The Ice Queen surveys her playground

Chapter 1

They’d had to endure three hours of it, so that ten minutes past noon when the sandwich guy knocked and entered with a large packed tray of sandwiches the mood began to brighten. It took three trips for the lunch to be set up on the side table beside the already existing range of sodas, coffee dispensers and accompanying accoutrements.

Regina Glacies did not relent until the sandwich guy withdrew without tip and her assistant had refilled the coffee flasks and anything else that needed topping up. The Ice Queen ran a tight ship. Just because a few team members did not have time to grab breakfast was not a good reason to ease off or break early.

The Ice Queen was laying out the esoteric features of some fast food chain’s operations. The way she saw it, it was hamburgers with an interesting twist. She felt the company might welcome some new equity to accelerate their growth prospects. She had given each of the team members ten minutes to outline the prospects that each had in their pipeline. She was not yet near boiling point, but what she had heard so far had not made her a happy camper.

“So what do you think Fred?”

Fred Curtin had been eyeballing a succulent roast beef on rye. He surfaced, “I think it’s an interesting proposition but we’ve always said we would steer clear of foodservice.”

A quick recovery like that would have worked in any other forum. For five minutes prior to letting his eyes stray towards the food, he had been dwelling on one of Maslow’s other hierarchical needs in the person of June, the Ice Queen’s PA, as she set up the luncheon table. June always came dressed for attention on Mondays when the private equity team got together.

** ** ** ** **

The Chairman was cooling his heels in the Ice Queen’s office across from the conference room. The blinds on the glass wall had been pulled up. In enabled him to watch the proceedings. The thought crossed his mind that what she was doing was very calculated, although the voices did not carry. He knew her well enough to speculate as to what was going on. He knew by her movements. How she set things up. She had a pattern. He watched carefully.

Turner knew he had always to be careful with the Ice Queen. Not that there was bad feeling between the two of them. No, that was no longer the case. Those feelings were of another time. They had each moved on. No grudges. Neither of them harbored thoughts of revenge. They were businesslike about it. One of those things.

They’d once had a break-up. So what? Standard mishap between professionals who occasionally got hot and bothered. Nowadays all their interactions were smooth, professional, non-confrontational. Above all, cool. Two senior executives each with an awareness of and respect for the other’s position. His twenty year age advantage and amiable disposition had guided him to be Chair. However, she now ran the show on a daily basis as CEO.

He watched and studied her. Important to gauge her mood before they sat down together. She was pacing around, but hardly getting in a flap. The Ice Queen rarely got excited. He could see that this was certainly not the moment when she would get into a flap. She rarely let loose. Restraint was her watchword. Moderation, self-control, determination, command of herself and her surroundings. That was Regina. Always. Well, nearly always. When she lost it, she could really lose it. Spittle flying. The F word. Cussing. A whole shit storm. Yet in a way it was those periodic outbursts that made her who she was: wired yet restrained; freaked out but collected; wound tight but controlled. The turbulence was always there beneath the composure. Restraint, you could see her making the effort all the time. It’s what kept everyone wary, at bay. Turner watched as she interacted with Curtin.

“Highly strung.” The then Chairman, P. J. Boyd Kingston Jr. had once said of her.

“Not really.” Turner had demurred. He was a man who knew these things. He had long ago worked out that everything was calculated. Even the outbursts. Particularly the outbursts. She was the very definition of control. It was he who had christened her the Ice Queen. The name had stuck.

Regina Glacies ran the Private Equity shop that was Magnum.. Certainly it was an area where a cool head was needed. Buying and selling companies, parts of companies, investments, distressed assets, capitalising on opportunities. In reality, it was a hedge fund. She ran the Magnum hedge fund. She needed a shed load of money to do it. Partners’ money. His money. Some of her own, of course. She used the firm’s money to take positions in whatever took her fancy. She looked at every opportunity where she could turn a buck. Most often she made a buck. Regina Glacies was a highly successful, driven investment banker.

** ** ** ** **

He still remembered the start of it all. Eighteen years ago now. Those days were ingrained in the collective memory of Wall Street. The explosion had been in his office. Monday, April 17, 2000, to be exact. She had just turned thirty and had signed up with Magnum. There was an urgency about her recruitment. Dot Coms were headed for the stratosphere. They were short staffed. A particular shortage of good people. Turner had seen her on the previous Monday and wanted her on board the following Monday. Somehow they got the paperwork done. Events however had conspired to make her entry less than smooth. Most notably the fact that the Monday that was supposed to be her first day turned out to be the first work day after the preceding Friday. Friday 14^th, Black Friday, when the dot bomb boom exploded and Wall Street got the shit knocked out of it.

“How can I help you?” The glamorous receptionist had asked.

“I’m Regina Glacies. I’m starting today. Mr. Turner said to ask for him when I reported for work.”

“Please take a seat.”

She should have known right then. The disheveled state of the reception area was a giveaway. The reaction from behind the glass screen was a stronger signal. She hadn’t needed a flag. The biggest marker had been Friday and the fallout. The weekend business pages had become obituary columns under their dark headlines. They’d had the benefit of a couple of days to assess the situation. They milked it to the full. The world was ending.

Thing was, she did know. At least she had sensed that Friday had been a game changer. Except she decided not to acknowledge that little fact. It was business as usual, as far as she was concerned. She had spent the weekend playing mind games with herself. A long series of what ifs and trial responses. Nice game of tennis. Backwards and forwards. She spent the weekend at it. No matter how she served, she could envisage Magnum’s killer returns. When she moved into the net, Turner always came out ahead. In the scenarios she game-played, they never got to game, set and match. She always had some aces up her sleeve She had been determined to save that Forest Hills encounter for the Monday.

They had kept her waiting. Forty minutes. A voice interrupted her continued reverie. “Ms. Glacies, take the elevator to the 20th. His office is third on the left. His assistant, June, will meet you at the elevator.”

This was it. First stab at the big time. So circumstances had changed, so what? She’d signed and returned the contract. The job was hers. The fact that the world was falling apart was not her fault. In the elevator, she took a few deep breaths. She checked herself out in the stainless steel surround and pulled down the little jacket. The little white jacket had cost her a week’s salary. Would have done, if she’d had a salary. She’d sprung for it nonetheless. It had been her investment in the job search, interview, recruitment process that she had landed herself in three months previously. She’d been twelve weeks in Purdah.

Turner too had been preparing. Friday and the weekend had been catastrophic. His budget was shot. No way could he take on new hires. He was considering how many to let go. No matter what commitments, had been made, they had to be negated. She had a contract. No denying it. The firm would suffer. The only way out that he could see was to ensure that he was the kind of guy that she would never want to work for. She would have to decide to quit before she started. Not a pleasant job. One of those things. Not a problem for Turner, who was then head of Private Equity, a relatively small part of what was an old line brokerage firm. He would have to get her up close and personal. Let her see what she was in for. The real world. Wall Street.

He never looked up, “thank you June,” he said as his assistant retreated. No offer of coffee. No take a seat. He sat there immersed in a memo. Elegant, maybe even regal. Feet on the desk, cordovan loafers with tassels, slacks with a razor edge crease. Relaxed. The perfect representation of Wall Street, except for the manners. None.

She coughed.

He didn’t look up, just pointed at one of the chairs.

Okay, she was a big girl. What, he was maybe fifteen years her senior, she thought. Wall Street man. Nicely turned out. But, so was she. She adjusted herself carefully, paying no attention to the guy behind the desk. She felt his eyes on her. A familiar sensation. For half her life that had been the case. Men had been watching her since high school in Raleigh. As a cheerleader in college, she may have courted the looks. Yeah, no doubt her appearance had helped at Citi. Not one in a thousand ever moved from being a teller in Hell’s Kitchen to Capital Markets in midtown. She had done it.

She was still on the midtown beat. This was the new Wall Street. Magnum was her big chance. Sure, the Street may have experienced a few seismic tremors but so what? Why should that erode her destiny.

Turner was still busy with whatever the hell he was still busy with. She got up. Slowly and deliberately she moved to the coffee table. She lifted the Times and took the Journal from underneath it. She resumed her seat and got lost in the front page.

Nothing from Turner. She knew men. This was a big effort for him. She knew it. He was under pressure. It was a game. He’d worked out his rules. She wasn’t going to play his game.

“Your world has fallen apart,” she said, looking up. Statement, not a question.

“Oh yeah, you figure?” He looked up. Feet still perched on the desk, he appeared to be at ease. The balance of advantage had changed. She could feel it. Tough Wall Street misogynist. Nicely turned out, but they were all the same.

“Look,” she said putting down the newspaper. “The Street’s upside down. It affects everyone, not just the big boys. Your division, Private Equity, has taken a hit. Nothing compared to what’s going to happen. This business is built on confidence. That goes, so does the business. Its inevitable. Remember our last conversation, you admitted you were dependent on your team. Buying and selling equity stakes in young companies wasn’t really your specialty. That’s why you hired me. Well, here I am. My hope is that you are not so far in the toilet that it’s worth my while.”

She had his attention all right.

“Of course, we are down a little. Who isn’t? Once in a generation tsunami. There was too much West Coast hysteria. The guys in the Valley began to believe their own hype. Now they’ve let a little air out of the tyres. So what? Things go up. Things go down. That’s the game we’re in.” Now he was justifying himself. Explaining things.

“How are your results? Year to date? Including Friday?” She stared at him.

Suddenly he was on the defensive, “I took over here as CEO twenty years ago. Revenues were up every year. We’re doing okay.”

“This year?”

“This year we are up.”

“I said results not revenues.” How much did you lose last week?

This was getting out of hand. Turner knew it. Not what he had worked out. She was running the show. He’d had a plan to can her ass before she even started. Now she was examining him, questioning his results, implying they were in trouble, which they were.

“Our results are terrific. We are in good shape. We don’t need some smart ass big bank bitches that have little experience of the real world under their belt coming in here telling us what to do. It’s a tough world out there. There are too many dammed pussies in this business. It takes real balls to tough it out when shit happens.”

That was it he had crossed the line. She had known he would, from the moment she saw the setup. He was waiting for her. Trap baited. She had known it. And, that he would overstep. She had known that too.

She’d fed out the line and now she had him hooked. Now, she had to reel him in. Blatant misogynist. The language of intimidation. He’d broken every rule in the book. No way she could let him know. She had to play his game. The door to his office was open. Good.

She let fly. With everything. The kitchen sink. The top of her voice. She was merciless. A stream of invective filled the air. She included all the sensitive words that he had used to abuse her. Misogynist, women, sexual innuendos, feminism, equality, law firms policies, human resources, men, Wall Street, deviants. On and on she went endlessly. At the top of her voice. A string of carefully chosen words. An onslaught of forbidden terms and legalisms that would horrify any HR director. But most of all, it was the voice. The feminine tones handing it out to someone who was used to doing the same.

On and on she went. Top of her voice. A rant to beat all rants. No pauses, no stopping, spittle flying. Loud. But not screaming. Controlled but not so anybody would notice. No cuss words. No personal abuse. Everything else. The whole works. An absolute nightmare. A man’s worst dream. No way to handle it. No chance of stopping it. Couldn’t be softened. Couldn’t be quietened.

Turner was caught on the back foot. He had been planning a full frontal. That’s what he had wanted to hand out. That’s what he caught. Just as she had planned. He had two options. Neither of which would have worked. Both disastrous. One worse than the other. It was not a good day. He chose the worst option.

“Get the fuck out of my office.” He roared. I don’t want any snot nosed street bitch who thinks she’s God’s answer to men telling me how to run my kingdom. Get the fuck out.”

It was the stuff of urban lore. So was the reaction. Never were so many heads immersed in so many important papers. The floor was silent. The few people who had been wandering around dived for cover. Carefully chosen cover, the better to hear. Over the years as the stories were repeated and enhanced, Magnum’s Black Monday far exceeded the mayhem, drama and excitement that had pervaded Wall Street the previous Friday when the markets were falling apart.

The Ice Queen stopped. Suddenly stopped. She stood up. Erect. All feet 5’8″ of her. In full control. She carefully arranged herself and turning on her heel walked out of the office taking the time to pull the door behind her. She stopped at his assistant’s desk.

“June, wasn’t it?” Turner’s PA was well used to him handing it out. She had never seen him on the receiving end. She was in shock. Enjoying it too, but trying not to show it.

“Yes Ms. Glacier, how can I help you?”

Regina looked at her. One of those looks.

“It’s Ms. Glacies.”

“Yes, Ms. Glacies,” he assistant stuttered.

“Let me see now, should I go to HR first? The HR department where will I find? What’s the director’s name?”

“Mr. Turner is in overall charge of HR. The Director reporting to him is Mr. Feelgood.”

“Hardly an appropriate name, is it?” She paused. “No, let me see, I’d better go to Trading first. Mr. Turner is in charge of Trading also, isn’t he?” She smiled sweetly.

June nodded her head as she continued to stare at her.

“Who was it I met there when I was last here last Monday with Mr. Turner? Timothy Burns wasn’t it? My memory is that Trading is on eighteen?” She smiled again to make sure June was on her side, “Wouldn’t do to report late on my first day, would it?”

“No, Ms. Glacies, I mean yes Ms. Glacies, Trading is on eighteen. The elevator is just over there.”

“Thank you, June. Friday was very trying, Wasn’t it? I’ll be downstairs.”

Later that day, the huddle on twenty was led by P. J. Boyd Kingston. PJ was old firm. His father had started Magnum as a small brokerage in Harrisburg. Decades on, PJ had somehow stumbled on success and then at sixty-two was enjoying the fruits of it, leaving it to Turner to make the hard yards.

Even he knew that Black Friday was a threat. He was planning for a tete a tete with Turner. He had not been present for the thrill fest but he had heard a blow by blow account related to him before his ten o’clock arrival. The events of Friday hadn’t caused him to vary his timetable. But Junior knew enough to know that corrective action had to be taken. Reason they were getting together, though it would be up to Turner to sort it out. Turner decided to stay quiet.

“Victor,” Junior said in the understatement of the year, “Friday was a difficult day for us. We watched you carefully as you seemed to be buffeted by the storm.”

Turner looked at him, but sucked it up.

“You need to remain calm in such difficult circumstances,” Junior offered helpfully.

Turner couldn’t believe it. A veiled warning from a nobody. The playboy knew nothing about riding out a storm. He swallowed hard. “Well Friday was a difficult day,” he managed to get out. He looked hard at the dandy and felt he should give him something to think about.

“And, today hasn’t started so well,” he said tapping the Bloomberg terminal while thinking of his earlier session with the new hire, who apparently was already deeply immersed in the operations of the trading room.

“Listen, we’ve got to get control here. We’re in for a difficult time,” Junior was thinking of his inheritance.

Turner had had enough and had arrived at a decision, not that Junior owned all the equity. He himself had twenty five per cent, but control lay with Junior. Enough to swing a critical vote if push came to shove. “Well then, better let me get on with it,” he said guiding Junior towards the door.

No one was less surprised than Regina Glacies when she was summoned to twenty after Junior had left. She was asked by Turner if she could understand how Friday’s chaos had imposed an incredible strain on the organisation and on him. His way of apologizing.

He suggested to her that they needed to get their ducks in arrow and perhaps they might head in a new direction to ease the strain on a private equity unit that was suddenly threatened. There was a likelihood also that their mainline brokerage operation would be subjected to market pressures and much more competitive pricing.

Could she see her way to join them, Turner asked nicely and would she be willing to accept the position as head of planning for the Private Equity Division. The title of VP went with the position. The starting salary was bounced by fifty grand.”

Later, the head of HR digested it calmly along with the fifty pink slips he was preparing. “On day one in the middle of a shit storm,” he muttered to himself.

Somehow, word got out. It became the stuff of urban lore. Not just internally. The Street was awash with it. They loved it in Citi, where she caused such discomfort that she had gotten her ass canned.

When at a later point an unusually bizarre alliance was struck between Turner and his nemesis, the Magnum wags had it that it was because all the excitement and ups and downs made the sex so much better.

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