This humorous adventure in cryptocurrency pits a descendent of pirate Jean
Laffite and a banker with an Alexanderesque ambition to dominate the crypto
market against a Chinese scheme to cripple the U.S. dollar. A
double-crossing currency dealer, ancient Nazi hunter and Mossad agent
turned private spy master play out plot twists from South America to
Switzerland, all against a backdrop of fine wine, romance and Cajun culture.
This humorous adventure in cryptocurrency pits a descendent of pirate Jean
Laffite and a banker with an Alexanderesque ambition to dominate the crypto
market against a Chinese scheme to cripple the U.S. dollar. A
double-crossing currency dealer, ancient Nazi hunter and Mossad agent
turned private spy master play out plot twists from South America to
Switzerland, all against a backdrop of fine wine, romance and Cajun culture.
“$265,000 gone, in a second. Less! One microsecond! I should have listened.”
Celeste McFadden daubed her eyes but missed a spot of mascara on her left cheek.
“Listened to me.” Roger Laffite stroked McFadden’s hair, which was as lush and wavy as a cocker spaniel’s. “Who’s the financial wizard who advised you to buy Bitcoin futures? You said he was a professional.”
“Can you do something?”
“I can’t get your money back, but I can put his name out. When I’m finished, he’ll be lucky to trade baseball cards.”
McFadden stopped crying. “Can’t you get a lot of money for those?”
“Only the old ones in mint condition.” Laffite heard a sniffle and handed her a tissue. “I’ve brought champagne. Tell me where your ice bucket and flutes are, and we’ll celebrate.”
“Celebrate! Are you daft?”
“We will drink to your greater wisdom, a lesson in life.”
“Damned expensive lesson.”
“One you can easily afford. You’ve learned not to be greedy. That’s important to keeping your money safe. Your pantry is this way?” Laffite stood.
“Mmm.”
“When I return, we’ll have a nice chat about dividends of telecoms, midstream companies and perhaps something exotic.”
“Sounds exciting.” McFadden raised a finely tweezed eyebrow. “Penny stocks?”
“Your costly lesson in sensibility, Celeste, hold on to that.”
“Flutes in the cupboard, bucket in the cabinet and ice in the fridge.”
“Perfect, I’ll find them.”
Laffite set a pair of cut-glass flutes on a drift-wood and crystal coffee table, eased the cork out of a bottle of Taittinger and poured. “The exotics I was thinking of are Japanese trading companies, Mitsui, Itochu, Mitsubishi, Sumitomo. All have attractive payouts, growth potential, solid as rocks.”
“Boooring.”
“Celeste,” Laffite reassuringly patted her satin-draped thigh. “Your father, rest his recently departed soul, and I were the closest of friends.”
“Despite the age difference.”
“My firm saved him from merging with a company that had more hidden debt than a Congressional budget bill. But beyond that he and I developed a personal relationship. Toward the end, he asked me to…”
“Stop me from squandering his fortune?”
“Well phrased, Celeste. He should have created a trust fund for you, but who among us doesn’t think we have tomorrow to get things done?”
“This is depressing. The champagne is lovely, but I really need something else.” McFadden left and returned with a silver cigarette case. She opened it to reveal a score of neatly rolled reefers.
Laffite recoiled. “I don’t smoke. I’ve never smoked.”
“Never? Not even one tiny puffy-wuffy.”
“No.”
McFadden lit one, filled her lungs and, as she held her breath, squeezed Laffite’s thigh rather near his trousers’ inseam. She touched the stick to Laffite’s lips. “Just breathe in and hold.”
Laffite coughed.
“You really are a virgin. I’ve never done a virgin before.”
“I’m not…”
“Not that kind of virgin, of course not. Try again, breathe and hold, shh.” Her breath tickled his ear.
“Nothing,” Laffite said.
“You didn’t inhale. Let’s try this.” McFadden sucked a lung full, pressed her mouth against Laffite’s, breathed into him and held his lips closed until it was time to release.
Laffite sat quietly for a moment. “May I have one of those?” Well into his first ever reefer, he laid his head back and rested his hand at a spot on McFadden’s leg somewhat inappropriate for a daughter in mourning.
“I’m going to quit my job,” he said.
“No, no the high will wear off.”
“Any more time spent at the firm would be a waste of life.”
“A little savage play and all will be fine in the morning.” McFadden slid her hand into Laffite’s.
“I hate my job.”
“At McKenny? You’re managing director at the most influential consultancy in the world.”
“I’m a slave to our clients.”
“Your annual bonus alone puts you in the one percent. You have ties to the most powerful corporations imaginable. Why give it up?”
“This,” Laffite held up a reefer, “has freed my mind from a quarter century of scholastic bondage. Just this moment I had a vision of an adventure that may change the world.”
“Poo.”
“Change my world anyway. Bitcoin is a wildly volatile disaster.” Laffite pressed high enough into McFadden’s thigh to sense moist warmth. “Marijuana is the cure.”
“You’re not making sense. I’ve created a monster.” McFadden gripped Laffite’s earlobe dangerously tight in her teeth,
“I’m sure you have.”
Roger Laffite, a direct descendent of the infamous pirate Jean Lafitte, is a commodities man. He's talented at his job and has made 100's of millions of dollars. When a client loses a huge amount of money, she offers Laffite a joint. He's never smoked before, but she persuades him to partake; and that's when he has a revelation. He might be great at his job, he may have made more than enough money, but he hates it. He wants to do something different, something a bit more exciting. Something risky. Something like the substance he's just imbued.
From there, The Mary Jane Gambit descends into a bit of a numbers game. Lots of jargon, lots of talk about crypto currency and stock markets; much of which went directly over my head, and at times, I found myself reading the same line several times over in an effort to understand what was going. However, Waite managed to hold my attention with his witty rapport between the characters, sharp back and forth's and jokes which would make me snort.
I kind of envisioned Laffite as a slick, fast talking, slightly sleazy business man. Hair perfectly coiffed at all times, and wearing only the most expensive, sharp designer suits, ties, socks and shoes that money can buy. The other characters (of which there were many) kind of slipped into the background, with Laffite being larger than life, even on the page. It's why I've only afforded a rating of three, as, if one was to ask me about the other characters in this witty book, I would draw a blank. Even moments after reading it.
So, if you understand the minutia of the world's stock exchange, the legal and numerical jargon that goes with it, and larger than life lead characters - this is the book for you.
S. A