Numbered Account

Cerruti sniffed twice and blinked his eyes in rapid succession.

"The sheikh," Nick continued, "is dead set on buying German governments. He has it on good authority that Finanz Minister Schneider will lower the Lombard rate any day now."

Cerruti looked at Nick uncertainly. A great sigh left him, and then he laughed. "Dear old Abdul bin Ahmed. I call him Triple A, you know. Never could read economic data worth a damn. German inflation is rising, unemployment over ten percent, Abdul's uncle is itching to raise oil prices. The only way interest rates can go is up, up, up!" Cerruti stood up and straightened his jacket. He pulled his sleeves from his jacket until a good inch of cuff showed. "You must tell the sheikh to buy German equities, pronto. Sell whatever German bonds he's holding and put him into Daimler-Benz, Veba, and Hoechst. That should cover the major industrial groups and keep Abdul from losing his shirt."

Nick wrote down his instructions verbatim.

Cerruti tapped Nick on the arm. "Neumann? No word from Kaiser's office on my returning. Even on a part-time basis?"

So Cerruti wanted to come back? Nick wondered why Kaiser might be keeping him away. "I'm sorry. I don't have any contact with the Fourth Floor."

"Yes, yes," Cerruti tried unsuccessfully to conceal his disappointment. "Well, I'm sure the Chairman will call me soon and let me know his plans. Carry on then, who's next?"

"Another client is causing a fuss. I'm afraid it's one of our numbered accounts, so I don't know the name." Nick made a show of searching for the account number among the papers on his lap. After all, he was only a trainee, he couldn't be expected to match the mental acuity of Maestro Cerruti. He held up a sheet of paper. "Found it. Account 549.617 RR."

"Can you repeat that?" whispered Cerruti. His blinking had gone haywire.

"Five four nine, six one seven, R R. I'm sure you recognize the number."

"Yes, yes. Of course, I do." Cerruti harrumphed. He fidgeted. His hands mangled each other. "Well, get to it, boy. What's the problem?"

"Not a problem really. More an opportunity. I'd like to convince this client to keep more of his assets with us. In the last six weeks he's transferred over $200 million through our accounts without keeping a dime of it overnight. I'm sure we can make some more money off of him than simple transfer fees."

Suddenly, Cerruti was on his feet. "Stay there, Nicholas. No moving. No budging. I'll be right back. I have something wonderful to show you."

Before Nick could protest, he was gone. He came back a minute later with a spiral scrapbook tucked under his arm. He thrust the scrapbook into Nick's hands and opened it to a spot kept by a leather bookmark. "Recognize anyone?" he asked.

Nick peered down at the color photo on the right-hand page. It was a 5 by 7 of Wolfgang Kaiser, Marco Cerruti, Alexander Neumann, and a stout, jolly-looking fellow with a sweaty brow. A voluptuous woman with frosted blond hair and bright pink lipstick curtsied in front of them. She was a knockout. Kaiser held one of her hands to his mouth, giving it a zesty kiss. Not to be outdone, the jolly little fellow held her other hand in a similar position. The woman's sparkling eyes made it clear she was enjoying the attention. A handwritten caption beneath the photograph read, "California, Here He Comes! December 1967."

Nick stared at his father. Alexander Neumann was tall and slim, hair as black as Nick's, cut in the style of the day. His blue eyes shone with the zeal of a thousand dreams, all of them attainable. He was laughing. A man with the world before him.

Standing next to him, a head shorter, was Cerruti, ever the dandy, sporting a red carnation in the lapel of a dark suit. Wolfgang Kaiser came next, exuberantly smooching the attractive woman's hand. His mustache was, if possible, bushier than today. Nick did not recognize the fourth man or the woman.

"Your father's going-away party," said Cerruti. "Before he left to open the office in Los Angeles. We were some crew, all of us bachelors. Handsome devils, eh? Everyone at the bank came to the party. Of course, we were only a couple hundred back then."

"You said you worked with him?"

"We all worked together. We were the heart and soul of private banking. Kaiser was our divisional manager. I served as an apprentice under your father. Looked after me like a brother, he did. He'd been promoted to vice president that very day." Cerruti tapped the picture. "I adored Alex. I hated to see him go to Los Angeles but for me it was a big step up."

Nick continued studying the photograph. He'd seen few snapshots of his father before he came to America, mostly black-and-white portraits of a tall unsmiling teenager in a strict Sunday suit. He was surprised at how much younger he looked in Cerruti's photo than in his own recollections. This Alex Neumann was happy, really happy. Nick didn't have a single memory of his father being so cheerful, so unrestrained.