Excerpt from Hedge Fund Mistress “Your numbers look good but, I don’t know,” Epstein said digging into a slice of chocolate cake. “You don’t have that much of a track record.” Michael was furious. All he wanted Boris to do was to invest a measly $10 million in his hedge fund, peanuts for the guy. “And,” continued Epstein, “you’re unregistered.” It was Manning who jumped in. “If we were secured, we’d be under the scrutiny of the SEC daily. We’d never get the kind of returns we’re promising you,” he said. “Yeah, well,” said Epstein. “That’s the problem with you guys, hedge funds are unregulated and I just don’t know. My broker at Fidelity…” Michael was growing impatient. “What did that son-of-a-bitch get you last year? A single digit return? Don’t be a loser.” Epstein squirmed a little. Michael sensed it and pumped up his strong physical presence. He knew he had always been physically intimidating to Epstein, even back at Yale. “I thought you were a risk taker,” he said. “I don’t know, Michael. I’m also not too happy about the prospect of locking in my money for a year.”         “Look Boris, that’s the way hedge funds operate. You put your money in for a set period of time. No one is getting the kind of returns that hedge funds are getting. You either jump on board now or read the numbers and weep at year-end,” said Michael. “Okay, Michael,” he said. “I will invest, but only $5 million. That’s all I feel comfortable doing.” Michael wouldn’t back off. “I think you should go for ten.” Michael stared at Manning with disdain. Help me out, his look screamed. Manning shook his head slightly indicating—enough. There was a time to shut up and Manning was always boasting that he was an expert at this. Some expert. It was Michael who had provided or raised every bit of the $550 million. “Let me think it over,” said Epstein. “I’m just not sure.”   Michael had predicted this. The more money they had, the tighter they were. Michael stiffened, offering subtle body language intimidation. He was a man who usually got what he wanted and he wanted $10 million from Boris Epstein. “Boris,” he said. “Don’t be an asshole.” “Let me go,” piped Epstein, like a trapped animal. He abruptly stood up and threw down his napkin. Michael and Manning both stood and shook his hand. Epstein beat a hasty retreat mumbling, “Let me think it over.” “You had him,” said Manning smugly. “You shouldn’t have called him an asshole.”   Manning gathered his coat to leave, but Michael Hallworth stopped him. “Wait,” he said. At the door stood a beautiful brunette in her mid thirties. Michael watched as the maitre d’ seated her at a small table alone. Manning sat down and indicated to the waiter he’d like more coffee. He had been through this many times before with his employer. Michael Hallworth chased women at every opportunity. It made Manning a little sick but, fortunately, it never took very long. Before Manning could finish his coffee, Michael Hallworth had her number. In the elevator on the way back to the office, Michael Hallworth called Galaxy. “We’re down,” said Steve. “How much?” asked Michael. “A lot.” Michael felt a familiar queasiness in his stomach.  “I’m on my way,” he said hanging up the phone. Undaunted, Michael was convinced that he could be one of the giants. His grandfather was the problem. For now, his double life would have to remain a secret. But some day, he would be a hedge fund giant like Julian Robertson, Paul Tudor Jones, James Simons, George Soros, Bruce Kovenor, Louis Bacon, Stanley Druckenmiller and the biggest one of them all, James Willard.