The Coffee Trader

And Daniel did understand. He knew that if he chose, at that moment, to join sides with Miguel, to throw himself in with his brother, to call out a sale of cheap coffee, the scheme would succeed. The momentum from Daniel’s participation would tip the scales in Miguel’s favor. Here was the time at last in which family might rise above petty interests. Daniel might say that yes, Parido was his friend, and friendship should be honored, but family was another matter and he could not stand by while his brother faced ruin, permanent ruin-not while he had the power in his hands to prevent it.

They both knew it. Miguel could see that his brother knew it. He had asked Daniel once if he would choose his brother or his friend, and Daniel had not answered, but he would answer now. One way or another. Miguel could see from the look on his brother’s face that Daniel, too, recalled that conversation. He could see the look of shame on Daniel’s face as he turned away and allowed this coffee business to unfold without him.

A strange quiet fell within the walls. Certainly not what would have passed for quiet in any other part of the world, but for the Exchange the noise reduced to a mere din. Traders moved in close as though they watched a cockfight or a brawl.

They would get good sport, Miguel told himself. When Parido had moved to buy, he had himself given the signal for Miguel’s next move, one the parnass could not have anticipated.

“Selling coffee! Fifty barrels at thirty-six!” Joachim shouted.

Parido stared in disbelief. He had not seen Joachim arrive upon the Exchange, or perhaps he had not noticed him. Having lost his peasant’s attire, he was once more dressed like a man of means, looking every bit the Dutch trader in his black suit and hat. No one who did not know him would have guessed that a month ago he had been less than a beggar. Now he was surrounded by a crowd of buyers whose eager calls he engaged with one at a time, calm as any seasoned merchant upon any bourse in Europe.

This move had been Alferonda’s inspiration. Parido could easily assert his influence over the traders of the Portuguese Nation. Every man knew of his rivalry with Miguel, and few would willingly cross a vengeful man with a seat on the Ma’amad. Alferonda knew he would be able to encourage a few foreign Tudescos to begin the trading, but there were not enough of them to sustain the sell-off, and most would be unwilling to invest heavily in so unknown a commodity or do too much to irritate Parido. But Joachim could entice the Dutch market into seeing that this conflict was a matter of business, not some internal Portuguese contest. He could bring in the Dutch traders willing to make a profit off this new product. They might be sheepish about jumping into a fray where Jew battled Jew over a commodity hardly anyone had ever heard of, but once they saw one of their own intrepid countrymen joining in, they would fall in line lest they lose the chance to profit.

Another Dutchman called out to sell. Miguel had never seen him before. He was only some unfortunate trader who had taken a chance on coffee and now found himself caught in the crossfire. Desperate to get rid of his goods before the price dipped even further, he let his fifteen barrels go at thirty-five. Miguel was now only two guilders per barrel away from the price he needed to survive, five guilders from what he needed to defeat Parido. But even if he brought the price to thirty, he would have to keep the price stable until two o’clock, the end of the trading day.

A new man shouted out in Dutch, but his accent sounded French. Then another, this one Danish. Thirty-five. Thirty-four. Miguel need only look on and monitor. He had sold eighty barrels that he did not own. It was no matter. Far more barrels had already changed hands than the warehouses of Amsterdam could hope to house.

Now Miguel would have to wait to see how low the price went and then buy enough to protect himself. If a buyer chose, he might file an appeal so that he would not have to buy his coffee at the now-high prices of thirty-eight and thirty-nine, but that hardly mattered to Miguel. Let them keep their money. Only the price of the barrels mattered now.

Parido looked on, his face blank. He had stopped shouting orders, for one man could not buy everything, not without ruining himself. He had artificially raised the price himself, and he knew that if he bought back enough barrels at a price to bring coffee back to thirty-nine, he would surely lose a great deal of money, even if he factored in the profit of his put.

The price began to stabilize, so Miguel bought at thirty-one and then sold at once for thirty. The loss was nothing, and it set off another frenzy of selling.

Miguel smiled at Parido, who turned away in disgust. But Miguel would not let him walk away. He pushed through the crowd. He heard sales at twenty-nine and twenty-eight. He looked at the clock on the church tower. Half past one. Only thirty minutes remaining.

“I believe the day is mine,” Miguel called.

Parido spun around. “Not yet, Lienzo. There’s still time.”

“There may be time, but I don’t believe you have any more options.”

Parido shook his head. “You think your little tricks will save you? Relish this moment, Lienzo. I think you’ll find you are not nearly so clever as you think.”

“No, probably not. But I have the distinct pleasure this day of being cleverer than you. I wish to take possession of those barrels of coffee you promised me by this time tomorrow.”

“You haven’t the money to pay for them,” he spat. “If you look at your copy of our contract, you will note it specifies the exchange must take place within seventy-two hours of the end of market today. I frankly don’t believe you will be able to raise the money. Indeed, in seventy-two hours in the eyes of the Ma’amad you may no longer be a Jew.”

So Parido pla

Miguel stepped away and glanced toward the crowd of buyers and sellers. The price appeared now to have stabilized at a remarkable twenty-six, with very little time left to trade. If the price only stayed there, he would earn a profit of almost seven hundred guilders from his puts alone, another two thousand from the futures. Now, too anxious to simply stand and observe, he thought to take care of one last bit of business.

Isaiah Nunes had been speaking quietly with some acquaintances, attempting to ignore the selling frenzy. Miguel smiled and asked Nunes to walk with him a moment privately. The two stepped away behind a pillar.

Miguel allowed his face to brighten into his best merchant guise. “I would like you to transfer ownership of the coffee I contracted with you to deliver. I would like ownership papers in my hands no later than tomorrow morning.”

Nunes straightened his posture, as though making some effort to align himself perfectly with the earth, and then took a step forward. “I’m sorry you find yourself in a difficult situation, Miguel, but I can’t help you. I told you the shipment never arrived, and your needs ca

“An odd comment from a man who sold my contracted goods to Solomon Parido.”

Nunes tried to show no expression. “I ca

“You’re overplaying your part, senhor. You should appear confused, not horrified.”