The first April thunderstorm threw angry gusts of water over the high rises in Miami. Soon the streets were beginning to flood and showed no mercy for the expensive cars that lined the manicured streets of Brickell. A handful of Lamborghinis always got flooded during each thunderstorm. It was nature’s brutal taxation system.
Rebecca Ford was early and sat in the grand lobby of the office tower, and looked out at the deluge outside. Twice a year they flew all board members down to Miami for a meeting. This was her second meeting after being elected to be on the International Investment Alliance, or IIA.
Since she had worked in government under two presidents, she had now reached the point in her career when these opportunities came knocking on the door. They needed a new committee chair for the Risk Management Committee. Her investment banker background combined with her years in public service attracted the attention of the IIA, and now she preparing for her second meeting.
The plush executive lounge chairs in the lobby had a calming effect. The expensive Italian leather emitted a vague aroma which Rebecca liked. She watched a few half-drenched people walk in, and she felt a moment of empathy towards them. They would have to do their best to clean up before they went to whatever appointment they were scheduled to attend. The IIA board meeting was scheduled to begin in about 20 minutes. She had learned to arrive about five minutes before the meetings began. It was enough time to exchange pleasantries and still not seem too needy. This was a top position and she had to maintain the air of a leader. She was used to it.
Rebecca took the elevator up to the 50th floor. She was alone in the elevator and had time to study herself in the mirror. A tall, somewhat athletic-looking and fairly fashionable, in the more timeless sense, 60 year old woman stared back at her. She wasn’t exactly elegant, but had managed to build herself a persona that on good days imitated elegance. It hadn’t always been so, but her years in public service had taught her many harsh lessons, and the result came out looking more like wisdom than elegance. She had used that wisdom in her second career as an investment banker. And that’s when she had taken time to develop her wardrobe and clothing style. A few years ago she had almost experienced a mild heart attack when she found herself mentioned in a trendy fashion magazine in the category of “Powerful Women with Powerful Elegance.” So, perhaps it was elegance after all? The elevator bell sounded and she on the 50th floor. IIA owned all of it.
“Ms. Ford! I read your debrief and wholeheartedly agree! It’s of course the Polish and German accounts!” This was Mr. Delgado, who was working too hard at attempting to rise in the ranks. Rebecca gave him a quick and friendly smile while continuing to walk toward the board room, and responded:
“Good afternoon, Mr. Delgado, nice to see you too,” and she entered the board room. Twelve comfortable chairs were placed along a long and dark noble wood table. The view was dramatic. Out there below them Miami and beyond it the stormy Atlantic. Everything still a gray and silver rainstorm, with hints of black and even orange tones in the clouds. Loud thunder broke through the hurricane proof windows now and then.
At the far end of the board room table sat the Director of IIA, Mr. Felipe Stratton of Basel, Switzerland. Rebecca nodded a polite but smile-free greeting to Mr. Stratton, who was busy scrolling through his agenda items and searching for documents on his laptop. He acknowledged her with a polite smile and she sat four chair down on his right. This meant she missed out on the grand views. Oh well, it wasn’t all that important to her. Being this high up in Florida always felt a bit uncomfortable, she thought.
Rebecca was seated next to a Ms. Uusitalo and a Mr. Stubjev, both cool but friendly. They were younger than her and nervous. Rebecca could always pick up on such things. And, after all, this was a situation worthy of nervousness. At least to a first timer on this type of a board. This was not a board that allowed for beginners. These positions were only granted a few select. Even the right connections and political favors did not always guarantee a spot on the IIA board. You had to have done something. Something real. And if you messed up, you were out.
That’s how Rebecca’s predecessor had ended his term on the board. Risk Management was a demanding committee. A full time job on top of whatever job the person currently had. Mr. Pilecchi had failed to bring up not only one, but two brewing world events that ended up affecting the board negatively. It was inexcusable and he was let go unanimously. The perplexing this was that he was the head of a private intelligence firm in Italy and had plenty of access to intelligence about both world events that were brewing. The entire board was reprimanded for its poor standard, and remarks were made that Mr. Pilecchi’s follower must be someone with their head screwed on right. They found Ms. Rebecca Ford.
The twelve IIA members were seated and the meeting began. The usual agenda items that had to be discussed were completed with Swiss precision and speed. Everyone had prepared for the meeting, everyone paid attention, and everyone was waiting for the actual agenda item. Item number seven.
The by-laws of IIA included a special clause. This clause enabled the IIA board to act as a proxy voter for an anonymous shareholder in one of the most influential banks in Europe. Item number seven came with a five page document that could only be read on location in the board room, and every board member who wished to vote had to read it.
Mr. Stratton announced a 30 minute reading time of the five pages, and added:
“No one is permitted to take notes. Focus, think, decide. When time is up you will bring the documents here to be shredded and incinerated. Then you will place your vote on this terminal here up front. You are, however, permitted quiet conversation.”
Rebecca read through the first page without much interest. Laws and regulations, non-disclosure agreements and lists of possible punishment if those were violated. The usual stuff. It was when she turned to page two that a series of words made her sit up straight.
“…underground apartments reserved for 2000 members and their nearest kin…”
She was ingesting each word with the focus of a peregrine falcon. This document was a request to park an enormous amount of money in a cloaked account at this powerful European bank. The agreement between the bank and the customer was that the bank would be privy to the intended use of the funds. No less, no more. The bank was now asking IIA to vote on this decision. Should they offer a cloaking account to this customer or not? But there was more.
On page four there was a detailed schematic of an underground structure, with an emphasis on the layout of an apartment. Rebecca glanced at the clock. She had about ten more minutes. She let her eyes wander across the schematic and noticed something labeled “Internal power facility” and at the very bottom of the schematic “Tunnel system entry”. She turned the page and saw the list.
The list of names of those 2000 who were invited to the underground apartments during a global catastrophic event. This underground facility was called Euro4 and was located in the Swiss Alps. Or rather, inside the Swiss Alps. Rebecca glanced at the clock again. Five minutes left. She looked at Ms. Uusitalo and Mr. Stubjev who already were whispering with each other in soft confident voices.
“I always suspected something like this!” Uusitalo said a bit too rapidly with a nervous smile. Stubjev nodded without a smile, and kept skimming through the 2000 names. He stopped and looked at Rebecca.
“What did you say your name was again?” He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of her name plate on the desk. His face turned a strange pale, as if all life force left him. He held up his paper and pointed to her name.
Rebecca Ford. There it was. She was on that list of 2000 people who could go down into a bunker underground and survive a world catastrophe.
Ms. Uusitalo’s mouth fell open and she whispered in a guttural voice:
“Now at least we know how you will vote!” Stubjev shook his head in disapproval.
“How did you get on that list? That’s what I want to know.” He couldn’t hide his feelings any longer.
Rebecca felt a lightning bolt of ice shoot down her entire body and lodge itself in her stomach. She was terrified and perplexed. She was not aware of any underground bunkers. She had never heard of anything like this, or been invited to join a secret group of any kind. Yet there she was, on the list of 2000. She quickly read through as many names as she could and began to recognize name after name of powerful people. Dishonest, egotistical, and evil people.
“We will be placing our votes now. Bring your documents to be destroyed, and make your vote.” Mr. Stratton spoke loudly.
“I can’t support this!” Rebecca whispered to Uusitalo and Stubjev. “This is a bunch of evil bullshit!”
Stubjev thought for a moment before whispering:
“This is your second board meeting, am I correct? Well, think about it this way — if you vote against this, they’ll get rid of you. You know that, don’t you? Do you think they will keep your name on that bunker door for you, hmm? If you vote no, then your name will be scraped off that underground door before you have taken the elevator back down to the ground floor here.” Stubjev took his papers and walked up to vote.
Ms. Uusitalo gave Rebecca a brief glance that signaled rejection and shame. Ms. Uusitalo had her whole life ahead of her as a board member of the IIA, and she was intent on keeping it that way. No one had to speak out loud the secret rules of IIA, but Ms. Uusitalo and Mr. Stubjev already knew how to navigate this world. They were not going to be clumsy, like Ms. Ford.
Ms. Ford. She had looked forward to becoming acquainted with one of the most successful women in finance in the past twenty years. Ms. Uusitalo felt a sting of disappointment at this ruined opportunity, and then she walked up to vote.
Rebecca took the document and walked up to vote. Mr. Stratton held out his hand to receive the documents so he could feed them into the shredder-incinerator machine. Their eyes locked and Rebecca was certain he got a flash of her thoughts transmitted to him because he rearranged his face in a subtle way. For a split second he glanced at her purse, which she had brought with her, and he motioned toward the voting machine.
She didn’t move right away. He sighed and kept looking her straight in the eyes. He opened his mouth, took in a short breath of air, tried to speak, couldn’t, and closed his mouth. Mr. Stratton’s impeccable suit-covered shoulders shrunk down an inch. He tapped her rolled up documents in his hand, tried again to say the words he was aiming for, and failed. After she had voted, she turned to him and said:
“Tell them... Oh wait, I didn’t see your name on the list, so I guess you can’t tell them!" Rebecca laughed and took the elevator down into the Miami sunshine.
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