REKT - Chapter 10
Speculation
Strange how they smell it on you. How in tune they are with the energy of opportunity. Hungry operators know the small signifiers. First, they spot the royal purple ribbon wrapped around our necks. Speaker’s badges - we’ll be up on stage, so we must matter. Once marked, they watch us work the room. How important are the people who approach us? Who do we choose to talk to? How familiar do we act? Are we laughing, hugging, having a good time? Yes, there’s that relaxed swagger of success attached to us.
These men, women, jackals are waiting to descend on us. Crypto has attracted their attention the same way dot coms, house flipping, and mobile apps did before. This isn’t the only next big thing these people are onto. Cannabis is booming. CBD, recreational, cultivation, derivative products. Massive markets emerging from dime bags. Many in this room are staying for the Weed Works show that’s here after this.
We cut through the massive conference hall, rolling three-deep, avoiding eye contact but still managing to smile wide. You never know who is out there. While there’s too many hustlers, there are serious people here too. Money does its own legwork. A good investor loves the thrill of the chase, getting their nose in the nooks and crannies, digging up opportunities. There’s a sport to it, the returns sometimes matter less than the personal satisfaction that comes from finding a ten bagger.
The show circuit operates a hidden sifting mechanism, a series of selective screens that filter out the jokers and pass the heavies deeper into our world. Miss Serious Money talks to someone in a booth, gets invited to a lunchtime networking event. She uses that to impress her way into cocktail hour. There she meets someone who knows us, who knows what we are up to. If everything aligns, a couple drinks later Miss Serious Money is leaning against the bar chatting us up. She’s played this game a hundred times herself, never a doubt it would end on the inside where things actually happen.
I’ve just taken you through the last six hours of our lives. The milling around, the musical chairs, the waiting for shit to get serious. Now Serious Money is here. Her name is Cynthia Dixon, and she and I are talking shop.
“How is the settlement business?” she asks.
“Challenging. I’m afraid there are deep rooted issues that may prove difficult to overcome,” I say.
“Regulatory, cultural?”
She knows the answer. I know the answer. This opening is just a check to make sure we are on the same page. I stir my Ketel and soda, feel the napkin around the base growing damp from condensation. “This business fell into our lap. We saw growth, decided to pursue it, but to achieve scale you need partners on the finance side. Sure, there were structural challenges, but also the speed of change scared many off. What can you do?” Translation – Shit happens. We are moving on.
“But there are so many opportunities here. What Icarus has done puts you right at the crossroads of an exploding industry. There must be some way for you to capitalize on that,” Cynthia says.
What she really wants to know is what are we doing next? Am I worth her time?
“I’m sorry, but what did you say you did again?”
What I want to know is why should I tell her what’s next? What’s in it for us?
“Private equity. I’m a managing director at Ursa Major.”
Ursa Major. Interesting. They bought the defense contractor my father worked at. Laid off a quarter of the company, underfunded the pension plan, then did a massive financial restructuring that earned them huge fees. Dad’s company went bankrupt three years later. Real pieces of work.
“This doesn’t seem like your type of industry. Everything here is so speculative. If I recall, you like businesses that make real money,” I say.
“We’re not getting into crypto. I’m here because our investors keep talking about Bitcoin. There’s an excitement building around it. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, maybe make some introductions between your world and mine.”
Ah ha. She’s in this for the deal flow. Now we are talking. You see Cynthia’s job is to buy companies and suck money out of them in ways the previous owners were unwilling to. The first step is knowing what’s for sale. Cynthia needs to be in the loop, get those early calls, but phones ring in both directions. She needs to feed her circle, and they are hungry for hot tips, cool connections. Quid pro quos. Sounds like they want insider access to crypto. That is very worth our time.
I lean in. Her head follows. We are low over our drinks nearly nose to nose. Her nose has freckles on it, like mine. We share the same hazel eye color. I whisper into her unoaked chard.
“We are launching a hedge fund.”
“I know.”
I laugh, “Then why all the tap dancing? We could have skipped that part.”
“The flirting is my favorite part. Business is my love language.”
Interesting. She’s a funny one, “Okay, so who told you?” I ask.
“Deacon Joe.”
“Of course, he did. So, what's the next step?”
Her eyes light up and she smiles ear to ear. This really is a game of seduction to her, a surrogate for the bedroom. Or maybe, this is what really turns her on. Not everyone gets off the same way. I should be more expansive in my thinking.
“I’m scouting talent for a dinner this weekend. It’s an informal roundtable connecting influencers and investors. I’d like the four of you to come. Are you still in the city?”
I was going to go home, to visit my apartment for the first time in six weeks. Nikola is curious about where I live. She wants to see what Ryan has beyond his carryon bag. Make sure I’m not into death metal and plushies or whatever weird shit, but that will have to wait awhile longer.
“I can’t speak for Joe, but we’re in town.”
“Excellent,” she says. “Give me your card and I’ll email you details.”
The intimacy of our conversation is over. I pull away, straighten my back, reach in my pocket. Blood rushes to my head, making me a bit dizzy, little crackles and pops up the length of my spine. I have an amazing mattress in my apartment, a Tempurpedic my folks gave to me. It would have been so nice to sleep on it again. Instead, it will be another stint on the Majestic Mattress at the Denver Marriott. Lumpy piece of shit. I wish they put more effort into the mattress and less into the marketing of it.
“Do you want to meet Andy and Nikola before you go?”
“Oh, I can’t. I’m running late. There’ll be plenty of time on Sunday.”
With a swish of red hair, she disappears into the crowd. I think of Chicago and an apartment a cleaning service visits once a week and finds untouched. The cleaners must fight to have my place on their schedule. Five minutes wiping off dust, a quick change of the fish feeder, and then watching TV for three hours. I wonder if my fish are still alive. I have a dozen red and black mollys. The boys are all named Bill Brasky and the girls are all named Robyn. Not that I can tell them apart. Not that they would recognize me.