Chapter 6

Another morning, and Nicholas Griffen was furious again. He’d gotten calls from several of his investors who’d seen the new site and wanted to know if his involvement in Allied, and the precariousness of the technology, were true.

One in particular had indicated that any publicity could endanger their ‘special’ relationship, and Griffen was no idiot. He understood the stakes involved, and further understood that while he was an important part of that particular investor’s strategy, he could rapidly lose value as his machinations were exposed. And he didn’t ever want to have his currency devalued with that player.

The problem was, word spread faster than the speed of sound nowadays as a result of the internet, and that was hurting him. His first stage pumping of Allied had worked like a charm, luring the dumb money speculators in droves. But he still had a long way to go before they’d hit his target of a market top for the stock, and he was long in a massive way. Now, with this new website, he recognized he had a problem brewing; the longer the speculations about manipulation and the doubts about the technology were out there, the greater the likelihood a predatory player would come in and take the other side of the bet, which could be a killer given the current size of his position. The last thing he needed was a few big short funds to sense blood in the water and go to work tunneling the stock.

He couldn’t afford that because he’d over-invested on the way up without bothering to hedge his bets, meaning the Allied shares and options were now a considerable chunk of his fund’s position; and given that he’d continued buying for months to keep upward momentum going, he was very, very pregnant with the stock.

Trading was about to begin for the day, and he planned to temporarily dump the stock into the toilet, hopefully causing some panic selling so he could make some short term profits from a slug of short positions and put options he’d bought – both of which were time sensitive, but could make a lot of dough if the stock lost twenty percent during the day and he covered, then took the other side of the trade and the stock magically recovered.

Griffen punched in the digits for his attorney.

“Glen, any movement on the matter we discussed yesterday?”

“I’m working on it. Let’s get together for lunch, someplace quiet. The club?”

Griffen frowned. “Today’s kind of busy, can’t we do this over the phone?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s make it around one o’clock. I’ll have some news.”

Griffen paused, calculated. “One o’clock. Sounds great.”

That was a good sign. It meant Glen had some information he wasn’t comfortable sharing over the phone. Perhaps things were improving after all.

Steven finished his morning run and was at the computer by 6:20 a.m.. The markets were jittery and rumors were floating on the message boards about insiders wanting to sell ahead of bad news.

Allied opened on time and the trading was muted, with sixty thousand shares trading hands and the price up twenty cents in the first forty-five minutes.

Then it all crumbled.

The boards lit up with negative chatter, the volume spiked, and the price started fluctuating wildly. The carnage hit at 10:30 EST as the stock went into freefall for six minutes.

Breaking through $34, it fell quickly through the $33s, and then into the $32s. It just kept dropping and dropping.

Nothing on the wire service; no news or reason for any of it. Steven sensed opportunity and decided he’d call the bluff – he’d witnessed enough of these attacks to know a head fake when he saw one. If this was a short term manipulation he could throw his day trading budget at buying shares and call options – which increased in value if the stock went up – and use the profits from the swing to offset most of this month’s losses on the Allied short position.

He started buying shares and calls at $32.10 and kept reloading his three thousand-share buy order every time it was hit. After accumulating eighteen thousand shares and five hundred near-term expiration call options, a bid jumped in above his, and then another bid jumped in above that one. Pretty soon steady buying was coming in and the price climbed above $33.00.

He watched as other buyers came into the market and the price stabilized. As the day progressed it became obvious a wall of buy orders sat at $34, allowing him to sell his day’s shares and options towards the close, making a tidy profit from just a few hours of understanding the game.

Not a bad Friday; he was up 6% on the session’s buys, which had bought him breathing room on his underwater short position.

He spent the rest of the day preparing for his flight to the East Coast, an impromptu weekend trip he’d thrown together. Jennifer was staying in California; she detested flying and wasn’t a big fan of New York. She’d agreed to stop by and take Avalon for walks and keep him in kibble, so he couldn’t complain. He kind of didn’t blame her; New York in the summer could be brutally muggy.

Griffen entered the hushed foyer and was greeted by a vested attendant. Cherry wood paneled the walls and oil paintings of long-forgotten dignitaries scowled down at the heavy green velvet furnishings, setting a somber tone. Very old school, old money, cigars and cognac-feeling establishment. He was known at the Manhattan Polo Club, and was shown to one of the private dining rooms by the maitre d’; a serious British gentleman who’d held the coveted position for decades.

Glen Vesper was already seated, a glass of Chardonnay half consumed, looking appropriately lawyerly. Glen was thin to the point of resembling a praying mantis, and had looked sixty-something for the fifteen years Griffen had known him. During that time, he’d seen Glen smile twice. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Sorry I’m late. We’re getting creamed in the market today.” Griffen ordered a glass of Shiraz from the waiter, who disappeared soundlessly.

Glen nodded. “I took the liberty of ordering two poached salmons. They should be here in a few minutes. I’ve some good news. We have some info on your mysterious admirer.” Glen paused to sip his wine. “First, we think it’s a civilian, not a pro. The site address was bogus, the Hotmail account a dead end; the name a fake. But we know who their service provider is, and we know they were careful. We hacked into the server and scanned the pay statements before the security software shut us down. A year’s worth of service was paid for via postal money order. No name other than the fake one, so dead-end there.”

“Why do you think it’s a civilian, then? Seems pretty sophisticated to me,” said Griffen.

“A pro wouldn’t have used a domestic server, for starters. And they would have used an anonymous registration service rather than filing false information. And most importantly, they wouldn’t have used a registration service that demanded payment with a credit card, which is how the registration service selected does it. You can’t fake a credit card. It was their only slip-up, and one we would have ordinarily missed.”

Griffen smiled. “Ahhhh. I get it. You work upstream through the registrar. Have you got a name?”

Glen shook his head. “Not yet. The registrar’s in Germany, and we’ve got one of our correspondents over there working that angle. It’ll be a few days but we should be able to get it. May cost a few bucks. I figured you’d have no objections.”

“Gotta spend money to make money,” Griffen conceded.

“Precisely. We also contacted our person at the message board service and were able to secure an IP address for the poster who’s the site creator, but unfortunately it’s a cable company IP, so there’s an additional level of diligence required to get individual account info. That probably isn’t possible, but we’re working it as well. So far Germany looks best.”

“What can we do once we know who this is? Can we get the site shut down? Can we sue him for libel?”

Glen looked at the ceiling. “I’m going to say this very carefully. In my opinion, there’s little to be gained by suing the person responsible for this inconvenience; I don’t see it as being worthwhile or ultimately successful.” Glen returned his gaze to Griffen. “As an officer of the court, I can’t condone you taking matters into your own hands or doing anything rash. Can I presume you won’t do anything untoward if we discover the creator’s identity?”

“Of course not. You have my complete assurance…”

Glen held back a smile. “I anticipated your response and instructed the German firm to contact you if they’re productive in their endeavors. How’s the Shiraz?”

Griffen considered the wine. “Beautiful finish. I think we understand each other, Glen.”

After lunch, Griffen returned to his office to find that a two million dollar profit-making session had turned into a net one million dollar loss on Allied.

They’d tried some more runs at it later in the session but once the momentum was broken on the day’s swings they’d sold their remaining trading shares at a loss. Not a good day. As he closed his office for the evening, Griffen had one thought at the forefront of his attention.

The site was screwing up his ability to make money and needed to get taken off the air, and quickly.

* * * *