Free The Twain Maxim by Clem Chambers Page A

play.”
    “It’s a cosmic joke, Jim – you, the richest man in the world with no job and no girlfriend.”
    “Oh,” said Jim, “you know about that.”
    “Yes,” said Davas.
    Jim was rather annoyed now. “Do you know everything?”
    “Pretty much,” said Davas.
    Jim minimised his trading software and looked at the picture of Jane. “OK, Max,” he said sadly, suddenly feeling extremely tired, “I’ve stopped. Hell, it was an amazing run.”
    “Yes, and thank you. You’re a good, wise and smart man – thank God for that.”

11
    Sebastian’s eyes glazed over as he watched his motionless screen. He was about as low as he could get. It was two days since Jim had stopped trading and his team no longer had anything to mirror. Using Jim’s trades as their guide was legal and extremely lucrative, but the gravy train had stopped on the tracks.
    By the time they had got clearance from the risk managers to coat-tail him, big-time, Jim’s stunning campaign had been practically over. The team’s profits would turn into a reasonable addition to Sebastian’s bonus, but nothing like the bonanza it might have been if Jim had carried on for a few more weeks. Jim had kept up a pitched battle for eighteen hours a day in an orgy of indiscriminate trading. Some of his traders, Jim’s old compadres on the floor at the bank, thought he must have developed some kind of robot that had found a magic trading algorithm, but the IT department had confirmed their software, operated manually, was doing the work. Everyone knew Jim was out there and, once again, he had proved what a bunch of tossers they all were, scratching about for scraps in the dirt.
    Now Jim had just made an obscene amount of money while Sebastian had snagged just a tiny part of it. That was very depressing indeed.
    Why had the bastard stopped like that?
    At that moment life seemed an impenetrable but painful mystery to Sebastian. Now he understood why his great-great-grandfather had hanged himself in one of the stables. Sometimes when things were good, they just weren’t good enough.
     
    “Hi, Al,” said Jim, “nice to hear from you.”
    “That was an outstanding set of trading, Jim. Everyone’s talking about it.”
    “Really?” said Jim. “I hope you guys can keep it under your hats.”
    “Sure,” said Wolfsberg. “What’s up next?”
    Jim’s eyes narrowed. For Wolfsberg to call him, they must have made a packet off his back. Of course they had. Now they wanted more. “Don’t know,” he said. “Have another break, probably.”
    “You should take a stake in the bank,” said Wolfsberg. “With your sort of money you could have quite a piece and be on the board.”
    “Not a bad idea,” said Jim. “I’ll do that next year when the stock price is back at five bucks again.” It was now at forty dollars.
    “It’s going to five bucks?” whimpered Wolfsberg, horror-stricken . “You’re kidding me.”
    “Yes, I am,” said Jim.
    “Ha,” grunted Wolfsberg. “You had me there. Where’s it going?”
    “Don’t know,” said Jim. “I’ve got to be careful with my predictions.”
    “You’re probably right,” said Wolfsberg. “So, now you’reamong the super-rich do you want to put your name to a university or something? I’m fixed up with the philanthropist networks so I can hook you up.”
    “Thanks,” said Jim. “I’ll let you know.” He hung up on him, as he used to do with the junior muppets who called him when he was on the trading floor.
     
    Jim was watching the market ticking. Davas had been right. Now he wasn’t yanking the Forex pairs and the international stock indices, the volatility had drained away. He had made the world economy writhe with pain as he had hit the same sensitive spot time and again with his huge trades.
    Stafford put a tray with tea and toast next to him. “May I make a suggestion, sir?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Perhaps you might consider going out. It’s been approximately three weeks since you