Risk Management

“Buy the dip ! Buy the dip ! Buy the dip ! Buy the dip !”

With steepled fingers and crossed legs, Charlis Yano beheld the gaggle of coveralls-wearing fishers slamming their fists onto desktops while chanting the very words one latched onto whenever the Halifax Stock Exchange found itself in a tug of war between red and green digits. On the one hand, turning challenges into opportunities could pay off further down the line.

On the other hand. Or rather, on the other side of the room...

“Sell our shares ! Sell our shares ! Sell our shares ! Sell our shares !” another bunch of fishers said, pressing their palms and jutting them forward. ‘Twas as if they beseeched the Man Upstairs—and not a bespectacled fund manager fresh out of grad school—to cut their losses.

Clicking his tongue, Charlis spun around in his chair to face his computer monitor.

“How is it looking?” a middle-aged woman standing next to Charlis said as the banging of fists echoed behind them.

“Choppy here,” said Charlis, “and calm there.” He pointed at some numbers that flashed green. “Whenever markets are rattled, folks always flock to equities based in the real world.”

“So, things like energy and mech manufacturing?”

“Anything tangible and not speculative, yes.”

The woman next to Charlis looked over her shoulder. “Oi! Cut my nephew some slack.”

“S... Sorry, Heidi,” one fisherwoman said as the chanting and fist-banging died down.

Heidi nodded and looked back at the monitor. “How long has this rout been going for?”

“Four days straight,” said Charlis. “I also have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are the people out back tiptoeing toward the two of us right now?”

Another glance over Heidi’s shoulder. She sighed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Heidi squeezed Charlis’s shoulder. “If you need room and time to think, I’ll tell them—”

Charlis shook his head and beckoned the masses behind him over. “Quietly, please.”

“You sure about this, buttercup?” Heidi said as she let go of Charlis’s shoulder.

“I have a fiduciary duty to be transparent with those whose funds I manage.” Charlis turned to face the two opposing groups. “I’ll start with the good news. Y’all ready?”

The fishers eyed one another before nodding at Charlis.

“Okay.” Charlis rolled his chair aside to show his monitor to the rest of the room. “The good news is that the community fund’s still outperforming the broader Atlantish market, which remains ahead of our neighbors’ and Europe’s. If any of you were looking to mortgage your homes, seek loans, or do anything out of desperation, kindly perish the thought.”

One fisher—a short-haired and pallid young man clutching at his chest with one hand—raised his free hand while squinting at the monitor.

“Fabio?”

“And, uh...” Fabio said before coughing. “The bad news?”

Charlis nodded and rose from his chair. “The bad news is that despite the recent market rout, I will not be selling any of our shares. Even the ones that haven’t bottomed out yet.”

Groans arose from the group of fishers to Charlis’s left. True, the fund manager made it no secret that he bore an allergy to any verb in the gerund form that had “panic” precede it. That said, even the most stoic of souls would at some point face a core-shaking situation.

Well, that was the belief the bearish fishers held onto.

Heidi crossed her arms. “I understand your concern,” she said, “but you very well know that liquidating holdings means having to earn more on the job to make up for the market exit.”

“Fine!” Fabio said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just catch more and bigger fish out there.” He wheezed.

Charlis took off his rimless glasses and pinched his nose with shut eyes. “Fabio, even big hauls won’t generate as much wealth in the long run. That’s before mentioning fishing quotas.”

Fabio sighed. “Damn climate change.”

“Between quotas and fishery supplies,” said Heidi, “I’d rather have the former be low. In any case, loading up on dividends to make up the income difference would be a wise move.”

“Still,” a skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman said, “what if it isn’t enough?”

“What if what isn’t enough?” said Charlis as he opened his eyes and donned his glasses.

“Buying the dip.”

“Oh, come on!” a bearded fisherman in the dip-buying group said. “You know markets will rebound at some point.”

“What if they don’t?” said Fabio.

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you!”

The bullish and bearish groups got into a shouting match. Some wagged their fingers at the opposing side. Others hurled the kinds of barbs that’d make the average sailor sound restrained by comparison. The roomful of desks and chairs looked less like an office space and more like a glorified ship deck with crewmates disagreeing over where to go on their journey.

Heidi let out a whistle that pierced the din of barbs, with the fishers freezing on the spot.

“Thanks, Auntie.” Charlis cleared his throat. “How about we meet halfway?”

Save for a cough from Fabio, the room lay silent as the fishers turned to face Charlis and Heidi. They crossed their arms and stared at the pair, the room moist with anticipation.

“Here’s what I’m proposing.” Charlis sat in his chair and faced his monitor. “Instead of selling or just buying the dip, I’m going to look at shorting some equities.”

“What does shorting mean?” said Fabio.

“To bet against an asset and profit from it if its price falls below a threshold,” Heidi said.

“You don’t need to know the details,” said Charlis as he scrolled down a list of stock tickers and clicked on some for his shorting strategy. “What’s important is that we’ll potentially make more money in the short-term than if we just stay the course.”

“Potentially?” Fabio said.

“To be fair, it is a bet.” Heidi patted Charlis’s head. “But Charlis never made a bad one.”

“Only ‘cause he seldom makes risky bets,” the skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Charlis as he input share numbers with a few keystrokes. “This is a community fund, after all. Can’t jeopardize our future just because some are getting cold feet.”

“Calm down, buttercup,” Heidi said.

“Sorry.” Charlis hit “Enter” on his keyboard and spun around to face the fishers. “Aside from that, is there anything else you need from me?”

A few headshakes from the crowd.

Charlis glanced at his wristwatch and nodded. “Okay, think we’ll let markets do their thing now that I’ve made those tweaks.”

“We’ve weathered many a storm,” said Heidi as Charlis rose from his chair. “Literal and figurative. Unless something cataclysmic comes to pass, we should ride this one out just fine.”

“Yes, Heidi,” all the fishers said before walking out of the office via its entrance.

All but Fabio, who stared at the hardwood floor.

“Something on your mind, Fabio?” Charlis said as he turned off his computer monitor.

“You’ve been feeling under the weather as of late,” said Heidi as she ambled toward Fabio. “Perhaps you should take a break from work until you get better.”

“I’ll... think about it,” Fabio said before wheezing.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“What she said,” said Charlis. “Wager those temp drops have been giving you the chills.”

Fabio lifted his head. “Yeah, something like that.”

“If it’s any consolation”—Charlis picked up a copy of the Barrington Street Herald and a pen that lay on his computer desk—“you can avail yourself of some dividend stocks.” He circled a few tickers in the newspaper with his pen before handing the Herald to Fabio. “I recommend these for your self-directed investing account if you want to make a quick buck in the short run.”

Fabio gandered at the circled tickers. “Hmm, I have some of these already.”

“Ah, so you’re already on the way there.”

“There?”

“To accruing enough funds for sundry emergencies, I mean.”

Fabio let out a chuckle that he interrupted with another cough.

Heidi patted Fabio on the back. “Go get some rest, dear. If things don’t improve overnight, I’ll give the good doc a buzz.”

“Thanks,” said Fabio. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re all good,” Charlis said. “Hope you’ll get even better soon.”

Fabio saluted Heidi before turning and walking toward the office door, his gum boots squeaking with every step he took.

“Should get yourself a new pair,” said Heidi. “They’ll take on water and give you an even more stubborn cold, otherwise.”

Fabio held his thumb up as he closed the door behind him with his free hand.

“Eight months since he joined our merry band.” Heidi smiled at Charlis. “He’ll manage.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Charlis said as he grabbed a backpack next to his computer monitor. “Though I hope that he’ll soon understand the value of staying in the market in the long run.”

“Charlis.”

“Yes?” said Charlis while putting on his backpack, its straps wrinkling his windbreaker by dint of the bag’s weight.

“Your head’s above water now. No need to act as if one wrong trade will sink you.”

“Auntie, don’t.”

Heidi sauntered up to Charlis and hugged him.

Sighing, Charlis hugged Heidi back. Her turtleneck sweater’s warmth made it hard to resist, though the reciprocal gesture was more about keeping her on his good side instead of alienating her. Between managing the fishing community’s collective fund and keeping his own finances in the pink, Charlis took on many tasks that would daunt the average budding financier.

And unlike the average budding financier, Charlis wasn’t above the human touch whenever the need arose.

“How’s your sister?” Heidi said.

Charlis let go of Heidi. “To be frank, I haven’t called her in a while. Bet she’s too busy working the floor right now to make time for anyone.”

“You never know.”

“Good point.” Charlis patted his jeans’ pockets. “Okay, got my keys”—he lifted a finger—“phone”—and another one—“wallet...”

“And hug.”

Charlis lifted his pinkie. “And hug.”

“One more thing.”

Charlis raised an eyebrow. “Which is...”

“Look into buying yourself a new jacket.” Heidi pointed at some holes in Charlis’s windbreaker. “Folks will otherwise think you’re strapped for cash instead of managing lots of it.”

Commuters—both the kind who paced along sidewalks while on their phones and the sort who honked nonstop at cars in front of them—filled Barrington Street around rush hour. The cacophony of horns and pedestrian chatter mingled with the stench of exhaust fumes and strewn litter, rendering downtown Halifax lively in its urbanity.

The afternoon breeze stroked Charlis’s face and brushed against his curly black hair as he strolled past the major banks defining Atlantica’s financial scene. Funny how some used to be headquartered in Canada before moving here. One only had to look to overregulation in Toronto and pro-market policies in Halifax, the latter overpowering secession’s political uncertainty.

Tickers and numbers snaked around stock billboards tethered to the commercial buildings Charlis deemed landmarks by dint of his line of work. Save for a few, all stocks featured onscreen flashed flagging numbers with every lap.

A sight for sore, bearish eyes. Not for Charlis’s, though. Or his sister’s, for that matter. Speaking of his sister...

Charlis fished in his right jeans pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He speed-dialed a number and pressed “Call” before holding his phone to his ear. The dial tone looped while Charlis stood on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for his turn to cross Prince Street.

“Hello?” a voice said on the phone as the traffic light in front of Charlis turned green.

“Been a while, Naomi,” said Charlis as he looked both ways for red light runners. “How has the trading floor been treating you?”

“Charlis! Geez, kept me waiting these past few weeks.”

“Sorry.” Charlis crossed Prince Street and plugged his other ear as motorists honked their horns. “Things have been a bit touch and go on my end.”

“No kiddi— Watch where you’re going, Francis!”

“Oh dear,” Charlis said as pigeons darted past his right. “Is this a bad time for you?”

“It’s a bad time for everyone. Some folks running around keeping track of flagging stocks, others checking their portfolios and fainting whenever red double digits appear...”

“Tell me about it.” Charlis pulled a fiver out of his windbreaker’s breast pocket and placed it in a beggar’s empty coffee cup. “Eastern Passage’s feeling it.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re investing in grocery SMEs. You should see the numbers.”

“I’d rather not. And no, I’m more of a utility and industrial fund manager right now.”

“Good. Halifax Stock Exchange pretty much emulates those extortion threats by casting a hex on consumer staples.”

Charlis froze before he could set foot on the Blowers Street crosswalk. “Say that again?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Charlis continued walking and nodded at the car that stopped for him.

“Mean to say you didn’t hear about the whole extortion thing?”

“I did so now.”

“Funny. So, the gist— God help you, Horace, if you spill joe on my keyboard again...”

“Uh oh.”

“Sorry. Anyhow, the gist is that some businesses all over the country have been dealing with some people calling them and asking them for protection money.”

“Sounds like someone’s too proud or jaded to make an honest living.”

“That’s the thing. Scuttlebutt is that the calls come from overseas.”

“This is news to me, and I never miss the dailies.”

“Just stuff being talked about on social media so far.”

“How bad would you say it is?”

“I hope it doesn’t get so bad that it triggers a trading curb.”

Charlis’s heart skipped a beat at Naomi bringing up trading curbs. In the world of finance, one used them to keep a stock market crash from becoming an orbital strike. The mere act of triggering them could spread panic since they signaled chaos.

And chaos was the last thing Eastern Passage needed.

“Charlis?” Naomi said.

“Sorry,” said Charlis. “Just got me thinking about something.”

“Oh?”

“Do you think those threats play a role in the rout we’re seeing right now?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. Obviously, many things are causing it. Unstable geopolitics, rising protectionism, capital flight here and there...”

“I mean, in the rout impacting local and national equities.”

“Local and national? Hmm, not fully. Haven’t gotten that bad.”

“Yet.” Charlis turned left on Bishop Street as crows cawed overhead from tree branches.

“The Bull of Halifax sounding bearish all of a sudden!”

“Oi! I still have some faith in law enforcement.”

“I’m just pulling your leg.”

“Speaking of legs,” Charlis said, “try giving yours a break once in a while. Markets will still run while you’re unwinding.”

“Ha, now you’re sounding like... Well, you know who.”

Charlis slowed his walking and sighed.

It all happened in a flash. Family of four living in comfort in the South End, with Mom and Dad running a profitable business and investing in many others to put food on the table and keep a roof over everyone’s head. A pleasing setup poised to last the rest of their lives.

And then the Mecha Burst came to pass.

In simple terms, the dot-com bubble had met its match many decades later—with stocks plummeting, robot manufacturers shuttering their doors, and livelihoods finding themselves on the edge of ruin. For the Yanos, though, some business chums extended a lifeline in the form of a bailout. Parents left their kids with Heidi before flying overseas for a meeting to hash out details.

And just like that, they vanished for good. A storm that took down their plane saw to that.

“Hey,” Naomi said, “still there?”

Charlis cleared his throat. “Still there.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t fret.” Charlis glanced at his watch. Suppertime was upon him if his growling stomach were any sign. “Anyhow, gotta refuel in a few. Thanks for the chat. And the tip.”

“Tip?”

“About the extortions. Those’ll make for an enlightening read.”

Carafes of triple-caffeine coffee littered Charlis’s standing desk as he typed away at his laptop. The clacking of keys and the humming of his condo’s heat pump made up his abode’s soundscape, with the occasional police cruiser siren piercing the silence outside.

“Extortion Epidemic in Atlantica.” “Small Businesses Chafing at Phone Threats.” “Bad Actors Preying on Honest-to-Goodness Breadwinners.” Such were the headlines and articles Charlis perused and compiled into a list overnight. Yes, such an endeavor didn’t pay a pretty penny, but it could pay dividends if it helped pinpoint the reasons behind the market downturn.

Besides, no rule said that one couldn’t uphold their fiduciary duty in their free time by reporting their findings to the press. And to Charlis, clues were like bargains. Easy to find.

Dozens of small browser windows filled Charlis’s laptop screen as he messaged online users on every social media website known to humankind about the recent spate of extortion calls laying waste to many a stockholder’s precious holdings.

“So, you some kind of detective or something?” read a reply from atl1337ist.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” a reply from 7ugb0a7ted read. “Don’t want any trouble.”

“Plz save my shares,” read a message from g1bm0ney. “I beg markets to be boring.”

Charlis smiled as he wrote the same reply to every online user he reached out to. “No one should be punished for wishing to secure themselves a safer future. Thanks for opening up.” Upon posting his closing comment here and there, Charlis closed every browser window until only a lone document window remained on his monitor.

A document titled “Siblinghood.”

Charlis steepled his fingers as he scanned the URLs and screengrabs he had pasted in his document. Transnational repression was an issue that left few states untouched, but rare were coordinated efforts to hector the masses about forking over the dough.

Long story short, the bloc of nations that was the Siblinghood had been dealing with capital flight and brain drain as of late. Chalk it up to folks chafing at revolutionary ideals that came with a catch. Catch being, forfeit personal ambitions in favor of solidarity with “common folks” via socially owned or state-sanctioned market endeavors.

Picture the state’s slack-jawed expression when freethinkers sought greener pastures. And instead of bettering itself, the Siblinghood took it out on those it called traitors. Classic.

That the bloc’s efforts yielded less than glowing results only rendered its assault on Atlantica more revealing. This made Charlis look less like a concerned citizen and more like a first line of defense as he picked up the landline phone next to his laptop to dial Naomi’s number.

While the ringing tone looped on the phone, Charlis stepped away from his desk to stare out the window. Light bounced off the Atlantic Ocean’s waves as the sun peeked out of the horizon, revealing the outline of cruise ships and tankers in the distance. Along with lines rising on a chart, Charlis treasured the sight of businesses coming to Atlantica and exporting its riches.

A sight he’d go to great lengths to preserve if push came to shove.

“You’ve reached the voice mailbox of Naomi Yano,” the voice on the phone said. “Ple—”

Charlis pressed the “End Call” button and ambled back to his desk to place the phone in its base. Bet Naomi would’ve lapped up his findings, though she also would’ve castigated him for calling her so early in the day.

Just as Charlis was about to hook it to its base, the phone began to ring and flash a number on its lit screen. Not Naomi’s, but his aunt’s. At sunrise, of all times.

Upon pressing the “Call” button, Charlis held the phone to his ear. “Auntie! Slept well?”

“Have you seen futures?” said Heidi.

Charlis widened both eyes. “Uh, I’m about to.” He turned to his laptop and opened his web browser before clicking on a “Market Futures” bookmark. “Something up?”

“Not up, Charlis.”

A wall of red struck Charlis’s face as the webpage finished loading. No green whatsoever.

Only a bloodbath of a market reckoning.

“Sell our shares ! Sell our shares ! Sell our shares ! Sell our shares !” the fishers said as they banged their fists on the door that stood between them and Charlis’s office monitor back in Eastern Passage.

Or rather, between them and Charlis himself.

“Auntie, think it’s time to amend the fund contract with a clause forbidding client pressure,” Charlis said as he covered his monitor with his windbreaker to hide flagging stocks from the fishers.

“A 6.22% drop in the HSX Composite can rattle anyone,” said Heidi while seated.

Charlis paced about the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Knots filled his stomach, and beads of sweat dripped down his nape. No matter how heated things could get, losing his cool was not an option for fund managers. What kind of soul would put their hard-earned cash in the care of someone who couldn’t keep it together?

That said, leaving folks hanging was also a nonstarter. Getting no updates was just as bad as getting an inauspicious one, if not worse.

“I’ll try to keep them in check,” said Heidi as she rose from her seat. “Ready, buttercup?”

Charlis stopped walking and gazed at the office door. He nodded and said, “Do it.”

Heidi marched toward the doorway and grabbed the doorknob. As soon as she turned it and pulled the door, the fishers stomped into the office.

Charlis crossed his arms and stood between the fishers and his monitor. “Gentlefolks.”

The skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman from yesterday pointed at Charlis. “Sell our—”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Shares.” The fisherman cleared his throat. “Please?”

“Any dip buyers still among us?”

All the fishers cringed and shook their heads. Figures.

Charlis clicked his tongue. “Okay.” He pressed his palms together. “How about this? Why don’t we sit down and—”

“Sell our shares ! Sell our shares !” the fishers said.

Heidi lifted her hands and lowered them in a “tone it down” motion, with the fishers lowering their voices... only to keep chanting in whispers.

“Thank you, Auntie.” Charlis pulled up a chair and spun it around so he could sit with his arms resting on the top rail. “Let’s talk, and please hear me out instead of whispering like that.”

The fishers fell silent and nodded before pulling up chairs of their own and sitting down.

“I think I know what’s causing all those shenanigans in the market right now.”

“So do we,” the bearded fisherman from yesterday said.

Charlis shook his head. “News isn’t telling the whole story. Yet.”

A blend of “What?” and “Get out of here!” from the crowd greeted the fund manager.

Heidi flashed a raised eyebrow at Charlis. “Care to tell us what you’re insinuating?”

Charlis took his phone out of his jeans pocket and opened the Barrington Street Herald app on it. He refreshed the page and pursed his lips. “Scratch that. News is telling it now.” He extended his phone-wielding hand to Heidi.

Heidi took his phone and eyed its screen as she brushed a silvery bang to the side of her forehead. She covered her mouth with her free hand while thumbing her way down the page.

“I suggest you all do the same,” Charlis said.

As if on cue, the fishers pulled out their phones and tapped on their touchscreens. Didn’t take long for gasps, facepalms, and even some hung heads to follow.

“Wish I had told you earlier,” Charlis said, “but it took them longer than I thought.”

“Come again?” said Heidi as she handed Charlis his phone back.

“Longer for the press to fact-check the stuff I sent them about the extortion crisis.”

“Wait,” the skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman said. “Why are you telling us this now?”

“Thank a close source of mine for tipping me off.” Charlis pocketed his phone. “Gave me a reason to burn the midnight oil for the first time in months.”

“Okay,” said the bearded fisherman. “But this changes nothing.”

“What do you mean? Now the authorities are looking into it and will—”

“Well, markets”—the bearded fisherman pointed at his phone—“are still not buying it!”

“Okay.” Heidi held her hands up. “That’s enough.”

“That’s my— our line.” The skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman jabbed his thumb at himself. “We’ve had enough of your steering. Last time I checked the contract we signed stated that we reserve the right to tell you what to sell and buy in case of market surprises.”

“’Provided ongoing conditions persist,’” said Charlis. “I know what I signed.”

“But do you know how close you are to pushing our buttons if you keep this up?” The skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman shot daggers at Charlis, with everyone but Heidi following suit.

“The market’s a lot like the choppy waters you have to tackle every day.” Charlis waved his arm at the fishers. “You always find a way to negotiate them.”

“Aye,” said the bearded fisherman, “but at least we are the ones negotiating. Not you.”

“People,” Heidi said, “let’s not have a mutiny in here. Charlis already shorted—”

“Shorts alone won’t cut it.” The bearded fisherman wagged his finger at Heidi. “Bet we’re losing more money now than we can make back just by betting against some stocks.”

Heidi walked to Charlis’s monitor and peeked under the windbreaker covering it. Upon letting go of the jacket, she backtracked to Charlis and placed her hand on his shoulder. She leaned down and said in Charlis’s ear, “Up to you.”

Charlis closed his eyes and sighed. If there was one thing that made setbacks look quaint by comparison, it was the dreaded impasse. At least with setbacks, it was clear that a) he and only he had to do the learning, and b) the path to follow in the interest of becoming a better Charlis was more or less clear. Opting out of bettering himself was therefore out of the question.

Impasses, though? Kinda like stagflation. Doing one thing meant worsening something bad, while doing the other thing meant worsening something else—and just as bad.

In Charlis’s case, he could stand his ground and tell the fishers to scram. But that’d invite lawsuits from Eastern Passage’s more committed investors—something the contract did allow.

But letting the fishers have their way meant robbing future generations of the chance to hold onto reliable sources of wealth accumulation to weather life’s financial curveballs. And once Charlis made a sale, it would only be a matter of time before the floodgates of requests to cut one’s losses at the first sign of market woes would swing wide open.

What would Mom and Dad do if they were in their son’s shoes right now?

“Well?” the bearded fisherman said.

Charlis opened his eyes and returned the fisherman’s gaze. “Okay.”

“Okay?” said the skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman.

Charlis looked over his shoulder at the monitor. “Think some spring cleaning is in order.”

A sigh of relief came from the crowd. As much as Charlis treasured his agency and market savvy, his fiduciary duty also required keeping both parties—himself and his clients—on the same page. A tug of war was therefore in no one’s interest.

“Buttercup,” Heidi said, “you don’t have to do this if you think it’s counterproductive.”

“I’ll divest from some of the portfolio’s more volatile and stagnant holdings,” said Charlis before lifting a finger. “That said...”

“Please don’t tell me you’ll buy the dip,” said the formerly pro-dip bearded fisherman.

“With the cat that is the extorting spree out of the bag, I bet markets will calm down soon enough for the selling of shares to be temporary.” Charlis rose from his seat. “Won’t be long until the authorities put the kibosh on the whole enterprise.”

“Fair enough,” the skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman said.

“By the way,” said Charlis as he studied the crowd, “has anyone checked on Fabio?”

“He went out to fetch some meds,” Heidi said. “I insisted he stay in bed, though he kept telling me he was feeling better.”

“Sounds like Fabio, all right,” said the bearded fisherman as he stood up. “Never misses a chance to stretch his legs.”

“True.” Charlis turned to Heidi. “Have you tried sending him a message?”

“I mean, I can track his phone via GPS, but sure.” Heidi pulled her phone from the right-hand pocket of her wind pants and glanced at the fishers. “Anything else you need from us?”

“We’re good for now,” the skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman said. “Back to work, folks.”

All the fishers got up. They slid their chairs back under their respective desks and marched out of the office through the back door. As the last fisher crossed the doorway, she looked over her shoulder and nodded at Charlis and Heidi before closing the door.

“This isn’t an admission of defeat,” Charlis said as he took his windbreaker off the monitor. “Knowing them, they’ll be bound to park their funds somewhere else in the market.”

“Provided things calm down,” said Heidi.

“They will.”

Heidi rubbed her nape. “Something’s amiss, though.”

“What is?” Charlis said as he donned his windbreaker.

“How come these extortion threats arose in the first place?”

“Yet another attempt by the Siblinghood to pull Atlantica down like crabs in a bucket.”

“On such a wide scale?”

Charlis eyed the holdings on his monitor. Still flagging, but at a slower pace than before. “Seems like they know more about Atlantica’s inner workings than they’re letting on.”

“Charlis.”

“Don’t worry.” Charlis kissed Heidi’s cheek. “I’ve already done my civic duty.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let the cops do their thing while I tend to a more... daunting task.”

Heidi furrowed her brow. “Which is...”

“Getting used to the sight of purple ‘Sell’ buttons.”

A mouse button click. Some keystrokes. Another button click. More keystrokes.

With butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Charlis took a proverbial axe to Eastern Passage’s community fund portfolio—hacking away at its less glowing holdings.

Hacking, in that case, meant inputting some share numbers and hitting “Sell.” The horror.

Charlis grabbed some tissues from a box by his condo laptop to wipe the tears he shed as he bid farewell to equities he held on the fishers’ behalf since he started working as a fund manager. Fare thee well, Atlantish Chocolate. Toodles, Video Gain Studios. Bye, random fintech firm someone recommended Charlis to buy during a bull crypto run before it ran its course.

As the sun made its way toward the horizon, the unrealized gain/loss percentage shrank while the cash pool number grew. Yes, markets had yet to stanch the bleeding, but pulling out instead of biding one’s time was like fleeing a burning cruise ship via a lifeboat... only for said cruise ship to put out the fire and resume its journey—leaving the lifeboat passengers behind.

But between being left behind and leaving those depending upon him hanging, Charlis would rather absorb the former option’s discomfort for a while than deal with the latter’s long-term headaches. Rejoining the market? Easy.

Winning back double-crossed folks? Not so much.

Charlis sighed as he clicked on the last holding to divest from. After that, he’d sign off for the day and spend the rest of his waking hours drowning out with some cold ones the voices in his head lambasting him for violating fund management’s many commandments.

Charlis hovered the cursor over the “Sell” button. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

Click. As soon as Charlis pressed the left mouse button, the portfolio page went blank and refreshed itself.

Charlis pursed his lips and tapped his finger on his desk’s wooden finish as the spinning loading icon flashed onscreen. Internet better not die while markets were still bleeding and—

A pop-up window appeared onscreen. “Error: Cannot Access Market Data At This Time.”

Charlis hit “F5” on his keyboard to refresh. Same message. No dice.

“F5” again. Nope. Again. Nein. Again. Might as well be quick-saving in a video game.

Charlis closed his eyes and sighed, the wailing of fire truck sirens echoing outside. Jesus, if he were Naomi, he’d lose his cool at not being able to—

Naomi. Hold up, what if it wasn’t Charlis’s laptop that was giving him trouble, but rather something that impacted markets in the meantime?

A brainwave struck Charlis as he reopened his eyes and reached for his landline phone to dial Naomi’s number. He held the phone to his ear while pacing about his condo.

“Please pick up,” Charlis said while glancing out the window at the clouds hanging over the Port of Halifax’s cranes and container piles.

“Naomi Yano.” The phone’s ringing tone gave way to the voice of Charlis’s sister.

“It’s me.”

“Hey! Funny you’re calling— Horace, quit trying to sell! They already triggered the circuit breaker, anyhow.”

Charlis stopped walking to take a seat on the couch by the window. “Wait, did you just say, ‘circuit breaker?’”

“Sorry. They mean well, but you know how traders behave when things are topsy-turvy.”

Charlis pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. “Naomi, please focus. You said just now that they triggered—”

“Yeah, kibosh got put on trading right now. Seems the news sent things into overdrive.”

“Wh... What things?”

“The extortion threats. As soon as they made the news, more extreme cases popped up.”

Charlis let go of his nose and stared at the ceiling. “Mad dash through the home stretch.”

“Yup. Not much anyone but the authorities can do now that the cat’s out of the bag.”

Charlis rose from the couch and moseyed back to his desk. “Least we now know it’ll blow over sooner rather than later. I just hope my clients will understand.”

“Understand what?”

Charlis hit “F5” on his keyboard. “That I didn’t liquidate everything they wanted gone.”

“Hold up. You’re selling your shares?”

“Under protest.”

Naomi sighed. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” Charlis said as the webpage loaded his portfolio details. “There’s always a first—” He leaned forward and furrowed his brow at a dwindling number onscreen. “Uh, do you mind if I call you back?”

“No prob. G’luck getting your portfolio back on track!”

Charlis pressed the “End Call” button and set the phone down on the desk. Thing was, it wasn’t his main portfolio that saw its market value dwindle in real time.

No, the culprit was Fabio’s self-directed investing account.

The hair on Charlis’s nape rose at the sight of the sickly fisherman’s portfolio taking a tumble. Didn’t Naomi say earlier that the powers that be triggered a trading curb to keep markets from crashing? And while delayed quotes remained a thing, Charlis’s clients seldom—if ever—shed their earnings in one fell swoop.

Charlis took a deep breath and clicked on Fabio’s investment account.

A laundry list of tickers flooded the page upon refreshing. All of them had a share count of “0”, and the portfolio’s total market value was also oval-shaped.

What caught Charlis’s eye as he scrolled his way down was that many of the tickers weren’t listed on the Halifax Stock Exchange. All the holdings Fabio held before divesting from them bore the suffixes “F” and “Y,” which betrayed their over-the-counter nature. In other words, the tickers pointed to foreign companies.

To be specific, foreign companies based outside Atlantica and its geopolitical allies.

Charlis’s cellphone buzzed several times on the kitchen island next to his desk. So much so that it came close to taking a tumble onto the carpeted floor.

Scuttling away from his desk, Charlis caught his cellphone mid-fall and held it up to his face as the screen lit up with each new notification.

“I’m sorry.” “I had no choice.” “Please forgive me.” “Forget any of this happened.” Every new message came from the very soul whose portfolio Charlis had just gandered at.

Markets may have come close to taking a ceaseless freefall today, but Charlis’s world hadn’t spared itself from coming crashing down hard—leaving a gaping hole in his conscience.

Charlis’s phone buzzed again in his hand. An incoming call from Heidi.

As if on cue, Charlis accepted the call and held the phone close to his ear. “Auntie!”

“They got Fabio,” Heidi said on the phone.

Charlis’s heart rate went from a trot to a full-blown gallop as Heidi’s words sank in. “Hang on, hang on! Who’s ‘they,’ and where—”

“I don’t know! They were on a speedboat, so I couldn’t catch up to them.”

Charlis slapped his forehead. As if his day couldn’t get any more volatile. “Call 911.”

“I already have,” said Heidi. “I... I just hope they’ll be able to intercept them.”

Another brainwave struck Charlis. “Please tell me he still has his phone on him.”

“Let me put you on speaker mode.” The rush of wind and cawing of crows in the background blasted out of Charlis’s phone as Heidi hit the speaker button on hers. “Thank God! I can still track his phone.”

A rush of relief flooded Charlis as he spun on his heel and sprinted toward his front door closet. “Where are they now?”

“Let’s see. They... They’re next to Chebucto Head Lighthouse. No movement so far.”

“Duncans Cove.” Charlis opened his closet and took his windbreaker off a clothes hanger. “Good, that’s on my end.”

“Charlis, what are you—”

“Tell the cops to get to Duncans Cove. I’ll meet them there.”

“Don’t you dare step out! I refuse to lose you.”

“And I won’t lose Fabio after he texted me of all folks.” Charlis hung up on Heidi before he pocketed his phone and put on his windbreaker. “Phone.” He scurried back to the kitchen island to grab his keychain. “Keys.” He patted his pockets. “Don’t need my wallet this time.”

For time wasn’t money in that case, but a matter of search and rescue.

Rows of firs and residential homes turned into a smear of green and white as Charlis drove down Ketch Harbour Road, gripping the steering wheel and staying below the speed limit so that the cops didn’t arrest him instead of Fabio’s kidnappers.

The Robert Borden bobblehead atop the SUV’s dashboard bobbled with every turn Charlis made to dodge potholes, wildlife, and the occasional roadkill. Good thing he left right before rush hour. That said, things would get hairy if the cops weren’t as lucky with traffic.

Charlis was many things. A one-man army who could take on thugs wasn’t one of them.

That said, the chances of escalation proved too great for him to leave everything to the authorities. What if Fabio’s kidnappers were too proud to yield to overwhelming forces? Would they rather go down with a fight instead of acquiescing to their foes’ demands?

As he made a left turn onto Chebucto Head Road, Charlis rubbed his forehead. Risk-taking was something he weaned himself off as a fund manager. The fallout from the Mecha Burst and how it drove his family into ruin made sure of that.

But that was with mere banknotes. When it came to people, however, Charlis couldn’t stomach a loss. He had already bid farewell to his parents, after all.

Sunlight struggled to breach the bulwark of clouds, making the horizon look like a gray wall with luminous cracks snaking across it. Save for a tanker in the distance, no boat seemed to dot the Atlantic Ocean.

Charlis glanced at his phone, which he had tethered to his dashboard. Messages from Heidi kept coming in. Ran the gamut of “They’re still at the lighthouse” and “Your parents will curse me forever if I lose you as well.”

Another left turn on Chebucto Head. Charlis entered the home stretch to the lighthouse.

His steely gaze contrasted with his heart’s skipping of so many beats that it’d draw concerns from his cardiologist. Of course, it wasn’t like he’d play hero by jumping into the fray and telling Fabio’s kidnappers to get their hands off him. That was a recipe for flatlining.

With the firs flanking Charlis’s car left and right spreading out, the coast began looking like tundra. Mosses dotted the cliff Charlis drove along, with Canada geese roosting on and waddling about the spot. Bet they’ll vacate the place should things get heated.

“In 300 yards,” the car’s GPS said, “you’ll have arrived at Chebucto Head Lighthouse.”

Charlis nodded. 300 yards to the moment of truth. God, this was worse than waiting for the market to open while futures looked like a sea of red.

As the car reached the top of the hill across which the road stretched, the lighthouse’s tip came into view from behind a patch of red-leafed sedges. Despite the lack of sunlight in the surrounding area, the tower’s lamp was switched off since the site was closed for the season.

Another message notification on his phone. “Cops on their way. Please reply, buttercup.”

Charlis typed, “Confirmed.” He hit “Send” before slowing down as he drove into the lighthouse’s parking lot. Not a single car in sight. He’d have to be on his own for the time being.

“Stay safe,” read Heidi’s reply to Charlis’s response.

Parking his car in front of the railing that overlooked the water, Charlis powered down his SUV and unhooked his phone from the dashboard before stepping out of his ride.

The crying of seagulls overhead and the crashing of waves below him flooded the senses, as did the scent of saltwater. Were it not for the lighthouse, Charlis may as well be smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

Charlis walked toward the parking lot railing that stood between him and the edge of the cliff. Leaning over the top rail, he swiveled his head left and right at the waves crashing against the cliffside. If he were a speedboat, where would he be?

As Charlis was about to text Heidi, muffled hollering echoed from several yards below him to his right. The splashing of water—as if something big trudged through it—followed suit.

Well, only one way to find out what unfolded over there.

Upon pocketing his phone, Charlis darted out of the parking lot and along a hiking trail that zigzagged its way down the cliff and toward the commotion’s source.

With every step he took toward the trail’s bottom, Charlis’s breathing quickened. Parts of him leaned toward pulling out and letting the authorities handle it. After all, he did tell Naomi that his faith in the police was still there. But other parts of him kept pointing him downward. And toward the messages he got from Fabio earlier.

Forget any of this happened.

Charlis shook his head. Forget? Unlike with financial losses, one couldn’t recoup their fellow man. Once they left Charlis’s world, that was it. Plus, the sting of losing someone made the pain of taking losses on Eastern Passage’s collective fund look like a pinch by comparison.

With the waves getting louder and the mist of saltwater pricking his skin, Charlis reached the bottom of the hill and crouch-walked toward a mossy boulder that overlooked a cove.

A cove bearing a dozen people, a boat, and a kneeling giant robot with pods on its back.

Pressing himself against the boulder, Charlis peeked around the corner and trained his eyes on two masked figures, who grasped the arms of a baseball cap-wearing man.

Fabio.

“I... I did as I was told,” said Fabio before coughing. “Why are you—”

One of the masked figures slapped Fabio’s nape. “Quiet,” he said. “Boss is here.”

The giant robot’s cockpit opened, with steam pouring out and a shadowy figure rising from the cockpit seat. As the white mist dissipated, a man in military garb came into view—sporting sunglasses and a beret that had “big cheese” written all over his towering build.

Charlis leaned back into cover and clutched his head with both hands. Lord Almighty, what had Fabio gotten himself into? Was he hiding something from Heidi and the others?

“Fabio Schmitz,” a gravelly voice said. “You are Fabio Schmitz, aren’t you?”

Peeking around the boulder’s corner, Charlis widened his eyes at the beret-wearing pilot standing in front of Fabio and staring down at him as if the fisherman were a gravestone.

Fabio looked up at the pilot and nodded.

“I must admit,” the pilot said. “I didn’t think you had it in you to gather and relay to us info on your fellow traitors calling this wretched nation their home. Yet your efforts have allowed us to make an example of those who forsook their collective duty in favor of... selfish pursuits.”

Charlis gasped. Did Fabio take part in the extortion call epidemic?

Fabio coughed. “I... I only did it just because—”

“Just because you wanted funds for that heart operation you need, yes.” The pilot doffed his sunglasses, revealing gray eyes with a scar running down one of them. “And whoever was managing your funds struck you as the type unwilling to lend a hand. That’s Atlantica to you.”

“Pl... Please.” Another bout of wheezing from Fabio. “Let me go.”

The pilot clicked his tongue. “You know how the Siblinghood deals with renegades.”

Charlis covered his mouth. The Siblinghood. Christ, cops couldn’t get here soon enough.

“I got you the info and went out of my way to pump those stocks in my account! Didn’t retail investors take the bait and buy those green Siblinghood equities? Haven’t I done my part?”

“That you have, and thus you’ll be getting the treatment you need.”

“Th... Thank you.”

“But only so you may face justice as a healthy lowlife. We can’t afford to make your brothers and sisters look bad by passing judgment on someone feeling under the weather.”

Just as Fabio opened his mouth to speak, the masked men restraining him tightened their grip on his arms—with the fisherman yelping.

Charlis retreated into cover and pinched his nose before letting out a shuddery sigh. What could he do all by himself? If only he hadn’t beaten the authorities to the punch and chosen to spectate the kind of scene on TV that called for viewer discretion. Heidi will never forgive him—

“Psst. Over here.” A voice prodded Charlis from behind.

Charlis turned around.

A squad of armor-clad and assault rifle-wielding police officers emerged from the shrubbery bordering the cove—the acronym “ALTO” emblazoned on their chests.

The Atlantica Lightning Tactics Outfit.

Charlis let out a sigh of relief.

“Care to tell us what a civilian like you is doing here?” one officer said while adjusting his helmet. The small “C” on its side gave away his status as squad captain.

“I’m here to let you know that these folks yonder”—Charlis jabbed his thumb over his shoulder—“aren’t your ordinary felons. What if I told you they’re Hoodlums with a capital ‘H?’”

“Siblinghood? What makes you say that?”

“Heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.” Charlis beckoned the cavalry over. “You’re welcome to eavesdrop if you don’t believe me.”

The captain nodded. He waved his squadmates over before tiptoeing toward Charlis and pressing himself against the boulder, with the other officers stacking up behind him. “Care if I give our friends a look-see?”

Charlis crouched, with the captain leaning over him and around the boulder to sneak a peek at the gathering. “Everyone but the fellow on his knees is who you’re after,” said Charlis.

“Shoot,” said the captain. “Even brought a mech with them.” He retreated to cover. “Okay, Siblinghood for sure. Getting your friend out of harm’s way won’t be easy, even though the robot’s made for transport rather than for combat.”

“No weapons on it, then?” Charlis said. “I see.”

“Come again?”

Charlis peeked around the corner. “Let me get back to you on that.”

“Alright,” the Siblinghood mech pilot said as he put his sunglasses back on. “It’s time for us to go home. That includes you, Fabio.” He turned around and marched back to his mech, his hands clasped behind his back. “Get in your pods, brothers and sisters.”

“Yessir!” Everyone on the beach saluted the mech pilot before the two masked figures flanking Fabio pulled him up and started dragging him toward the mech.

Charlis got back into cover. “Okay, I’m back with an idea.”

“If it doesn’t involve my men taking action,” said the captain, “then forget about it.”

Charlis leaned toward the captain and whispered in his ear before pulling away.

“You do realize it’s a big risk, right?”

“I’m an investor. Taking risks is kind of my thing.”

The captain sighed and turned around to point his men toward the other side of the boulder. “Wait for my signal.” He crouch-walked past the other officers and toward the boulder’s opposite edge. “Stay close to me, Gordon Gekko.”

Charlis stuck close to the captain as he tiptoed past the rest of the ALTO unit. If someone told him a few days earlier that he’d be advising Atlantica’s foremost police unit on the best way to save a portfolio client from one of the country’s foremost foes, he’d flash at the bearer of surprising tidings a smile that masked the fund manager’s internal screaming.

“Safety off,” the captain said.

His squadmates turned their guns’ safety locks counterclockwise, which was a nonverbal way of saying, “That hostage better be quick on his feet.”

Charlis gulped. As hardworking as Fabio was, his heart condition meant that one step taken too late or in the wrong direction could spell doom for him and the ALTO team’s conscience. There was only so much Charlis could do, except pray that his idea came to fruition without a hitch. “What else do you need me for?” he said.

“Aside from consoling your friend post-rescue?” said the captain. “Not much.”

“Define ‘not much.’”

“Run away in case things get out of hand.”

“Noted.”

The captain leaned around the boulder and raised his fist. “Wait for my signal, people.”

Charlis crouch-walked back to the other side of the boulder so as not to get in the ALTO folks’ way once they began moving in. He peeked around the corner and eyed the Siblinghood lackeys as they circled the mech to get inside the passenger pods.

One of the masked figures who had kept tabs—and their hands—on Fabio got aboard the mech, leaving the fisherman and one of his kidnappers to stand alone on the beach.

“Okay,” said the captain. “Targets in position. On the count of three.”

Charlis took a deep breath. Like a line on a graph trending downward, he kept his eyes peeled for when things would bounce upward. That was, in his and ALTO’s favor.

The captain raised a finger. “One.”

Charlis nodded. Downward line growing less vertical.

“Two.”

Downward line turning horizontal.

“Three!”

Line bottoming out and curving upward.

The officers scrambled onto the beach. They opened fire on the mech’s cockpit and pods, causing Fabio to recoil away from the robot and his kidnapper to jump inside an empty pod.

Charlis cupped his hands around his mouth. “Run, Fabio!”

Fabio looked left and right. He clutched his chest before sprinting toward the beach’s edge and far away from gunfire.

“Secure the hostage!” the captain said while pointing at Fabio.

“Yessir!” said one of his men before breaking away from the group and dashing toward Fabio. “Over here.”

Fabio glanced at the officer and darted toward him while covering his ears.

The mech traipsed into the water as bullets bounced off its frame. Every step it took sent sand and water splashing about the place, turning the whole scene into something out of a certain beach landing during World War II. Minus the huge body count.

With its head the only thing above water, the mech kicked its jetpack into high gear. Like a lawnmower that made quick work of grass at hypersonic speed, the robot zipped across the water’s surface before submerging and vanishing from view.

“Fabio!” Charlis said as he rushed out of cover and toward Fabio. “Thank Christ.”

“Charlis?” Fabio trotted ahead of the officer who led him to safety. “What are you—”

“Think I’d look the other way after reading your messages?”

“You should thank your friend for being in one piece,” the captain said while jabbing his thumb at Charlis. “’Twas his idea for us to move in once pretty much everyone but you got aboard that mech.”

“Can we have a moment?” Charlis said.

“Sure. Just make it quick.”

Charlis beckoned Fabio over before the two marched away from the others and stopped by the edge of the trail the fund manager had walked down earlier.

Fabio hung his head.

“Why, Fabio?” said Charlis.

“It was... It was either helping them or me not getting the funds for that heart—”

“No, why didn’t you tell me and the others about what you were going through?”

Fabio shook his head. “I... I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. You, the fishers, and everyone in Eastern Passage who worked hard to protect their earnings.”

“I heard everything, Fabio. On the beach, I mean.”

Fabio sighed. “I figured as much.”

Charlis placed his hands on Fabio’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” said Fabio while lifting his head.

“For seeming so... stingy where numbers are concerned. So much so that not even an emergency could faze me.”

Fabio shed a tear and wiped it off his cheek. “What’ll happen to me now?”

“You’ll get the treatment you need.”

“Before going to jail, of course.”

Charlis took his hands off Fabio. “Except this stays between the two of us.”

“Buy the dip ! Buy the dip ! Buy the dip ! Buy the dip !”

Charlis smiled at the fishers slamming their fists onto desktops while chanting the very words one latched onto whenever the Halifax Stock Exchange yielded some flagging equities that begged to be bought.

“Well,” Heidi said while standing next to her nephew. “Seems like risk appetite’s on the menu this morning.”

“I wonder why,” said Charlis as he glanced at his computer. Okay, he did have a clue.

Long story short, extortion threats went the way of the dodo once ALTO broke the news that the Siblinghood had called the shots before legging it back to their turf. That alone compelled investors to dive back into the market and buy anything that had taken a beating.

Granted, markets were still too busy reclaiming lost ground to achieve record highs in the meantime. Still, all was well that ended—and charted—well.

“Alright, folks.” Charlis clapped his hands. “Choose your dips well, ‘cause who knows which ones have bottomed out and which ones haven’t.”

“Atlantish Chocolate!” said the skipper’s cap-wearing fisherman.

“Video Gain Studios!” the bearded fisherman said.

Charlis nodded and scanned the rest of the crowd. “Any other suggestions?”

The fishers eyed one another and shook their heads at Charlis before leaving the room.

“Treats and games coming right up.” Charlis turned around and moseyed over to his computer before sitting in his chair. “I’ll also keep my eyes peeled for anything that has ‘sell’ written all over it.”

“I didn’t peg you as a chipper seller,” said Heidi.

“Oh, I didn’t say I’m champing at the bit to sell.” Charlis input some share numbers for stocks to purchase. “Just that I don’t mind rotating toward more productive sectors if need be.”

“Fair enough.” Heidi kissed Charlis on the cheek. “Glad you’re still with us.”

Charlis dropped his smile in favor of pursed lips. “Not gonna lie.” He pressed the onscreen “Buy” button. “I was just as shocked as you were when I learned of Fabio’s condition.”

Heidi sighed. “Feeling like you’re a burden on others can be silencing indeed.”

“I think the nature of my job also gave him the impression that I was, uh...”

“What matters most is that you were there for him.”

“Good point.” Charlis opened some stock-tracking browser windows. “How’s the hospital treating him right now?”

“Like royalty. Doctors are prepping him for the procedure. Will be some time before he gets back to work. Not that I’m complaining.”

Charlis placed his elbows on the desk and rested his head on his palms, the green chart lines before him bunny-hopping their way upward. “I think I get it now.”

“Come again?”

“Fund management, I mean.”

Heidi pulled up a chair next to Charlis and sat down. “You do?”

“It’s all too easy to say that it’s just about managing quality holdings and watching their values increase. Like, yeah, that should be the plan.”

“But?”

“But plans and goals are different. A fund manager’s goal is to assure clients that they may secure the future they desire with few to no bumps along the way.”

“Hence the need to build close relationships with those whose funds you handle.”

Charlis stared at the ceiling. “With folks, as a whole. Don’t want to treat them like glorified wallets.”

“I was just pulling your legs, buttercup.” Heidi ran a finger along the sleeve of Charlis’s windbreaker. “Oh! Came around to buying yourself a new jacket, at last.”