THE TAINTED TRUST (Volume 2 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 17

 New York. Friday, April 17, 1987.

The flashing green light on Visconti's telephone console indicated his secretary was calling. He pressed the speaker-button. "Yes, Sue."

"Mister Raza's here. Would you like me to show him in?"

"Give me sixty seconds," he requested, then terminated the call. He was about to entertain Assif Raza, an extremely wealthy investor from Kuwait City. Visconti hurried to the full length mirror behind the door to his lavish private washroom, anxious to ensure that every aspect of his appearance was perfect. He stared at perfection: the three thousand dollar dark blue suit, the yellow silk tie, the custom made black Italian leather shoes, the fifty dollar haircut, the complete package.

A gentle knock on Visconti's office door was a signal for him to return to his office and stand in the center of the expensive multicolored Persian rug adorning the floor. "Come," he commanded.

Sue entered with Visconti's visitor. Smiling and with graceful and professional hand movements, she performed the introduction. "Mr. Raza, please meet Louis Visconti."

Visconti displayed his triple-A commercial smile, then stepped forward and used both hands to clasp the extended hand of his visitor. "Very pleased to meet you, Assif. Welcome to New York and to my office."

"A pleasure to be here and to meet you, Louis," Raza replied, stone faced. Raza, a fine featured but plump Kuwaiti wearing a black suit and tie, appeared to be in his mid-forties. His skin was light brown, his black hair thinning on top and graying slightly on the sides of his head. His brown eyes were beady, his nose hawkish.

Visconti gave a barely perceptible nod to Sue, giving her the cue to leave.

"I'll leave you two alone, now," Sue said. "Please call if you need anything." She turned and left the office, closing the door behind her.

Visconti pointed to two large green leather covered couches near the windowed corner of his office. The couches faced each other and were separated by an elegant glass topped coffee-table. "Assif, please join me over there. We can talk in comfort."

When they had moved to the couches and were seated facing each other, Visconti leaned forward. "Would you like something to drink, Assif? Coffee maybe?"

Raza crossed his legs and relaxed against the back of the couch. "No thank you. I've just finished a rather large breakfast."

"Then perhaps we can discuss business. I'm sure you're a very busy man and would rather not waste time with small talk."

Raza nodded.

"You mentioned a large amount of money in our telephone conversation." Visconti prompted, then stared at Raza, anxiously anticipating a positive response, hoping his approach would not be considered too bold.

Raza smirked. "I like that," he said, holding his hands in front of his chin and placing the tips of his fingers against one another. "You Americans don't beat around the bush."

Relieved, Visconti leaned backward and relaxed. "Thank you. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Maybe you could begin by telling me what I can do for you."

"Certainly. I represent a group of wealthy Kuwaiti investors. I am one of them. Having my own skin in the game creates a higher level of comfort among the members. The group has given me a mandate to diversify, both in terms of investment vehicles and geographic allocation."