Tag: short-selling

Swamped

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Excerpt

Logan getting up and walking to the shower. The sound of the water
mixed with the chirping of birds in the trees around the house. Logan
came down ready for an early departure to the office.
“You’re up very early today, son,” Eteo said.
“Yes, earlier than usual, but let me share a coffee with you before
I go,” Logan replied. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a
cup, then sat next to his father.
“What should we focus on today, Dad?”
“Keep on buying slowly in the new company. We have plenty of
orders, right?”
“God, yes, at least half a million, but I’ll do it slowly.”
“Yes, and carefully. If you notice anything strange, let me know
right away. And don’t forget we have plenty to allocate to our clients
from the private placement.”
“Yes, I remember, and yet we still have lots of orders. When the
market goes after it like we do, what do you think will happen to the
price?”
“We don’t like to chase it up ourselves, you know. We want other
people to do that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And something else. Let’s try to unload some of that loser we
bought a year ago, that real estate deal that didn’t do well. Let’s call a
few of our people who invested in it and convince some of them to
take the loss and reposition into this one. They’ll have a better chance
of recovering their losses and maybe even making a few dollars this
time. Get Helena to talk to some of them. Let’s see where that takes
us.”
“Okay, will do.”
“Have you got enough stock for your key people?”
“Not for all, but I’ll keep on buying. Slowly, as you said. We have
enough right now for the two brothers and Angelo. Have you talked
to them?”
“Yes, I talked to them and to Yannis. Kenny too. Position him
and his friends in this one, but slowly, as long as we get some stock
for all of them, okay?”

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Swamped

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young woman, whom Eteo found pleasant and sociable. She was a
Chinese-Canadian whose parents lived in Coquitlam.
Eteo took Jonathan and drove to a pool hall at Broadway and
Ontario where Jonathan had discovered they had one table of European
billiards, a game at which his uncle was a master.
“Will I ever win against you, uncle?” Jonathan asked after Eteo
had taken the third game in a row.
Eteo laughed. “You will when I let you” he answered, and
Jonathan laughed too. They sipped their lattes and played again and
when they had finished, Eteo drove back to the house just as the
cleaning ladies were putting their things away.
For dinner, Eteo suggested a visit to Mythos, a Greek spot on
Lonsdale where he knew the owner and the boys always enjoyed their
meals. It was a fairly new place, and Angelo had done an expert job
decorating the interior since he was already a partner in another
restaurant on Marine Drive. In the kitchen he had a cook whom Eteo
also knew well, and whose special appetizer of mussels was what Eteo
liked the most about the place.
Angelo’s sister, who worked as the hostess, took them to their
table. They were all hungry and fell like vultures on their appetizers
of humus, calamari, and pitta bread as soon as they came. By the time
the main courses arrived, they were almost full, but that only meant
they had plenty to take home at the end of the evening.
Early next morning, with the clock on the night table reading
4:00, Eteo still tossed and turned in bed, unable to go to sleep, his
mind racing through a myriad of thoughts like a crazy monkey on a
big tamarind tree jumping from branch to branch as if in desperate
search for something hidden there. The bedroom was a little too
warm, and his breathing was as loud and irregular as his thoughts.
He often planned his next day while awake in his bed the night
before, so this morning wasn’t any different from others. Fully awake
now, Eteo let his eyes travel around the walls. The window was still
very dark at this time in the morning. Light would come no earlier
than seven, but he felt the need to talk to someone. Who would be
there for him to call and talk right now? The sounds of the house
were regular and steady.

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Swamped

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“Yeah.” Frankie smiled. “Movies. Look it up. It’s going places.”
“I shall.”
“Have a good day, Eteo,” Frankie said as his phone rang again
and he walked off to answer it.
Eteo had met Frankie when they both worked for Yorkshire Securities,
one of the solidest firms in Vancouver. He had known Henry,
Frankie’s brother, first, and through Henry he had met Frankie, who
had risen from a junior broker there to being one of the big wheels
in downtown Vancouver.
Frankie had important contacts all over, which meant he could
raise huge amounts of money for any deal he thought was good. Eteo
knew nothing about the film industry, but if Frankie said Lionsgate
Entertainment was going places, Eteo knew he should look into it.
He walked toward the 22nd Street dock. The water was beautiful
again, with small swells washing over the rocks on the shore and
making the sea weed and barnacles that covered them shimmer.
Countless sea gulls circled and swooped above calling out strange
messages that only gulls understood. Their screeching voices always
struck Eteo as almost out of this world. ey seemed to inhabit a
world of wonders and exaggerations. Did Frankie, who had le the
resource sector to get involved in the film industry, inhabit another
world of wonders now?
Eteo knew that a lot of brokers followed Frankie wherever he led.
They all wanted a piece of whatever action Frankie had. At one time
there had even been rumors that Frankie controlled Yorkshire Securities.
He had certainly seemed to have the biggest say in everything
the firm got into. Then the rumors were that he had left the firm to
develop something totally his, a company from scratch. Could this
Lionsgate Entertainment be the one? Eteo always admired people who
started from the bottom and became leaders in their field. Frankie
was such a man, and Eteo promised himself to look into Lionsgate as
soon as he could.
His eyes were drawn to a runabout coming under the Lions Gate
Bridge and speeding toward the outer area of English Bay. Runabouts
were used as water taxies to ferry harbour pilots, who by law were
assigned to command the vessels in and out of the harbour.

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Swamped

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“We’ll get some. It has the sweetener of the warrant, a two-year
warrant. It could mean some good profit down the road.”
They discussed the details until Yannis was satisfied. Business
over, he led Eteo to his garden and with a proud voice described this
year’s crop. He still had a lot of greens—arugula, spinach, Swiss chard,
and beets—but he was proudest of this year’s tomatoes. He grew three
varieties: Roma, Early Girl, and Beefsteak, the last of which produced
huge fruits that took a longer time to ripen. Yannis would use these
late tomatoes to dice and put in the freezer for cooking while the others
were for present use in salads. Eteo had many of the same things
in his much smaller garden. Growing his own beautiful, tasty vegetables
was a practice from his earliest years in Vancouver. He recalled
his first house in Richmond and the tiny vegetable patch there
that he still managed to get plenty of fresh produce from.
They walked around the gardens chatting about old times until
they reached Yannis’s fig trees. e fruits were finished by this time
of the year, but Eteo knew that Yannis had a very good crop of figs
every year. A little later he le for North Vancouver where he would
reach just in time for his aernoon walk at Ambleside Park.
A few minutes before he reached his house, his mobile phone
rang and Eteo pulled to the side of the road.
“Hi Eteo, it’s Spiro.”
“Spiro, what’s up?”
“Did you buy me some of the new shares?”
“Yes, I got you twelve thousand, and it ended up 40 cents for the
week. I expect it to gain a little more this coming week.”
“Should we get a few more before it moves higher?” Spiro’s voice
sounded anxious.
“No, not from the market. I’ll allot a few more to you from the
financing they do at 40 cents and we get a two-year warrant.”
“How many more do you suggest?” Spiro’s voice was calmer now.
He had always trusted Eteo and always passed the recommendations
to his brother Mike, who would follow him and purchase the same
amount of shares in each of Eteo’s recommendations.
“I’ll put aside another eight thousand so you end up with twenty.
What do you think? Can you afford that many?”

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Swamped

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Asians, every kind of European and Latin American, Africans, and
of course the original First Nations people, the victims as Eteo considered
them. The First Nations people whom the ruthless Europeans
of two centuries ago, with their rifles and guns and chicken pox and
diphtheria and polio and alcohol, almost exterminated, slowly and
methodically. The Europeans who came with their tall ships ready to
carry out whatever barbarisms suited their purposes, all while proselytizing,
yes, the Europeans who wanted to turn the First Nations
people into good Christians such as themselves only to exterminate
them tribe after tribe, only to ostracize them clan after clan, only to
enclose them at the peripheries, closely guarded by the always repressive
word or sword, whichever worked best.
Eteo kept walking, now with a fire in his chest. His steps led him
to the familiar dock at the end of 22nd Street. He reached the edge
of the dock and leaned against the framed barrier, letting his gaze
travel over the shiny water. It at least reflected a natural balance, unlike
the human world, its natural balance permeating everything, part
of the balance cosmos has invented and into which even the unbalance
of people blends and gets absorbed. His eyes encompassed the
gleam of the water and the green background on the far side of English
Bay in the university neighbourhood, where more rich Vancouverites
lived, where houses sold in the millions and one wondered
why. Who had induced such lunacy in the housing market while
thousands in East Vancouver were homeless or paying half their meagre
incomes on rent? Whose game was being played in the Lower
Mainland housing market to favor one area against the other?
Eteo let his attention dive into the shallow water under the dock
where small crabs went about their business on the sea floor and the
small perch fed on the barnacles of the dock’s piles. A few starfish
decorated the sandy floor while seaweed floated left and right like
orchestra that a conductor directed its myriad violins in this naturally
balanced world beyond human influence, a balance suddenly interrupted
by his mobile phone. Yannis was ringing him.
“Hello, John.”
“Hi, how are you?” Yannis asked

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Swamped

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A dark windy night. Eteocles is about three years old, Nicolas five,
and their mother as old as the worry about how to feed her children
has made her, as old as any mother who lives in the ruins of war, a
woman whose husband is on the front line. It is a windy night, and
the gaps in the doors and windows make an apocalyptic music, as if
the inhabitants of this hovel are walking through the hallways of hell.
Eteocles remembers the scene well. They are sitting around the metal
bucket their mother has made into a heating element. She burns
wood in it, and the heat reaches out perhaps a meter all around it.
They are sitting warming themselves, listening to the wrath of the
tempest just a few meters away beyond the frames of the single door
and the courageous window to the north.
Suddenly from the deadly war of the elements outside a sudden
wind floods the room as the door opens. A man stands in the frame
gazing inside. It is their father returning from the war. He stands
there for long time, not knowing what to say, how to greet them; he
hasn’t seen them for twenty-seven long months. Their mother lets
out a cry, a cry that sounds like the name of the standing man, her
husband, the man who had gone to war when Eteocles was just a few
months old. Her husband is home at last, and she gets up and calls
him inside and walks up to him and hugs him with a fierceness that
expresses the emotional volcano boiling inside her. She hugs him for
a long time, then she pulls away, and their father kneels and calls his
sons to him. Neither of them dares approach this stranger. Eteocles
doesn’t know this man at all, while Nicolas, who was three years old
when his father left his sons, perhaps has some faint memory of him.
Neither of the two dares move toward the man in soldier’s clothes
who calls them again and again until Eteocles observes his feet making
small steps toward the open arms of their father and Nicolas follows
soon after. The soldier clings tightly to them, saying words the
two brothers only feel, the soothing words of a father who has missed
his sons, a man who had gone to war without knowing if he would
ever see them again. They feel those words, and they cuddle with the
man who has come inside their house and ignore the wind that has
entered with him and turned the room into a frozen habitat in which
the small metal bucket with the burning wood cannot warm more

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Swamped

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that he had truly learned how to cook. Jonathan and Logan cleaned
up the table, took the dishes to the sink and rinsed them, and Alex
loaded them in the dishwasher, while Eteo went to his office to make
a few phone calls to inform more clients about the new Target Resources
company and the shares he recommended for them. Meanwhile
Jonathan sat down at the family room table and did some
homework while Logan went out to meet his new flame, as he called
his new girlfriend, and Alexander got busy with his play station.

Next day Eteo arrived in the office at 6:10, well before Helena, but almost
as soon as he turned his computer on, Logan walked in. Herbert
was not far behind, smiling and chuckling.
“Let’s look at the opening orders” he said to Eteo and stood behind
him. Eteo went to the page that showed the buying and selling
orders for Platinum Properties. Pointing to two orders from Pacific
Trends, he confirmed to Herbert that they were both his orders.
“Could I buy a few more shares, Eteo, before these two orders?”
“We bought you some yesterday morning, remember?”
“Yes, I know, and here is my cheque, by the way.” Herbert handed
Eteo a cheque for yesterday’s purchase and what he was planning to
buy today. “For another 30,000 shares,” he explained.
Eteo wrote the buying order and turned to his client.
“I should go to the trading desk to instruct the head trader in
person about who’s first and who’s second. I’ll be right back.”
He needed to get to the trading desk quickly. It was almost time
for the opening bell. By the time he got back to his office, trading had
begun and a beaming Herbert had his extra 30,000 shares. With that,
the always smiling investor walked out, though not before promising
to keep Eteo in the loop.
The rest of the morning unfolded like any other trading day.
Eteo’s other orders were in line, and he steadily picked up more shares
of Platinum Properties and allocated them to the six clients he had
selected while keeping a steady eye on the price of the stock, which
moved up slightly into the low forties.

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Swamped

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these images oen came to his mind when he walked
the seawall along the Dundarave to 22nd Street. When he reached
the dock, he would go to the end, lean over the wooden structure,
and gaze at the sea bottom, at the sea life around the big wooden piles
full of barnacles, on which the small fish fed, at the crabs visible from
above where he stood. He remembered all the times he and his
brother would chase and try to outsmart the small crabs on the rocks
of his homeland, and how they would get soaked by the waves crashing
against the same rocks where they hunted the crabs and sea snails
their mother could turn into tasty meals that he devoured eagerly
every single time.
The sea’s familiar aroma filled his lungs. He looked around at all
the people standing and admiring the skyline of the University of
British Columbia across the bay or gazing out at the open sea toward
Vancouver Island, which was clearly visible in today’s sunshine. His
ears picked out a strongly accented voice behind him saying something
about the size of the university campus across the water and
the number of students that went there, and then a similar voice answering
him. The people talking were Iranians. He knew the accent.
Having an accent himself, he had learned to discern the accents of
others during his twenty years in Canada. He leaned over the wood
fence again and looked down into the water. It had a fascination that
attracted his eyes every time. He couldn’t imagine himself living in
the interior, in a place far from the sea. The restless, changeable sea
with its serene, glassy surface or its rough waves when the winds ran
amok. It was too important to him.
Eteocles Armenakis from Crete, had worked for a while for CP
Rail when he first came to Canada. The other yard men, his co-workers,
couldn’t handle the name Eteocles, so they had renamed him
Eteo. This prompted Eteocles to file for an official name change, and
he became Eteo Armen, simplifying both his first and last names.
Eteo raised his body up from the edge of the dock and felt the
tears filling his eyes. The images of those early days would remain
forever in his memory. They would always bring tears to his eyes. He
started walking back toward Ambleside Park.
His phone rang. It was Herbert.

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Swamped

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“Let’s go Susan, I’m hungry,” he said, taking her by the hand. They
walked past Logan and Helena into the hallway. Alone with Susan in
the elevator, he rewarded her expectations with a kiss, to which she
responded as eagerly as he had hoped. They said nothing until they
reached the ground floor and crossed the street to Da Carlo’s, an Italian
eatery and one of the best spots for lunch in downtown Vancouver.
The place was already packed, but he was known to the manager,
who escorted them straight to a table. When they had settled down,
he gazed wordlessly at Susan. Her brown eyes were brighter now than
earlier, even in the dim light of the restaurant.
“You look beautiful today, Susan,” he said, taking her hand in his.
“Thank you.” Her answer echoed so loudly in his ears.
He called the server, and they each ordered a pasta dish with
chicken. He suggested half a litre of red wine to go with the pasta and
tomato sauce. Susan agreed and added with a smile, “You plan to get
me drunk?”
“You want me to, sweet Susan?” he answered with a question.
She enjoyed being with this man. Since they had met and gone
out a few times, she had gotten used to drinking wine. Canadian born
and raised, Susan had grown up with beer and pubs rather than
restaurants and wine, but he had had an effect on her in that department
and Susan now appreciated the European ways he had kept
after all his years in Canada. He still spoke with an accent, and Susan
sometimes had trouble following everything he said. But other than
that, she loved his ways and in particular his romantic touch, often
expressed unexpectedly on the spur of the moment. She felt very attracted
to him and didn’t shy away from showing her affection. He
felt the same way. She had sensed this as soon as they started dating.
His only concern was what other people in the company might say.
He extended his arm to the middle of their table, where a few
seasonal flowers were placed in a small vase. He took a rosebud and
gave it to her.

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Swamped

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known how to handle the new reality at first, but he was a fast learner,
and he had stayed afloat despite all the rough spots along the way.
Like the night Logan had come home late with a bunch of his high
school friends and while his father, brother, and cousin were asleep,
one of those friends had stolen all his credit cards. Luckily, he had
found out the next day when the credit card company called inquiring
about some unusual purchases.
Yes, there had been a few rough spots, but he had faced up to
them. He had stood tall and made things work. Logan was doing well
in the office as a junior stockbroker, and he had already made plans
for Alexander after he graduated in a couple of years. As for Jonathan,
he was due to graduate soon with a first-class degree and a bright future
awaiting him back in Greece.
His attention was caught by the green leaves of the gardenia plant
in the office. A flower had bloomed and the fragrance filled the room.
He got up and walked over to the pot, leaned in a little, and savored
the aroma. He remembered how his mother had always kept a couple
of gardenia plants in the house. Back then they used to plant them
in rectangular metal containers; it was said the metal was good for
the plant, especially after the container had rusted due to the watering.
He touched the soil and noticed that it was dry. He called Helena
in from the outside office where her desk and Logan’s were located.
“It feels dry, Helena” he said, pointing to the plant.
“I’ll take care of it,” Helena said and went to get water.
Helena Poulos was the daughter of a Greek family that he didn’t
know personally but of whom he had heard. Her family was in the
food business, with two restaurants, one in North Vancouver and one
in Kitsilano, but Helena hadn’t been interested in that, and when the
opportunity arrived to work for a stockbroker downtown, she had
jumped at the chance. He had been very happy with her work ethic
and commitment, and she had also brought all her family members
and a few friends in as new clients.
The rest of the morning flowed uneventfully, but when the time
came for lunch, his mind ran to Susan. He dialed her internal number.
“Want to go a catch a bite?” he asked her.

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