HARMONY

Part 5 "The Titanic hits the Iceberg"

Back in Steve's office....

"Let Steve finish," Chad said. His voice cracked, but his focus stayed on his childhood friend.

"Thanks." He nodded at Chad. "Good points, but unlike the prime 80/20 loans of yesteryear, too many subprimes are based on housing values rising and refinancing." He cleared his throat. "And not so much on the borrowers' actual ability to pay back."

His crews' desperate pails came out once more—their chilling voices crashing together without distinction.

"You gave us those directives."

"90/10, 0 down. Sell 'em off to Fannie and Freddie."

"Shit, most of us in this room have interest-only loans and we're watching our values drop too. Don't tell us we don't have a job."

"Steve?"

"Steve? What're you saying?"

"Can you make payroll?"

A mist invaded his eyes. "No. Not now. If Indy can't bundle and sell their loans, we have no chance." His next words washed over them with underwater sound. "I'm going to have to let you go."

Moans haunted the room. A few gasped. Someone choked back tears.

"Chad and I will need all of your files, the most—ah—aggressive files on top. Just a...just leave them on your desks."

A chuckle came from the back of the room. "Sure, you can have them all."

Steve tried to make eye contact, but no one would look at him. "I want you all to know that you are very valuable employees—no, you are valuable people, and this is not easy. We will sift through the files this weekend and see how, well, how behind, we are and..."

Fate of the financial world crashed through the little conference room.

"And after we've looked through everything," Chad continued. "We'll call each and every one of you Monday."

"Should we take our personals now," Jerry asked. He'd been thrown overboard before. "Or wait by the phone like a fat prom date?"

Steve's laugh was so phony; he wished he hadn't attempted it at all. "Um, Jerry, that's a good point." He smoothed his tie. "Best everyone take everything and we start fresh on Monday."

In a loud silence of unspoken words, they exited the room. Steve watched through the plexi-glass window as the search for boxes began. Any box. Shit, no more boxes. Why didn't I order more? In a jumble went the family pictures, goofy pencil holders, and stained coffee mugs. A comic strip crumpled and shot into the trash. The corpses of unfunded files left behind to rot.

Chad nodded at Steve and the two walked back to Steve's office. The just-loud-enough whispers swirled. 'Hell, I was thinking of starting my own brokerage company....I'd run it the right way...not like this fucked up place...how long does our health insurance go for...we get a severance package, right....isn't there something about that in our contract...what about our 401k?"

Steve closed the door.

"There was nothing else to say." Steve lumbered to sit heavy at his desk. "I mean, what else could I say?"

"You did fine," Chad said. "But, this weekend's gonna be a bitch."

"Sorry, I should have asked you before but—"

"Nah, it's cool," he said. He pulled the concert tickets from his pocket and tapped them on the desk. "But, you're going with me tonight to Wicked Snicker."