New York - The Novel

directors whispered to him, “Knickerbocker just asked for a loan, and was refused.” This was it, then. Knickerbocker’s credit was gone.
    The market groaned. The market swooned. All afternoon stocks fell. William felt sure that the Knickerbocker Trust must fail now. And after that …
    It was mid-afternoon when one of his partners came in with unexpected news.
    “Morgan’s going to try to save the trusts.”
    “Jack Morgan’s away in London,” William pointed out. “Hard to see what he can do from there.”
    “Not Jack. Old Pierpont. He took a private train up from Virginia. He’s been here since last night.”
    “But he hates the trusts. Despises us all.”
    “Yes, but there’s so much money tied up in them, he reckons there’s no choice. If they fail, everything goes.”
    Was it a ray of hope? William doubted it. Even Jupiter with his thunderbolts could hardly remove this massive mountain of bad debt.
    But it was the only hope on the horizon. That evening, when Rose asked him anxiously what was happening, he smiled bravely and told her: “Morgan’s going to sort it out.” No point in starting a panic in his own home. Anyway, he couldn’t face it.

    On Tuesday morning, a crowd formed outside the offices of the Knickerbocker Trust. Soon they had to be formed into an orderly line by a policeman. They wanted news. They wanted reassurance. They wanted their money. Inside, Morgan’s men were going through the books.
    At lunchtime, William went for a walk down Broadway. As he came to Bowling Green, he passed the offices of the two great shipping lines, Cunard and the White Star. Continuing down to the waterside he stared across the harbor at Ellis Island.
    How long would it be before he was as penniless as the poor devils who came in there every day? he wondered.
    As poor as an Italian peasant? Well, not in absolute terms. His wife and children would be looked after by his parents, no doubt. Perhaps hisgrandmother would do something for them, too. But it wouldn’t be easy. Most of her money was in a trust that went to Tom. Tom’s two sisters were expecting their share of any inheritance, too. The Rolls-Royce would be gone. His wife’s pearls. God knows what sort of address they’d be living at.
    He wondered how Rose would take it. She loved him, in her way. But she’d married into a certain kind of life. That was the deal. Old money, with money. Take away the money and what sort of marriage would they have? He honestly didn’t know. At least the Jewish refugees and the Italian peasants arriving at Ellis Island had been poor when they married each other. They had nowhere to go but up. In a way, they were free.
    It was almost funny really, when you thought about it. All his life, he’d been rich. But he’d been living in a prison cell—in the great jail, called Expectation. And he couldn’t get out of it.
    Well, there was one way out. Maybe, when he’d tidied up his affairs as best he could, he’d go to the White Star Line and buy a passage to London. Say he was going on business. It needn’t even be a first-class ticket. No one would know. Then, somewhere out in the Atlantic, when it was dark, he’d quietly jump off the ship. Not such a bad way to go. Wouldn’t give anyone any trouble.
    What sort of a life would he be leaving? Had he been happy? Not really. Did he like his house? Not so much. He loved his new Rolls-Royce—he was sure of that. But what did he love about it? The fact that it was expensive, the silver body, the red leather seats, the admiration and envy it evoked? No. It was the engine. That’s what excited him. The way it worked, the beauty of it. He’d have been just as happy if he was a poor mechanic.
    The man who built that Rolls-Royce was the lucky fellow, William considered. A fellow doing something he loved, and doing it supremely well.
    Do I love what I do? he asked himself. Not much. Do I do it well? He was mediocre, at best. And right now, he had failed, completely and utterly. How did he feel? Ashamed, humiliated, probably unloved. And very, very afraid.
    By the time he got back to Wall Street, the news was out. Morgan’s men had concluded that the trust was past praying for. The Knickerbocker Trust had failed. Lines were already forming outside the other trusts, including his own. People were withdrawing their money.
    The partners had already decided what to do if this happened. Pay outas slowly as possible. When he walked into his office, it was already