A Reckoning of Desires

I have already recounted Mr. Druckenmiller did not like being out of style. He wanted to be ahead of the curve, not behind it. Then, following the TNT techs, nets, and telecoms bandwagon, he walked right over the edge of a cliff in April. One of the most popular bandwagons of stock market history is the remarkable case of the Cisco Kids. This too, is a story already told in these letters. The Computer Age is over. The Internet Revolution is five years old in the U. Selling Cisco to purchase GM is backward thinking.

Cisco is the bluest of the blue chip Internet stocks, a company you should own and hold for at least five years or more. But even if it were right, what would be a reasonable price for the company? The meter is ticking. Every year you hold it, you lose money — unless there is some bigger fool willing to pay an even daffier price for it. But the argument against Cisco is not merely a matter of arithmetic. People will pay a lot of money for something they really want. Owning Cisco stock satisfies the desire, even if it is very unlikely that it will make an investor any money.

People will pay a premium for something they really want to own.

If you can control the brand, you can enjoy a generous profit margin for many years. Who wants a Cisco? What is a Cisco anyway? And who could pick one out of a pile of trash — even if their life depended on it? Nor has anyone ever taken me into his garage to show me the new Cisco he just bought. No one is proud to own a Cisco product — just the stock. And the very attractiveness of Cisco and its stock price will draw other competitors.

And some of them will do whatever Cisco does, but better, faster, and cheaper. People will substitute other devices for those of Cisco. Price competition will be devastating. Whatever margin Cisco enjoys today will become smaller. Finally, owning Cisco stock will no longer be cool either.

For the moment, Cisco is a hot stock that investors want to own. Your very disciplined correspondent, sticking with the program, day in and day out, no matter what…. The market expected an increase in the core rate of inflation of 0. If they fell, only the BLS noticed. Gasoline prices are now at record levels. Stocks rose and fell, higgely-piggely, with no destination in mind.

The Dow ended the day up The Nasdaq ended down The Dow is lower today than it was a year ago. The smart money is draining out the hose. Marcus shot him a glance. However…" He paused, straightening the many documents on his desk.

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David had been hoping Marcus's secretary would know how everything ran, and do most of the running. Cole has been forced by his health to retire. If you can restore him and get him back to work, you would have my undying gratitude. David slumped a little. Just his luck, that the capable man who knew Exeter business up, down, and sideways would have recently retired. Marcus's dour look quashed that hope. There is no one else I trust. Not since they were young boys could he remember his brother expressing trust in him, and even then not on such an important matter.

And after the events of the past spring, it was a bloody miracle his brother still spoke to him, let alone asked David to look after all his business affairs for three months. Yet more pressure that he must not make a mess of things now. Resolutely he got to his own feet, watching his brother pack an alarming number of documents and books into a large leather case, which he then strapped closed and set upright on the edge of the desk nearest David.

I suggest you work there, for convenience's sake. I do like convenience. Marcus smiled back briefly, then came around the desk. For three months they would be traveling the continent, enjoying the finest entertainments money could buy, wallowing in love and happiness, while David would be, apparently, buried beneath a mountain of ledgers with only an incompetent secretary to advise him.

But that was fair.

David pushed aside the urge to recant his offer of help and nodded, laying one hand on the leather case. He owed this to Marcus, this and much, much more. Sitting at a desk and reading papers was far better than what he deserved, so he would do his best. Nearly getting someone killed was a large debt to repay. She was lugging a large basket that appeared far too heavy for her.

David watched as his brother smiled and placed one hand gently on the little girl's curly blond head. Where is their mama, Molly? I named her Moon. She likes to ride in my basket. David couldn't hold back a chuckle as the two other kittens took advantage of her distraction to leap from the basket and scamper across the floor, one to play with the fringe on the rug and another to chase dust motes in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Molly swung around to glare at him with suspicious brown eyes. David cocked his head and grinned at her. Molly turned, caught sight of her kittens scampering away, and squealed.

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David's eyebrow quirked upward as he watched his somber, serious brother retrieve the kitten from his fine velvet draperies, unsnagging its tiny claws with great patience, then replace all the kittens in the basket and securely tie the cover down, all under the approving gaze of his stepdaughter. Molly clapped her hands. The door opened again. The little girl's chin sank. Her mother's lips parted in surprise, and she looked at Marcus.

He merely shrugged, but the set of his mouth made David think he was enjoying being called Papa. Her mother caught her up in a hug until the little girl shrieked with glee. Laughing, her mother put her down. They exchanged a look, and apparently an entire conversation passed between them as well.

Marcus's face relaxed again, and he gave a small smile. That look gave David an odd feeling. Marcus had never been one to care what others thought. And David couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Marcus smile so often. Again his brother and sister-in-law shared a glance. David wished they would stop that. It felt as though they were talking about him without his having any idea what was said. You've been locked in here an age.

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Tea was too weak. In fact, whiskey sounded too weak. David was tempted to drive straight to the nearest pub and stay there for a month.

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David paused, thinking of the excellent chef at Ainsley Park, but shook his head. The longer he stayed, the greater the odds that he would lose his nerve and back out. He would not back out. He would do this. It will make things easier. With this ring, he might as well be the duke of Exeter, he thought, vaguely alarmed at the thought.