The Day Trader by Stephen Frey Read Free Book Online Page A

with?”
    “Over a million,” I answer immediately. That won’t be true until the insurance check clears, but I want Seaver to think of me as a player right away.
    Roger shrugs. “About half that,” he mumbles.
    Seaver nods gravely, as though he’s made a momentous decision. “I require a six-month security deposit for the cubicle and the equipment, and rent is due by the twenty-fifth of the preceding month. That’s seven thousand dollars from each of you. If you agree to the terms, you can make out a check for that amount before you leave and be free to trade when the U.S. markets open tomorrow morning at nine thirty. Just give the check to Anna. She keeps our books.”
    So Anna is more than just a hood ornament.
    “Mr. Seaver, the promotional information I received from Bedford said that if I rented a desk from you by August first, I’d be eligible for an introductory discount on the monthly fee. Twenty-five percent off the first six months. Today is July twenty-second.”
    Seaver’s face scrunches up so it looks like he’s shitting razor blades. “You must have gotten dated material, Augustus. We haven’t offered discounts for over a year. Demand for my desks has been strong, even with the choppy market. I haven’t had to cut my fee,” he says proudly.
    I was ready for this. The older I get, the more I realize that every transaction in life is negotiable, even if the price is clearly marked on the item. Making money is a zero-sum game. If you get it then the other guy doesn’t, so he’s going to fight you as hard as he can for every dollar. Some people are smoother at it than others, but I don’t let anybody fool me. I know everyone’s trying to pick my pocket.
    “I’d be happy to show you the information I received,” I say. “The offer is very clear. In fact, the discount kept rising. It started at ten percent back in the spring, then went to—”
    “Twenty-five percent?” he asks incredulously, glancing at Roger, who is looking away, trying to stay out of the discussion.
    “Yes.”
    “How much did you say you’d be trading with?” he asks.
    “Over a million.”
    Seaver purses his lips, then finally nods. “All right, I’ll make an exception, but I can’t offer you the same discount, Roger,” Seaver says quickly, pointing at the bearded guy.
    “That’s fine,” Roger mumbles. It’s obvious to me he’s not big on confrontation or conflict, which doesn’t bode well for his ability to get ahead in the day trading game. “I never got that promotional stuff,” he adds.
    “Then it’s settled,” Seaver says flatly. “You both are in.”
    Anticipation surges through me. I’m thirty-three years old, and I’m finally setting out on a path I have chosen for myself. A path that offers huge upside but no security whatsoever. My million could turn into ten million—or zero.
    “I’ll be happy to show you to your cubicles,” Seaver offers, glancing at his watch. “Then I’ve got to go to a meeting downtown.”
    “I agree to the terms,” Roger announces, standing up, “but I’ve got to be somewhere in a few minutes. I don’t plan to start trading until next Monday anyway, so I’ll come back this afternoon and look around.”
    “Okay.” Seaver turns to me. “What about you?”
    “I’d like to see mine now.”
    A few moments later Seaver leads me through a pair of swinging doors and onto Bedford’s large trading floor. Over the constant hum of conversation there are occasional shouts of elation or frustration, as well as the sound of fists pounding on desks. Seaver leads me down a long carpeted aisle past four-foot-high cubicle walls. Inside the cubes, casually dressed people are speaking into phones, tapping impatiently at keyboards, scrawling figures on notepads, and studying charts on their computer screens. Arranged in groups of five, the cubicles seem to reflect the lives and personalities of their tenants. Some walls are decorated with childrens’ drawings, others