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  Nick followed a beam of sunlight as it penetrated the morning fog and illuminated the recesses of the vast office. Two pictures adorned the wall opposite him. One, an oil portrait of Gerhard Gautschi, who had governed the bank for thirty-five years. The other a Byzantine mosaic whose title could only be the moneychangers in the temple. A kneeling moneylender offered a bag of gold to a mounted Saracen brandishing a jewel-encrusted scimitar. The mosaic was fantastic, and even to Nick’s untrained eye, a masterpiece of its kind.

  A full suit of samurai armor stood in the corner nearest the Chairman’s desk. It was a gift from the Sho-Ichiban Bank of Japan, with which USB shared a two percent cross holding. And on the wall to Nick’s left, above the couch where he had sat earlier, hung a small impressionist painting of a wheatfield in high summer. A cloudless blue sky was seared by the sun’s oppressive heat. A single farmer worked in the field, his back bent under the weight of cut wheat he carried back to the mill. The artist had left his signature in the lower right-hand corner. Renoir.

  Nick pressed his back into the quilting of his chair and tried to find the thread that wound through the decor of Wolfgang Kaiser’s office. You could easily be overwhelmed by the beauty of any one of the fabulous items on display. How often do you find a Renoir in a private collection or a sixteenth-century suit of Japanese battle armor? Yet, Kaiser wasn’t the type to assemble a meretricious display of vanities, however priceless. He had surrounded himself with souvenirs of his bank’s climb to eminence, personal trophies of hard-won battles, and objets d’art that spoke to a private corner of his soul.

  Nick felt that there was an order to the eclectic mix of art and antiquities. A message that begged recognition. He looked around the room again, not focusing but feeling; not seeing but absorbing. And then he knew. Power. Vision. Scope. The entire office was a monument to Kaiser’s reign. A shrine to the preeminence of the United Swiss Bank and to the man who had brought the bank that glory.

  Nick was startled by the crash of a phone being slammed onto the desk.

  Kaiser leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his abundant hair. He fussed with each horn of his mustache.““L’audace,’ Neumann.“Toujours l’audace!’ You know who said that?” He didn’t wait for a response. “We don’t want to end up like him, do we? Marooned on an island in the middle of nowhere. Our play must be more subtle. No whiff of grapeshot for the United Swiss Bank. Not if we wish to put an end to this revolution quickly and effectively.”

  Nick knew better than to correct the Chairman, but in fact, Frederick the Great, not Napoleon, had uttered that famous battle cry.

  “Get out some paper. Take down what I say and don’t become a frantic rat like Mr. Feller. A general must remain his calmest when a battle reaches its most intense.”

  Nick grabbed a block of paper that lay on the desk in front of him.

  “Feller was right,” said the Chairman. “It is a war. Konig wants to take us over, always has, if I read things clearly. He’s holding shares worth just over five percent of our outstanding capital and has open orders to buy fifteen percent more. Who knows how many shares his backers are holding, but if he’s able to put together a block carrying thirty-three percent of our votes, then two seats on the board are his. With two seats he can influence other board members and forge a blocking position on matters of importance.

  “His war cry is that we are stuck in the Middle Ages. Private banking is going the way of the buggy whip, says Konig. Trading is the way of the future. Using your firm’s capital to bet on and influence the direction of markets, currencies, interest rates. Anything that he and his cohorts can securitize, they will. Oil futures, home mortgages, Argentinean beef contracts. Any investment that doesn’t post gains of twenty percent per year is ready for the slaughterhouse. Not us, by God. Not the United Swiss Bank. Private banking is what made this bank what it is today. I have no intention of abandoning it, or risking our solvency by joining Konig’s band of riverboat gamblers.”

  Kaiser walked around his desk and stood by Nick’s chair, placing a strong hand on his shoulder. “I want you to map out which individuals and institutions own major blocks of shares. Find out who we can count on and who will back Konig. We’ll have to write up something snappy about our plans to improve our return on assets and increase our shareholders’ returns.”

  Nick saw the pattern of his days developing even as Kaiser spoke. He was in for a long and difficult ride. Any plans he had about using his newly won position to conduct an investigation into his father’s death would have to be put on hold—at least until Konig’s bid was defeated. Still, he was where he needed to be, “at the right hand of God.”

  “Where is that son of a bitch getting his financing?” demanded Kaiser. “Over the past seven months the Adler Bank has declared increases in capital three times without ever going to market. That means a number of private groups must secretly be backing Konig. I want you to find out who. Your friend Sprecher is beginning work there today. Use him. And don’t be surprised if he tries to use you, especially once he discovers you’re working for me.”

  Kaiser lifted his hand from Nick’s shoulder and turned toward the entryway. Nick stood and walked with him toward the massive doors. What about the Pasha? Nick wanted to ask. Who was going to take care of him now? One thing was for certain. If Cerruti knew the Pasha, then Kaiser knew him better.

  “We have four weeks until the general assembly, Neumann. That’s not a very long time for the work we have before us. Mrs. Sutter will show you your office. And keep an eye on Feller. Don’t let him get too flustered. Remember, Neumann: four weeks.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Sylvia Schon stared at the blue slips on her desk and wondered when he would stop calling. The first note was dated Tuesday evening and read,Mr. Nicholas Neumann phoned at 6:45, requests that you call back. The second was taken early this morning. More of the same. She read them both again, recognizing the extension given as belonging to the Fourth Floor, to the Emperor’s Lair.

  Sylvia laid the messages on her desk and urged herself not to be jealous of his good fortune. In nine years at the bank, she had never seen, or even heard of, an employee moving from the position of management trainee to assistant vice president in the space of five weeks. It had taken hersix years to gain that rank! Unsure of her chances to rise beyond it, she’d enrolled at the University of Zurich and taken classes three nights a week and on Saturdays toward a doctorate in management. Three years later she received her degree and only this past winter a promotion to full vice president. If Nick excelled at his post alongside Wolfgang Kaiser, there was no reason he shouldn’t be elevated to full vice president in nine months’ time, in late November when the bank posted its annual list of promotions. Such things happened often to men in the center of power.

  Sylvia picked up the blue slips bearing Nick’s extension and tossed them into the trash can behind her desk—where she had tossed all the other messages he’d left since Monday. She tried to tell herself that his promotion didn’t feel like a slap in the face. That it was just another petty injustice she had to swallow. But she couldn’t.

  The phone rang. Sylvia craned her neck to see if her assistant was at his desk. The phone rang a second time. Obviously, he wasn’t. She picked up on the third ring. “Schon.”

  “Good morning, Sylvia. It’s Nick Neumann. Hi.”

  Sylvia closed her eyes. This was not what she needed right now. “Hello, Mr. Neumann.”

  “I thought we had settled on Nick.”

  She swiveled in her chair, hating herself for hiding in her “Miss Professional” routine. “Yes, Nick. How can I help you?”

  “You can probably guess. I’m calling to apologize about the files. I should never have asked for your help. It was selfish of me. I was wrong.”

  “Apology accepted.” She had hardly thought about the files since Saturday. It was his sudden promotion that merited punishment. “How are things with the Chairman?”

  �
��Exciting. Busy. In fact, I’d love to talk to you about it. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

  Sylvia took a breath. She’d guessed he’d been calling to set up a date. Hearing his strong voice, she knew her anger was misdirected. She had no right to blame Nick. Still, she needed time to figure out how she felt about him. “I don’t think so. In fact, I think it’s better if we left this as it was.”

  “Oh? And how was it?”

  “Itwasn’t,” she replied testily. His insistence rankled her. “Do you understand now? Look, I really have quite a bit of work to do. I’ll stop by when I have some free time. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Sylvia hung up the phone before he could protest. Yet, even as her hand left the receiver, she began criticizing herself for being unspeakably rude—not an easy task given her own demanding standards. I apologize, Nick, she said silently, staring at the phone. Call me back. I’ll say I didn’t know what got into me. I’ll tell you that yes, we had a wonderful time Saturday and that I am still trying to figure out that lovely kiss.

  But the phone did not ring.

  Sylvia spun her chair and stared into the wastepaper bin. She picked up one of the crumpled message slips, flattened it on her desk, and reread the number.

  Nick unsettled her. He was handsome and confident. He had lovely eyes. Eyes whose unimpeded stare could be frightening one minute and heartbreaking the next. He had no family and she thanked God for that—wished she could be so lucky. Her father was a boorish man, a red-faced tyrant who had never given up trying to run his home as he ran the railway station at Sargans. When her mother died, Sylvia had taken the care of her younger brothers, Rolf and Eric, onto herself, preparing their breakfasts, cleaning their rooms, doing their laundry. Instead of being grateful, the boys had mimicked their father’s behavior, ordering her around the house as if she were a maid and not their older sister.

  Sylvia thought back on her dinner with Nick. “Independent” was how he’d described himself and she’d jumped on the word. Loved it. Because she was independent, too. Her life was her own. She could make of it what she wanted. She recalled the touch of his lips when they said good night, their cool pressure hiding the warmth close behind. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to imagine what would come next. His hand brushing her cheek, her body pushing hard against him. She would open her mouth and taste him. She felt a sharp stirring pass through her body, and its stark carnality woke her from her reverie.

  Sylvia checked her watch. Seeing that it was already nine o’clock, she set to work updating a list of interviewing requirements for Swiss university graduates. It was a monotonous chore, and to relieve it she reminded herself of the goals that she had set herself earlier in the year.

  First, in the spring she would travel to the States to supervise the bank’s recruitment of American M.B.A.s. Second, by December 31, the finance department would boast the highest employee retention rate in the bank. The first goal was as good as accomplished. Wolfgang Kaiser had personally assigned her the task. She could thank Nick for that, at least partially, for it was his presence that had allowed her to shine in the Chairman’s eyes. The second goal—seeing to it that her department kept its employees—would require her constant attention. The finance department was lagging behind commercial banking but was ahead of trading. If Nick stayed longer than the usual arrogant recruits Rudolf Ott hired, she would be very happy.

  You want him to stay for more reasons than that,whispered a naughty voice.

  Sylvia tapped her nails on the message slip and picked up the phone. She wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment, why not call him back? She reminded herself that he was independent like her, that she could date him without too big a risk of involvement. She preferred her relationships to have a maximum of passion and a minimum of commitment. Special treats she allowed herself once or twice a year. She’d worked too hard for her own freedom to give it up by getting stuck in a relationship—any relationship.She expected that someday she’d want something more secure, something for the rest of her life, but for now she was happy with things as they were. Then why, dammit, couldn’t she ignore the sentiment tickling deep inside her stomach that he might be the one?

  Sylvia dialed Nick’s extension. The phone rang once. A male voice answered. “Hello.”

  “You’re supposed to give your family name. You’re too friendly.”

  “Which one of you is this?” Nick asked. “Dr. Jekyll or Mrs. Hyde?”

  “I’m sorry, Nick. Forget that call ever happened, would you. You caught me off guard.”

  “Deal.”

  A familiar voice drifted in from the hallway. “Fraulein Schon, are you in your office?”

  Sylvia bolted upright in her chair. “Nick, I have to call you back. Maybe I’ll come up to see your new office. Okay? Gotta run.”

  She hung up the phone even as his voice said “Bye.”

  “Good morning, Dr. Ott,” she said brightly, already circling her desk to shake hands with the vice chairman of the United Swiss Bank. “An unexpected pleasure.” She was not happy to see the rotund form rolling into her office for an unannounced visit. The man was a worm.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Fraulein Schon.” Ott stood before her, his hands interlocked on top of his bulging stomach. His lips had the habit of telegraphing his intention to speak three seconds ahead of time. Now Sylvia saw them beginning to squirm, as if disturbed by a weak current. “We have a tremendous amount of work to do,” he said. “Many tasks to accomplish before the general assembly.”

  “Hard to believe that only four weeks remain,” she said pleasantly.

  “Three and one half, to be precise,” corrected Ott. “Letters to your department’s personnel regarding the voting of their USB shares at the general assembly must be written today. Be sure you make it exceedingly clear that everyone must vote for our slate of directors, either by proxy or in person.Everyone. I’ll need a copy by five o’clock this afternoon.”

  “That’s rather short notice,” said Sylvia.

  Ott ignored her comment. “In one week, you will phone each and every member of your department to learn which way they will vote.”

  “I don’t mean to be impolite, but do you really believe that any of our employees could think it in their interest to vote for Konig?”

  Ott bent forward at the waist, as if he had not heard her clearly. “Do I believe that?” he asked. “In the best of all possible worlds, of course not. But that’s beside the point. The Chairman has instructed me to ensure that you personally telephone every member of the finance department. You are to encourage all employees to attend the meeting. A half day’s leave will be granted. He’s under the impression that you’re well respected by your charges. You should be thrilled.”

  “I am. Just pressed for time. I’m leaving for the States next week. I’ve faxed an interview schedule to all the major schools we’ve worked with in the past. Harvard, Wharton, Northwestern, a few others.”

  “I’m afraid your trip will have to be postponed.”

  Sylvia smiled awkwardly. Had she heard him correctly? “We have to visit these schools before the end of March, or the top graduates will have committed to other companies. The trip will only require two weeks of my time. I planned on sending up a schedule to your office tomorrow.”

  Ott’s lips twitched for a moment, then he spoke. “I am sorry, Fraulein Schon. Surely you can see that the Chairman requires your skills at home. Unless we repel Mr. Konig, we will have no need whatsoever for your crop of M.B.A.s.”

  Sylvia went to her desk and picked up the itinerary for her recruiting trip. “If you look at my schedule, you’ll see that I plan on returning a full week before the assembly. Plenty of time to ensure that all votes will be cast for Herr Kaiser.”

  Ott brushed away the schedule and lowered his bulk into a chair. “You’re still under the impression that since Herr Kaiser asked you to go to New York in my place, he has taken an interest in your career? My dear, your dining with Mr. Neumann
showed admirable foresight. Very clever, indeed. Kaiser was quite impressed. Oh yes, you’ve poisoned the Chairman against me. That I grant you. I shall not be going to New York. But alas,Liebchen, neither shall you.”

  “Really Herr Doktor. I’m sure we can find a solution acceptable to you and to Herr Kaiser. I can shorten my trip.”

  “I think not. As I said, your services are too much in demand here.”

  “I must insist,” Sylvia said loudly, unable to keep her desperation from spilling into her voice. “It was the Chairman’s wish.”

  Ott slammed his hand on the table. “There will be no trip. Not now. Not ever! My dear, did you truly believe that your dalliance with the Chairman would insulate you from the rest of us? Did you think it would hasten you along your chosen path?”

  “My personal life is no concern of yours. I have never tried to gain any benefit from my relationship with the Chairman, but in this matter I won’t hesitate to speak with him directly.”

  “Do you think you can run back into the arms of Herr Kaiser now? Dear child, the Chairman is finished with you. He is a disciplined man. Should he require the company of a woman, we will choose someone far less grasping than you. Preferably, a woman with no ties whatsoever to the bank.”

  “You can’t control his heart, who he loves, who he desires . . .”

  “Desire is one thing, my dear. Utility, another. The Chairman requires me. Today, tomorrow, and for as long as he shall manage the bank. I am the oil that makes this intricate machine run smoothly.” Ott stood, pausing for a moment to glory in his exalted position. He extended a stubby finger in Sylvia’s direction. “You didn’t actually believe that a Swiss bank would allow itself to be represented in the United States of America by a woman? A child practically?”

  Sylvia moved her mouth to respond but nothing came out. Of course, Ott was right. Switzerland was light-years behind England and France and America in its treatment of women. Just look at USB. How many women were on the executive board? None. How many women were executive vice presidents? Still, she knew that things had to change soon. And she had seen herself as the one changing them.