Teterboro Airport, New Jersey. Private jet terminal.
The August air on the East Coast hung thick and oppressive, saturated with humidity. Sunlight broke through the heavy cloud cover and spilled across the wide asphalt tarmac, where heat rising off the sunbaked ground distorted the air into shimmering waves.
A line of black, bulletproof stretch sedans waited in the shade at the runway's edge.
Frank stood beside the lead car, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit with his tie knotted to perfection. Wearing a full suit in this weather was uncomfortable, but he refused to appear anything less than meticulous. One did not meet one's goddess looking sloppy.
In his right hand, he held a heavy black leather briefcase packed with distressed-asset liquidation files fresh from the Resolution Trust Corporation.
Satsuki couldn't involve herself in Middle Eastern affairs for now, so she had decided to return to her old stomping grounds to pick up a few bargains.
The S&L Crisis had left the U.S. federal government buried under the financial wreckage of hundreds of failed banks. Washington desperately needed cash to stabilize the situation, which meant prime commercial properties in the heart of Manhattan were being bundled together and dumped onto the liquidation market.
That was Saionji Satsuki's first objective in the New World. She planned to use the offshore dollars she'd amassed by shorting the Nikkei index abroad to take advantage of Washington's cash crunch, snapping up those core properties at deep discounts.
It was a clean trade. America got to claim a political win, and Satsuki got hard assets.
A short, sharp squeal of tires cut through the humid air on the tarmac.
The deep blue Gulfstream G4, nicknamed the 'Midnight Ghost', kicked up a cloud of white dust as it decelerated down the runway. The massive jet taxied smoothly behind a guide vehicle and came to a steady stop in front of the black motorcade. The roar of the turbofan engines faded into a low, steady hum.
Frank stepped forward.
The cabin door lowered and the folding stairs extended to the ground.
Satsuki emerged into the blinding sunlight.
She wore a lightweight beige sleeveless dress that draped naturally along her slender frame. The humid breeze across the tarmac stirred the hem of her skirt and the black silk ribbon trailing from the wide-brimmed raffia hat Emi had chosen for her, brushing occasionally against her pale neck.
She paused on the stairs and looked out toward the horizon. As a gust of wind passed, she raised her right hand to hold her hat in place, then closed her eyes and drew a deep breath of New York air, a mix of jet fuel and damp heat.
Mm. You still stink, just like I remember, Mr. America.
When she opened her eyes again, her posture was relaxed and unhurried.
Fujita Tsuyoshi followed her down the stairs like a silent shadow, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Frank moved to greet her.
"Miss Saionji. Welcome to New York."
He gave a slight bow, his tone respectful, and drew a printed itinerary from his inner jacket pocket, offering it to her with both hands.
"The senior liquidation officer from the Resolution Trust Corporation arrived at the Manhattan conference room an hour ago. The venue for the first round of consultations is set, and the legal and financial audit teams are already in place. The motorcade can proceed directly to Wall Street."
Satsuki glanced at the itinerary in his hands but made no move to take it.
Her eyes dropped to the heavy briefcase in his other hand instead. A faint, gentle smile touched the corners of her eyes. She reached out and used the back of her hand to nudge the briefcase back toward him.
"Frank. Turn off your pager right now."
Frank's hand froze mid-air. He looked at her, instantly trying to parse the meaning behind the order.
"No work today," Satsuki said.
She withdrew her hand and looked past his shoulder toward the distant, heat-shimmered outline of Manhattan's skyline.
"Take me on a tour of Manhattan."
If the Goddess had arranged it this way, she had her reasons.
"As you wish."
Frank didn't hesitate. He tucked the itinerary away, shifted both it and the briefcase to his left hand, and used his right to open the rear door of the stretch sedan, shielding the top of the frame with his palm.
Satsuki ducked her head and slid into the spacious leather back seat.
Frank closed the door and moved to the passenger side.
The motorcade left the airport and headed for the Lincoln Tunnel, the link between New Jersey and Manhattan.
From the passenger seat, Frank watched her in the rearview mirror.
Satsuki seemed to be in high spirits, gazing out the window with genuine curiosity.
It made sense. This was probably the first time the young lady had properly toured an American city.
Frank studied her youthful face. Looking at her, who would guess she was the head of a multinational empire?
Appearances were deceiving. The Goddess surely had her reasons for choosing to look this way.
He crossed his arms and gave a small nod.
The motorcade emerged from the tunnel and entered the streets of Manhattan.
The cityscape rolled past the windows.
The ongoing S&L Crisis had left its mark everywhere. Several ambitious office towers stood half-finished, their gray concrete skeletons topped out but silent. Yellow tower cranes hung motionless in the air, and the scaffolding and green safety nets were new, yet no workers could be seen on them.
On the ground floors of prime buildings, the large glass windows had been covered with opaque white film. Massive real estate banners were plastered to the walls:
'For Lease,' 'Entire Building for Sale,' 'Seeking Joint Development.'
Satsuki pressed the button on the door and lowered the window halfway.
A wave of humid city air rushed into the cabin, carrying exhaust fumes and the smell of fried food from fast-food stands, and ruffled the loose strands of hair by her ears.
She rested her chin on one hand and propped her elbow on the windowsill, taking in the faded streets with interest.
Her gaze paused on a twenty-story commercial building that had been sealed by the authorities. The brass plaque had been stripped from the façade, leaving only a few blurred letter marks on the bare wall.
Frank noticed where she was looking and quickly recognized the building.
"That one belonged to an old trust fund," he said, tapping the heavy briefcase at his side. "It's on the RTC distressed asset list I brought. Several other core properties on this block were bundled with it into the bad debt package scheduled for liquidation today."
He glanced at his watch.
"Young lady. It's 1:45 PM." He offered a timely reminder of the schedule. "The RTC liquidation team called fifteen minutes ago to confirm the conference room's AC settings. They've already divided the asset packages and laid them out on the table."
"Should we attend the meeting?"
Satsuki pulled her gaze away from the ruins outside.
She pressed the button, and the window slid up, shutting out the noise.
Leaning back against the soft leather, she raised her right hand and pointed at the building they had just passed.
"Frank, right now it's the U.S. government that urgently needs our dollars to plug the hundreds of billions in losses left by those failed banks."
"Every day they hold those buildings, they're paying high maintenance fees, security costs, and fielding public pressure from the media and taxpayers. Until those assets change hands, they're nothing but a pile of expensive dead weight."
She picked up a glass of cold water from the center console and held it between her fingers.
"We're the ones holding the cash."
"If we want, we can stop the clock any time we choose."
"That's our privilege."
She took a small sip to wet her throat.
"They're the ones who should be anxious."
Frank thought for a moment, and the strategy clicked.
I see. As expected of the Goddess.
He understood immediately. In a buyer's market, showing urgency meant giving up leverage at the negotiating table. Playing it casual and taking a tour would make the bureaucrats saddled with liquidation quotas far more anxious.
A glint of understanding flashed in his eyes.
"Yes, young lady. I understand."
The motorcade continued smoothly through Manhattan.
The car fell quiet.
Satsuki watched the familiar street layouts pass by.
The lush canopy of Central Park shimmered in the distance, and pedestrians still crowded the sidewalks of Fifth Avenue.
She remembered her years in investment banking on Wall Street in her past life.
Back then, she'd lived in dark business suits, her heels clicking as she rushed between conference rooms at the major banks. Every time she closed a multi-hundred-million-dollar IPO or M&A deal, she rewarded her frayed nerves with a trip to that old steakhouse.
That brutal combination of high calories, animal fat, and carbs was the only fuel that could keep her going through hundred-hour workweeks.
Ah, I really want that steak now.
But that was the twenty-first century. Was the restaurant even open yet?
"Go to the corner of 49th Street and Third Avenue," she said.
Let's go see.
The driver turned the wheel, and the motorcade changed lanes at the next intersection, heading north on Third Avenue.
The streets slid by in the humid breeze. As they moved uptown, the buildings on either side grew more familiar to her.
They passed 45th Street, and the massive octagonal façade of the Pan Am Building came into view. Satsuki looked at the lobby entrance on the ground floor, her fingers tracing the edge of the leather seat.
She'd once stood at that entrance at three in the morning, holding a thick stack of fresh stock prospectuses.
There'd been a blizzard in New York that night, hadn't there? Waiting for a taxi in the freezing wind had been miserable, though after her career took off, she'd never had to wait for taxis again.
She'd used her first bonus to buy a red Ferrari.
The car moved on, crossing 47th Street. Her eyes landed on a coffee shop sign on the corner.
That place was actually open this early?
Back then, she'd bought a cup of bitter drip coffee at that corner. She'd been rushing to a multi-hundred-million-dollar merger hearing, walked too fast, and spilled it all over her new trench coat.
The dry cleaner she'd gone to afterward had been a total rip-off. They charged her a fortune for a tiny stain.
The exhaustion, anxiety, and constant high-pressure tension from those memories overlapped strangely with the calm she felt now, sitting in the cool, spacious cabin. She tilted her head slightly, watching the streets she'd once hurried down, and a faint smile touched her lips.
Ten minutes later, the car slowed and pulled over at the corner of 49th Street.
Satsuki pushed the door open.
She looked up, and her gaze crossed the sidewalk.
A building with green-and-white wooden siding stood before her. A classic retro awning stretched outward, with clear English lettering printed along its edge: 'Smith & Wollensky'.
It had always been here.