Two London twits, one Giantess and one Mum, run a domestic agency, performing unlovable chores for unlovable wives with money. The two twits rehash I Love Lucy daffiness during the subprime era of extravagance. Another dose of the English language fading into bad American dialogue and imitation Hollywood idiocy.
At the end of this very long book, a famous publisher asks an ex-novelist to write about Wall Street during the subprime fiasco. But the novelist can only write about the novelist. No characters, no plot, no events ever get beyond the “me” of this word dealer. Annoying, pizzicato reading by Kate Reading.
Michael Cantela is the youngest winner of the Investment Advisor of the Year at the elite investment firm of Saxton Silvers. He has a knack for making rich people richer, an apartment on Sutton Place, an unemployed wife, and an eight or nine figure personal portfolio. That is, until he checks his balance. Which is zero.
Imagine it: a hotel room at the Pierre, your wife is newly undressed and waiting for you who are on line looking at a zero balance. Your portfolio has been liquidated. All your stocks sold, and the total transferred to somebody else’s account on the Cayman Islands.
A short look at the short success of a straight man among the crooked and the greedy, with a little torture thrown in, for spice.
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