The bank closed at one: four short hours since the call that morning, but in that time Susan had seen the microcosm of New York pass through the doors. Anyone who had done well enough to have a bank account, and those who had not but needed to secure a loan or mortgage or raise funds by any means necessary.

Unable to help further, hardly reassured by Porter’s claim she had helped a great deal, Susan gave up and left at five. She sat slumped in the back of the cab as it drove her home, trying not to think about the day. Moody had been fine, arranging deposit of an overseas gold certificate from a Canadian deal. Travis? That had been a nightmare.

The fine art import company had not even been trading on the stock market, but too many of their clients had. For people facing margin calls and unexpected debts, paying their accounts was far down the list. Once next week was over Susan did not want to think about how many of those clients would be bankrupt. The importer’s chances of survival were low. A hundred and fifty people out of work just like that. And it was her fault.

Certain of his own clients had not paid, leaving him short, and Travis had requested thirty thousand dollars to pay for a shipment of goods he was buying in Europe – his new stock to sell in December. Porter had looked at Susan. On instinct she had shaken her head. By the middle of next week, many of his clients would be bankrupt and ever recovering more than cents from them would be unlikely. It would be lucky if the art importer did not follow them. Buying more stock would just put them further in the hole.

It would have been easier if Travis had been angry, like so many customers. She had a painful bruise on her leg where a thrown paperweight had glanced off the bars and hit her, before the police had grabbed the perpetrator. Travis was crushed, nodding with painful understanding and asked to close his accounts.

Porter had negotiated, providing a bridging loan of ten thousand for the next week, and suggesting Travis came back on Friday once the stock market situation had settled down. Susan already knew that the money was lost, but she could not bring herself to object. It gave them time to find the cash to pay out Travis’ accounts without destroying the bank.

Pulled from her thoughts as they arrived back at her boarding house, Susan walked wearily into her room and looked round. It was a mess. She had forgotten how quickly she had left this morning, and now everywhere would be closed tomorrow. No chance to catch up on groceries or laundry or anything else. She considered throwing everything she had in a bag and going to a hotel for the night just to use their laundry service, or picking up the paper and checking the share prices she had never managed to contact George about.

Instead she sat on the edge of the bed, thinking she would just close her eyes for a moment…

~ End Entry ~

Sunday 27th October 1929
 

On Sunday morning, sitting among a pile of laundry in the boarding house, Susan’s hands did not shake when she folded the papers out and checked the closing prices. She was too numb. Just as she had thought on the 14th, the figures she was reading were impossible. After Thursday, the share prices had stabilised. On Saturday, they had risen.

The insanity of rushing in an extra trade during the fall itself, and now it did seem to her like insanity, could have backfired badly. If George had bought when the market opened on Friday, when the shares were at their lowest, her portfolio would now be a sea of scarlet ink. The broker had not issued a margin call yet, but that did not mean one would not arrive at the office on Monday.

There was no time to think about the causes of the problem, she needed to plan contingencies for recovery. Susan knew she should have enough with Ferris at least to make sure the worker’s pool did not lose their shirts. It was not as if she could just print money — no, she corrected herself, it was not as if she should just print money — but counterfeiting was not something she could delegate and the potential complications to the timeline were appalling.

Her eyes had fallen to the share figures again, and she shut the paper, standing up and grabbing her coat as she left. She needed to talk and there was only one guy she knew available on Sundays who was good to talk to.

She rarely came into the speakeasy on Sundays, with blue laws making it doubly illegal, but Susan needed to get out of the boarding house. After what she had just read in the papers, and the events of yesterday, she wanted a sympathetic ear. The company at the company was dreadful, and likely to be unsympathetic.

“I thought it would be heaving,” Susan said as she stepped into the coffee bar above the speakeasy. Sam was up here, not downstairs, which told her all she needed to know.

“No, right now we’re selling more coffee than liquor.”

“That’s a first.”

“All the brokers are trying to catch up with the week.”

“You should do takeout,” Susan said, and Sam looked thoughtful for a moment.

“No, most of them look like the walking dead and the offices get coffee to them free.”

“Mentioning brokers, you haven’t seen George?”

“No. He’s probably been burning the midnight oil, like the rest of them. You’re not looking so great yourself. Market got you?”

“No, it’s doing what I expected it to, but not what I wanted it to.” She hoped he understood.

“It’s one hell of a market correction, I’ll give you that.”

“Look, until the trades clear I’m short on ready cash. Can I offset my tab against the weekly run?”

“Sure. I owe you from last week anyway. You look like you need something more than coffee.”

“However did you guess?”

“Come round. I’ll let you down the backway.” In the kitchen, Sam opened the door at the back of the larder and cautiously she stepped down the stairs into the familiar space of the speakeasy.

“You’ll trust me down here alone?”

“I know where you live.” He grinned, pointing at the cabinet. “And you know where the sherry lives. I’ll be down in a minute.”

~

“There’s no work,” Jeannie said, once their lunch guests had left. Their footsteps were still audible going up the stairway inside the building. “I had some at the hotel for the next week, but they’ve cancelled everything. They’ve got guests cancelling.”

“We can live on my salary for a while,” Henry replied, taking the plates to the sink where Jeaniie was starting to wash the dishes.

“And how long is that going to last?” she asked. “Drivers are the first thing they’ll cut when business falls-”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Why, ‘cos they promised you?” Her voice was bitter. Henry shook his head, knowing he should not say anything more. “Sorry, it’s just that…I was so close!” The frustration of twenty years scrimping and saving, having her dreams snatched away again, came through clearly.

“We’re doing better than we were. We’ve still got that bonus,” Henry said, trying to reassure her, and Jeannie shook her head.

“You shouldn’t of put that money in a bank. It could have been a deposit on a place. Now we got nothing if the bank fails.”

“It won’t,” Henry said, wiping the plates as Jeannie handed them to him.

“I can go full time at the restaurant.” Their oldest volunteered, trying to look older than his eleven years, “There’s always something in the kitchens.”

“No! You stay in school.” Jeannie waved the dish cloth at him. “Things aren’t that bad. If you’ve finished your chores, you go out and play.” The boy nodded eagerly and darted outside, followed by his brothers. Once the boys were gone, Jeannie looked at Henry. “So what do we do when things do get that bad?” she said, quietly. “Better plan for finding a new job.”

“I don’t need to,” Henry said, putting the last of the plates away.

“But if Killgrace goes down -”

“It won’t.”

“And how can you know that?” she asked, leaning against the side. Henry looked round the room. They were alone, but the walls were like cardboard, and he could not risk being overheard. Henry pulled her into an embrace, lowering his mouth to her ear in a gesture observers would mistake for reassurance. He tilted his head to make sure no one could see his lips move, and in little more than a breath, he whispered.

“Because they knew it was coming. They’ve been preparing for weeks.” Jeannie pushed away, turning her face to his in shock. Henry smiled, nodding once, almost imperceptibly. Then, since her mouth was there, he kissed it.

~