REKT - Chapter 5
Shut Out
Where do we go from here? Axl asks the question, and I don't have an answer. Andy doesn't either. One of us always does. That's what makes our partnership work. I fill his negative space, and he covers mine. Together we are whole. Except today, there's a huge hole in the heart of our company and neither of us has an answer. We have upside down shot glasses instead. People say Manhattan isn’t affordable, but those people don't day drink in dive bars. Buy two, get the third free is very much a thing here. Thank God, because we need to dull the pain that killed the joy.
Axl gives way to a wicked solo from Slash. The absence of his voice allows me to hear the one in my mind. It is picking apart the difference between doubt and realization. Doubt is something that can be put aside. You can dump it in a corner, cover it with a cloth, and go about your day. Doubt is a necessary vehicle, a positive thing. It makes you pause, question, and come up with solutions. Realization is a different story. It is the death of doubt. Once you realize something, that's it. It’s over, done, finished.
Today, we realized that no bank on the planet will do business with us. Zip, zilch, zero. New York, Panama, Hong Kong. Closed doors in all the great banking centers. Today was the final straw. After months of working our way up the chain, we presented to the risk committee at First American. Turns out, we were the sacrificial lambs in an exercise where bankers tried to think outside a box. There was never a chance of approval, only we didn't know that. We thought we were oh so close to cracking the nut, being the first stablecoin to have legitimate deposits at a respected bank.
Where do we go from here? Axl is back. The jukebox won't leave us alone. It asks repeatedly, getting louder, more insistent on an answer when there is none.
"Flip it over Ryan," Andy commands.
"I need water first."
"Flip it over."
Katy, our bartender, gives us all her attention. She’s working her body, big smile, soft understanding eyes. She is trying to get us filthy drunk. Trying to trade buybacks for a big tip. It's not a bad gamble, considering we're a couple of sad sack suits during the deadest time of the day. She's working the booze too, heavy pours of top shelf. Woodford Reserve on the house. Why not? No one’s here to notice, to call her to account. It’s that sort of bar, the kind with a tree growing through the backroom window and a staff that robs the register blind.
Andy holds the glass up. I raise mine in return. We lock our eyes, staring hard at each other. We've done this toast a million times. Happy, sad, the ritual is the same. Today, it's a grim display of brotherhood.
"Fuck em."
"Fuck em."
Shot glasses clink. Heads tilt back. The brown goes down smoothly. We are past the burn, glassy eyed and starting to forget this morning. This isn't the end of us, something else is waiting, but this afternoon is a wake. We've come to bury the dream of being big wheels in the crypto community. We were so close to turning our stablecoin into the industry standard. All crypto trades would have settled in ICA. That doesn't sound like much to an outsider, but the industry needs a bank backed stablecoin, or the future of money doesn't have a future. We came close, but like others before, we can't break through. Banks aren't about to let fake digital money disrupt their monopoly. Andy and I need to start thinking about alternatives.
"I promised you that we would be filthy fucking rich. We are sitting on five hundred million dollars and have nothing to show for it. We are going to put that money to work motherfucker."
Katy's eyes flash at Andy's words. Pretty purple ones. Contact lenses, long lashes, glitter in her eye shadow. She's not dressed for here. Something bigger, better is waiting later. You can always tell who's stuck and who's just passing through a place. I wonder what her hustle is. Is she a creative type or is she here to cash in? New York is filled with each. The very best do both. Andy and I fancied ourselves among the best, but I'm starting to have doubts. We need some creative ways to make cash, because our current one isn't working out.
"We'll bounce back, Andy. We always do."
"Damn fucking right."
Andy pulls a slim Juul vape from his breast pocket. The red-light flashes under his nose. No breaks today. Katy reaches into her bag and pulls out a yellow pack of American Spirits. She gives them a shake and him a smile.
"Can I buy one off you gorgeous?" Andy asks.
"How about we split one?" she offers.
"Now you're talking."
Andy slides off his stool, pats me on the back and staggers towards the door. They disappear out into the godawful daylight of Houston Ave. She's good. Reeling him in bit by bit, but he's happy to be played. This is how the game goes. Andy just wants to feel better. He doesn't mind how long that feeling lasts or how fake it was to begin with. Tomorrow is another day. The pain is here now. He needs it to go away.
Besides, we aren't out of business yet. We still have Frankfurt. We have all that money sitting in an account a mile from this bar. Those dumb fucks think we are a precious metals hedge fund. They think Andy and I are some sort of whiz kid traders cornering the market on obscure commodities like palladium. Today's defeat means we must keep playing our cat and mouse game with Frankfurt. That’s going to be hard. Crypto is taking off. Bitcoins and blockchains becoming household words. One day someone at Frankfurt will see Andy and I at a conference, doing business among the monetary anarchists, and they'll connect the dots. When that happens, everything comes crashing down. That's why we needed that other account. We need to come in from the cold or get out of the game. You can’t live forever in no man’s land.
Andy and Katy are getting cozy against the outside wall. Looks like I’ll be a third wheel if I stay. Better to be out on the street where my brain can be distracted by the traffic lights, advertising, the rush of pedestrians. Problems fade away when I’m playing real life Frogger. In here, they’ll just loom larger. Time to give this place the Irish goodbye. Andy won’t miss me. He won’t even notice if I borrow his sunglasses.