Page 57 of Analysing Her Assets

She opened a sheet Yelena had named “Unusual volumes, thirty days running.” The two names she looked for, Israweed and Lusson, were there. Lusson had a convertible note which was very close to the money, meaning the share only had to gain a few more points and then holders would start converting, injecting the firm with a much-needed infusion of cash. All the trades originated with Peaks.

“Marina. I need to ask you something. In secret. Not here.”

They went to the toilets, where a bemused Marina watched Tamar checking that all the stalls were empty.

“I think Peaks’ brokerage is involved in something illegal,” she blurted. Marina gave her a grim look and folded her arms. She quickly told her about Yelena’s discovery of the short calls, and the excels she prepared.

“That’s it? Short phone calls and larger volumes around events? Very flimsy.” Marina shrugged.

“There’s an obvious pattern – a share price goes up when it needs to,” Tamar insisted.

“So, let me understand. A company contacts Danny right before it needs its share price to go up. And he gives it a little boost? How? He doesn’t have any money.”

“He always deals with small companies with low volumes. He doesn’t need large amounts to move the share. He brokers the name to some clients, the share goes up, everyone’s happy. After a while he sells it to other clients. Easy.”

“Okay. I’m not saying your theory isn’t plausible. I’m saying you need more than that to, wait, what do you want to do about it?”

“Alert someone? I don’t know. I want to do the right thing,” Tamar said. She was so focused on the data and its implications she hadn’t thought it through. “What should I do about it? Perhaps I’ll talk to N?”

“No! If you talk to N, she has to do something about it.” Marina shook her head, the colored pink streak moving left and right emphatically. “Don’t talk to anyone. I don’t think it means anything. We’re talking about the largest brokerage in Israel. It’s bound to dominate the daily volumes. And, Tamar, if you voice your suspicions, without more proof, all hell will break loose. And you can say bye-bye to the chief analyst position. It’s bad enough that Yelena knows about it. Don’t do it.”

“Okay.” She exhaled. She had to agree with Marina–exposing Danny would be suicidal.

“Good,” Marina said.

But when she returned to her desk, she couldn’t help but spend more time with the data. Then she noticed another name—Berdiplast.

28. Gideon

Gideon arrived at the restaurant his mother chose for their dinner, holding the bag with her chapters and Tamar’s comments.

He’d hurt Tamar’s feelings today when N asked him to offer her a ride and he hesitated, although it had nothing to do with her. And yesterday when he said he couldn’t meet her tonight, she was slighted. Then he acted like she affronted him when she refused to spend the night, a stipulation she insisted on from the beginning. He owed her multiple apologies. Her behavior at N’s office today was outrageous, but whenever he’d replayed it he smiled. And last night was way better than any fantasy he had ever had. He would speed this meeting with his mother and try to meet Tamar tonight.

He entered the venue and spotted his mother at a corner table, sipping wine.

The restaurant’s somber décor reflected its upscale status. The tables were widely spaced. The waiters, dressed in white dress shirts and formal black pants, glided in silence. A table here had to be booked months in advance. He’d yet to encounter the chef who would dare say no to Naomi Berdichevsky when she called for a reservation.

His mother half stood and smiled mechanically, giving her cheek for a peck. Naomi felt comfortable in her skin, and people responded to it, feeling comfortable with her. Being very rich didn’t hurt either. But tonight, the laugh lines around his mother’s eyes were stretched taut and judging by the state of the bottle, this was her second glass.

“There he is. My lovely boy. I like this shirt.”

He wore a long-sleeved T-shirt that said: “The book was better.”

“Thanks, Imma. Is everything okay? Why did you ask to meet?”

His mother ignored his question. She lifted a languid hand for the hovering waiter, who approached immediately.

“We’ll take the brioche. Can you tell my son about it, please.”

“It’s smeared with koji butter, filled with Sri Lanka yellow-fin tuna tartar, and peppered with fermented kumquat aioli and koji chili,” the waiter rattled dutifully. “You’ll love it.”

Priced at a hundred- and twenty-shekel, he had better like it. This entrée cost like an entire meal elsewhere. The waiter topped Naomi’s glass and poured wine for Gideon, who chose to drink his sparkled Perrier.

“Here are your chapters.”

“Oh, thank you! I brought the next ones.” She took out the old batch and dropped a new set of printed pages into the bag. “Did you like it?”

He liked it very much for all the wrong reasons. Gideon moved on his chair and took a fortifying sip of expensive water.

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