Free Metronome, The by D. R. Bell Page A

overlooking the ocean. My in-laws are loaded from the chain of automotive dealerships that my mother-in-law inherited. My father-in-law parlayed the money into a long political career. He became a congressman in 1984, and over twenty years has built a network tied by mutual favors. “Uncle Roger” is their only son, with political aspirations of his own. “Aunt Toni" is Roger’s wife and the only person in this family I have a human connection with. No, that’s not fair. I had a deep connection with Karen. I am not sure if it’s completely broken or there is still a strand holding us together.
     
    I call Sarah next. She sounds genuinely happy to hear from me. I tell her a little bit about my last three days, and say I want to find out more about Martin.
    She sighs theatrically. “You are just using me to get the dirt on your ex-partner. Well, I am a willing participant, happy to oblige. You had a rough week, so give me your address and I’ll be over 8-ish with dinner and more.”
    As I hang up, I realize that I am really excited to see her.
     
    I search through the boxes I brought in and dumped in the corner of my small apartment when I moved here from Connecticut. I am looking for the original agreement establishing the Grand Castle Rock investment fund that Martin and I managed into the ground. The official name of the primary investor was the New Treasury Island ELP, based in the Caymans. I have to find who really was behind this. In looking through the Blackberry’s “Rolodex,” most people there would no longer take my calls now that I am tainted with a scent of failure.
    I come across Jack Mikulski’s name…the risk manager at the investment bank where I worked before getting involved with Martin. The old curmudgeon has been pushed aside into a position where no one would listen to him, because he kept warning of the risks of leverage, accumulating collaterized debt obligations, and other strategies that were generating enormous profits – and bonuses. He has not been pushed out completely because he knew where too many bodies have been buried, just made irrelevant. “The old Cassandra” became his nickname. Well, Jack was one of very few that called me after the Grand Castle Rock investment fund collapsed. I always liked him and I think he liked me back.
     
    I dial Jack’s cell phone number.
    “Hello?”
    “Jack? This is Pavel Rostin.”
    “Pavel? How are you? I am sorry about your fund; you got a pretty raw deal there.”
    “Thanks, you told me earlier. Jack, look, I want to find out more about the main investor into our fund, the one that caused the liquidation.”
    “Hmmm, where are they based?”
    “The Caymans.”
    “Oh, that’s a tough one.”
    “That’s why I am calling you.”
    He cackles. “Flattery will get you everywhere. How about lunch next week?”
    “I may need to fly out to California. Can we meet tomorrow?”
    “You are a pushy SOB; you need something and you want it on a Sunday! I’ve got a life, you know?”
    The line is quiet, Jack must be thinking. Finally, he sighs:
    “All right, you have helped me in the past with these crazy formulas that you quants were making up. I owe you one. I have someone in mind to help; let me check and I’ll call you back tomorrow morning.”
    I give him my number and hang up, grateful for not being told to go and pound sand or worse.
     
    The intercom rings; Sarah is downstairs. Funny how we ended up in the same Murray Hill neighborhood. It’s relatively inexpensive for Manhattan and conveniently located. A great place to hide amongst millions of people. She energetically sweeps into the apartment, declaring, “Chinese food, a bottle of wine, and a pretty girl!”
    Despite surface cheerfulness, I detect a note of anxiety in her voice. I am anxious, too; I am excited to see Sarah and am not sure what it means.
    While I was gone, Sarah changed her hairstyle: her dark hair is now cut short, framing her oval face and diamond-shaped