Page 15 of An American in London

He narrows his eyes like he’s not sure whether he’s entirely convinced. “Righty-oh. We have a meeting.” He thrusts out his arm, revealing his watch, sharply bends it at the elbow and takes in the time. “Gail,please get us some coffee. We’ll start early. We have a lot to get through. Follow me, Tuesday.”

In my experience, the more senior to you the person you’re meeting with is, the longer you’re kept waiting. But things with Mr. Jenkins don’t seem to work like that. Maybe it’s a British thing. Maybe this is why he’s the CEO. I scramble for a pen and my notebook and follow him into his office.

“Take a seat, Tuesday. I’m afraid I don’t do well at chitchat, so let’s get straight down to it, shall we?” There’s an old-fashioned mahogany coat stand to the side of the office, and he slots his umbrella into the bottom and turns to me. “I’m responsible to the shareholders of the bank for the running of the business. Yet as you might expect, as CEO, I’m not all that involved with the day-to-day operations.”

I furiously write notes as if I’m going to take a test at the end of the day.

“The private-client side of our business is small, but that’s where I started, and I still act as accounts manager for one or two ultra-high-net-worth individuals. Clearly, I’m just the figurehead. I can’t take any credit for the actual work managing the portfolios of those clients. The Private Client Team does that, but I still have the necessary face-to-face contact with those clients.” He takes a seat at his desk and flips open his laptop in front of him.

“I understand,” I say.

“One of those clients uses us for some of his UK-based investments—shares and bonds. Most of his wealth is managed for him in-house. He really only still uses us for legacy reasons—I’m close with his father. But his name attached to our business is only a good thing, and I do everything I can to retain his investments. It’s a fact that, as a client, he gives our bank a gold stamp of approval many other private clients take very seriously, as well as the boards of various pension funds that invest heavily with us.”

Mr. Jenkins obviously wants to be very clear about the importance of this wealthy client, but why? Nerves start to swirl in my stomach asI suspect the answer involves me, this prestigious client, and my entire professional future.

“As you must know from the New York office, we give all our clients an annual health check, which goes beyond the day-to-day portfolio management. When we do this for ultra-high-net-worth individuals, we like to look at their wealth more holistically to make sure we’re best serving their needs.” He sounds like he’s reading from the bank’s website, but I nod like what he’s saying is riveting. “But these annual reviews have a secondary purpose. One that benefits the bank.”

He looks me in the eye as if he’s about to draw back the curtain on a secret known to only five people on earth. I do my best to look riveted.

“It allows the bank to demonstrate value. It’s a platform from which we can show the client why we are the perfect, most trusted partner for them.”

I try not to let my shoulders drop with disappointment at his lackluster revelation.

“It’s also an opportunity to see if we can be managing more of their wealth,” Mr. Jenkins continues.

“Client retention. Client growth,” I paraphrase.

“Exactly,” he says. “In relation to the Kelley account, client retention is paramount. Client growth is ... almost impossible, but we try, nonetheless.” Before I can ask why it’s impossible, he leans toward me and drops his voice. “Last year we had a hiccup with the account. Some of the numbers were wrong, and Mr. Kelley was able to identify the mistakes during the meeting.”

The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

“It was embarrassing. For the bank. For me. I don’t want it to happen again. I want everything scoured for mistakes a thousand times.”

His eyes bulge and he fists his hands, almost as if he’s reliving the embarrassment in the moment.

“I understand,” I say. Although I’m not exactly sure what my role is in all this.

“Good!” He bangs his fists on the desk, his voice returning to full volume. “I want you to be my eyes and ears on all this. Obviously, the Private Client Team is all over it, but you’re going to be the final pair of eyes on everything. I don’t want to see a graph, report, or table you haven’t personally signed off on.”

I grip my pen a little tighter. That seems like a lot of responsibility. “I’ll make sure it’s all exactly how it should be.”

“Good. The meeting is in four weeks. Don’t leave anything to the last minute. Kelley has a habit of moving up our meetings. I think he’d like to catch us off-balance again this year if he can. The man is too smart by half.” He switches his attention to the laptop in front of him. “That’s all, Tuesday. Don’t let me down.”

I scoop up my pad and stand. There’s no chance I’m going to let him down. I’ll work day and night if I have to. If it’s within my power, Mr. Kelley—whoever he is—will be skipping out of his meeting with Mr. Jenkins, he’ll be so impressed with his health check.

“Just one more thing,” Mr. Jenkins says. “Kelley likes to drop into the office now and then. Usually only when Chelsea’s lost. He’s a bloody Arsenal supporter, just like his father. Make sure there’s nothing lying about that may catch his eye. I don’t want to start a conversation I can’t finish.”

I nod and head to the door. As I grab the handle, it moves, and before I know it, I end up pushed behind the door as it opens.

“I just wanted to come and pay my respects,” a familiar voice announces.

Gently, I push the door closed so I’m no longer squashed behind it, and I almost choke at the sight of Mr. Jenkins’s visitor. Is that who I think it is? I can only see the back of his head, but isn’t it—

“And to give you this.” He holds up a blue-and-white key ring. “It was on sale.”

“Ha, ha,” Mr. Jenkins says, clearly not amused. “You’re no funnier than your father.”

I take a couple of steps around the door, unable to tear my gaze away from the office interloper, when the door creaks and both Mr. Jenkins and my oldest friend in London turn to stare at me.

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