Free Rigged by Ben Mezrich

obviously smoke-friendly. But this guy seemed somehow above the rules. And it wasn’t just the cigar that gave David that feeling—it was the way the younger traders milled about him, not just the guys in the zebra jackets that matched the old man’s but the other traders as well. As an Italian, David had been trained to recognize the signs of that sort of respect from a very young age.
    Reston noticed where David was looking and leaned forward over the table between them.
    “You’ve got a good eye, kid. His name is Dominick Gallo. He’s the biggest trader on the floor—hell, maybe the biggest in the history of the Merc. He’s been here even longer than Giovanni—fuck, he was born on that trading floor. Worth about three hundred million, maybe even more. We call him ‘the Don.’”
    David raised his eyebrows. That was just too much.
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Not to his face. But, yeah, among the board. I told you, this place is a family business, and Gallo’s family has been in this since the beginning. He’s got immense power over the traders, especially the older guys, the ones who came up with him. He’s like a god on the trading floor. And he’s a real mean bastard. He comes to all the board meetings, just because he can. And that often turns the board meetings into pitched battles, sometimes all-out wars. See, technically, the traders own the Merc, even though we on the board run it. So if the Don doesn’t agree with something, we often have to cater to him.”
    David realized with a start that Gallo was now looking right at him and Reston. The cigar jerked up and down in the man’s chalky lips as those eyes gave David the once-over.
    “His power base extends way beyond this place,” Reston said, waving past David at the older trader. “He’s used his money to buy up journalists, politicians—whoever he needs. And the amount of money he moves through this exchange puts the banks and even Big Oil under his skirt. So we don’t fuck with him, and he doesn’t fuck with us. Usually.”
    David watched as Gallo took the cigar out of his mouth and suddenly pointed it right at him.
    Reston kicked him under the table.
    “I think the Don wants you to come over and kiss his hand.”
    David looked at Reston, who shrugged. David wondered once again what the hell kind of world he had gotten himself into. A place like Merrill Lynch had been easy to figure out:there were bosses, and bosses’ bosses—a clear hierarchy. Here it seemed more like warlords and barbarians, all crashing into one another. Still, it was exciting to think about how much money was being made downstairs and what was at the core of all this insanity—oil.
    “I’m kidding about the hand,” Reston said as David rose from the table. “Just go over and introduce yourself. And try not to say anything that pisses him off.”
    David nodded, though he knew that sometimes he had a knack for that sort of thing. He pushed his way through the crowded lounge, heading straight for the zebra jackets.
    The young men parted as he arrived, making room for him across the table from Gallo. There wasn’t a chair, so David stood, assuming that was the protocol. Gallo never changed position, his feet still up on the table, the cigar back in his mouth, his hands clasped behind his head.
    “So you’re Giovanni’s new kid,” he grunted, more a mumble than anything else.
    David held out his hand.
    “David Russo. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m just learning the ropes around here, but any advice you have for me would be greatly appreciated.”
    Gallo looked at David’s outstretched hand like it was a hunk of rotten fish, making no move to reciprocate. David heard snickers behind him from the younger traders watching like a gang of fucking hyenas.
    “Every year Giovanni brings in an Ivy League piece of shit kid like you,” Gallo said, never removing the cigar from the corner of his mouth. “Coming up with all sorts of Ivy League ideas about