Cabinet and the acceptation of the resignation of the outgoing Prime Minister and his staff, His Majesty the Emperor of Japan with one flick of his wrist signed the start of a five week period that forever changed the way business was conducted in Japan and irretrievably altered and in some cases, even annihilated the lives of Millions of Japanese.

CHAPTER 8

Tokyo, Japan

In the meantime, Hito arrived at his office and again, was confronted with the problems he had been pondering about for over a fortnight. Mato Motors had identified a plant about to be closed down in Detroit. The local US manufacturer was firing hundreds of employees and the fight with the Unions was about to paralyze other plants and deal a deadly blow to the ailing US Auto manufacturers. The sale for $200 million of the plant and all of its machinery along with a promise not to fire more than 10% of its work force was a deal made in Heaven for the locals, albeit the fact that it favored one of the US Auto Manufacturers’ main competitors and a Japanese one at that!

For a deal like that to take place, Mato Motors must apply with the Ministry of Finance in order to obtain Two Hundred Million Dollars in Dollars. They would lodge the Yen equivalent with the Central Bank and wait for the approval process. This could take up to three weeks and at times, even more. For people like Mariko and Matoshito, dissemination of information about the deposit of their files could very easily rime with ruin. Imagine Mariko knowing what Matoshito was doing? He would be able to make a counter offer to the selling party in order to disrupt the deal of his nemesis while releasing the information about Matoshito’s failure on the markets while shorting Mato Motors’ shares! A well-placed and royally paid mole would thus be invaluable.

Raslamoule Takamate was a Nippon Paris Hilton. Upkeep was high. Hito, after his morning deep thinking came to the unsavory conclusion that left a decidedly bitter taste in his mouth that he could neither kill nor divorce