I wheel around to my friend from HR. "Your work is done here, Brian."
"It is?" There is a look of palpable relief on Brian Horgan's face.
"Go back to your office, check your e-mail for further instructions."
Ranieri erupts. "Just what the hell are you trying to pull—"
"It's not my doing. Sanderson has taken an interest in this—"
"Bull. He's in Hong Kong."
"Exactly. And Sanderson says stand down. Nothing is to happen until he returns to London on Monday."
Ranieri scrutinizes me. "Does Becker know about this?"
"Why would that matter?"
Ranieri scowls venomously, then wheels his Herman Miller Aeron chair over to his flat-panel computer screen. His lips move as he reads the fresh e-mail from Sanderson, then he slams his open palm on the surface of his desk.
I turn to Horgan. "Like I was saying. Until this gets sorted out, you're free to go."
Ranieri grumbles with a dismissive wave. "Whatever." With a surreptitious wink, Brian Horgan reassembles the file and departs.
My co-head makes a big show of closing the door and sealing us off from the rest of the trading floor. "Swift move. You knew I was leaving for Barcelona with my family tonight, didn't you?"
"Guess you'll just have to postpone your victory dance."
"Maybe . . ." Ranieri regards me with a feral leer, "but you can postpone the inevitable only so long, Sparky."
I lean back and give him a smile that's . . . well, yes, call it self-satisfied. "Let's recap, shall we? Four months ago, you pull some strings in London with Ian Becker—your Harvard roommate—to conjure up some do-nothing job that suggests to senior management that you're not utterly useless. Lucky me: Since I happen to drive the lion's share of revenue in the U.S., Becker drop-kicks you into my sandbox as a co-head. Says you've got a lot to learn and you're 'here to help.' Instead, what happens? You steal my ideas, my team, my business, my revenues. You systematically bad-mouth me to Becker and the rest of senior management as 'redundant' and 'not a team player.' You and Becker wait for my mentor to be incommunicado somewhere so you can pull this lame-ass coup d'etat.” I shake my head in disgust. "You're not even worth keeping around to order lunch for my people."
Ranieri leans back calmly. "On the one hand, screw you for messing up my vacation. At the same time, I commend you for pulling off that last-minute clemency from the powers-that-be. Very creative." A slow smile spreads across his face. "But guess what? Turns out your guy is getting a bullet to the head himself from senior management. So looks like we have a do-over first thing Monday morning."
"We done here?"
"For now."
"Good." I bolt upright and regard my mortal enemy with utter contempt. "You'll excuse me, I'm going to go back to the desk and make some money. I'll leave you to whatever it is you do all day."
Bite me. And I'm out of there.

More to follow tomorrow…

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