‘Why wouldn’t you still be there?’
‘Something might come up. You never know.’
Humlin called a taxi immediately since he suspected a moment’s delay would allow Burén to disappear into any one of the labyrinths of his financial world from which it would be impossible to retrieve him.
The taxi driver wore a turban and had loud reggae music playing on the sound system. Burén’s office was on Strandvägen which was easy to find. Humlin became increasingly more irritated by the music as the trip wore on. What irritated him the most was his own inability to ask the driver to turn it down. Why can’t I make a simple request, he thought. Do I think he’ll assume I’m racist just because I’d like for the music to be turned down during a ride that I’m paying for? When the taxi pulled up outside Burén’s building Humlin was still irritated and compensated by tipping the driver way too much.
Humlin always felt uncomfortable when he entered Burén’s office. He had often asked him why the curtains always had to stay drawn.
‘I think it creates a cosier atmosphere,’ Burén said.
‘I think it creates the feeling of sitting in a cellar.’
‘When talking about money I find one needs to stay completely calm and rid oneself of all extraneous thoughts.’
‘The only thought I have when I come to see you is that I want to get out of here as soon as possible.’
‘That is also the point.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That I don’t like for my clients to stay longer than necessary.’
Burén was all of twenty-four years old, but looked closer to fifteen. He had had a skyrocketing career within the financial world, beginning when he borrowed money in school to make a couple of extremely lucky investments in the growing Internet business. He had made his first million before he even graduated. For a few years he worked for one of the largest investment firms in the country, then he had broken off to start his own business in this dim office. Humlin sat down in the uncomfortable wooden chair Burén had bought for an outrageous sum of money at the Bukowski auction house.
‘I just want to know how my investments are doing,’ Humlin said.
‘Everything is fine.’
‘What about the recent stock-market fluctuations?’
‘What fluctuations?’
‘Every paper in the country has been running this as front-page news! The market has lost fourteen per cent of its value.’
‘An excellent development,’ Burén said.
‘How can you say that?’
‘It just depends on what perspective you use to look at it.’
‘I can only see it this way: how are my stocks doing?’
When Humlin started investing a few years ago, he decided to follow his mother’s advice to be conservative and not put all of his 250,000 kronor in one basket. He had insisted that Burén — whom Viktor Leander had recommended — buy shares in a variety of companies and industries. But after about a year Burén had convinced him that it was time to make a concerted investment in some extremely promising Internet company. Burén had suggested White Vision, a company that apparently made ‘cloned accessories’, which was a phrase Humlin still did not understand. The company was being praised to the skies in the media and the founder was a nineteen-year-old student at Chalmers Business School who was considered a brilliant innovator. She was also a beautiful woman whose private life was often the subject of extra press coverage.
At first the new strategy had been extremely profitable. Humlin’s initial investment of 250,000 had risen in just a few months to three times his original stake. Every time he suggested selling and pocketing the profits Burén had convinced him the stock had not yet peaked. Now Burén was looking at his computer screen in an inscrutable, thoughtful silence. Humlin’s stomach was starting to hurt.
‘Your shares are doing just fine,’ Burén said finally.
Humlin felt a wave of relief. He had been worried about the market for several weeks now and had not been able to make himself follow the numbers in the papers.
‘So they’re still going up?’
Burén looked again at his screen.
‘They’re not going up. But they’re fine.’
‘You sound as if you’re talking about an unruly group of schoolchildren. When we bought those shares they were worth a hundred and twenty kronor per share. Last time we talked they were up at almost four hundred. What are they today?’
‘Their recent fluctuations have been negligible.’
‘Is that up or down?’
‘Both. Sometimes mostly up, sometimes mostly down.’
Humlin’s worry was starting to return.
‘And where are they right now, exactly?’
‘They appear to have stabilised.’
‘Can’t you give me a straight answer?’
‘I am giving you straight answers.’
‘What are they worth?’
‘Right now: nineteen fifty.’
Humlin stared with horror at the man he only saw dimly on the other side of the desk. In his mind he saw all his savings turning from a mountain of gold to a heap of ashes.
‘But that’s a catastrophe. I bought shares for two hundred and fifty thousand kronor. What would I get today if I sold everything?’
‘About thirty-five thousand.’
Humlin gave a bitter roar.
