The Zurich Effect

Zuri Okonkwo had her grandmother's eyes. Deep chocolate brown, the kind that looked warm until you realised they were calculating exactly how much trouble you were worth. Right now, those eyes were fixed on her banking app with an expression that could curdle fresh milk. "Lord have mercy," she whispered. "What's wrong?" Sophie materialised at the partition like she'd been summoned by the scent of drama. "Nothing. Just reflecting on my financial choices." "And?" "I'm reminded of that Bible verse about the foolish man who built his house on sand. Except replace 'house' with 'lifestyle' and 'sand' with 'my credit limit.'" Sophie peered at the screen before Zuri could hide it. "Is that... are you four thousand francs overdrawn?" Zuri said nothing. What could she say? The numbers spoke for themselves, and they were screaming. The truth was worse than Sophie knew. There was the leather jacket from Monday because autumn was coming. In three months. The molecular gastronomy dinner on Tuesday because you cannot put a price on culinary education. The spa weekend because her mother had called, and nothing said "I'm thriving" like a hot stone massage you couldn't afford. Her salary was perfectly reasonable for a junior analyst at Bergmann & Associates. Her spending habits were perfectly unreasonable for a human being with responsibilities. Min-jun rolled his chair over, clutching his homemade lunch in its depressing Tupperware. The Korean analyst had been trying to teach Zuri about fiscal responsibility for six months. It wasn't going well. "You look stressed. Want some kimbap?" "That's sweet, but I've ordered sushi delivery." Min-jun's eye twitched. "That costs sixty francs." "Sixty-two, actually. But the quality is remarkable, Min-jun. Life is desperately short. We must feast whilst we can." From across the small office, Amélie snorted into her espresso. The French business analyst had opinions about everything, particularly other people's financial disasters. "This is why you are always broke. Last week you bought cashmere in July." "Cashmere transcends seasons." "It was thirty-six degrees outside." Zuri opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no defence for that one. Lars looked up from his laptop, his Swedish sensibilities visibly offended. "You do realise your salary is lower than everyone here except Brad?" "Hey!" Brad's voice carried from the corner desk where he was doing something complicated with pivot tables. The American had somehow ended up in Switzerland after a study abroad programme and simply never left. "It's statistical fact," Lars continued with the warmth of a tax document. "Zuri earns junior analyst wages but spends like she's running a hedge fund." "I prefer to think of it as aspirational budgeting," Zuri said, examining her nails. Her grandmother's emerald ring caught the light. The ring that had been in their family since before Nigeria was Nigeria, when they were still trading with Egyptian merchants along routes that predated colonial borders. Her grandmother would have called this conversation vulgar. Sophie was already googling. "But wait, aren't you Emmanuel Okonkwo's daughter? Your family literally owns half of Lagos." "My father owns things. I own a philosophy: good things must be experienced, regardless of my current account balance." "That's not a philosophy," Lars observed. "That's a mental disorder." Zuri stared at her keyboard. Lars wasn't wrong, and that was the most annoying part. Before Lars could continue his psychological analysis, their manager Linda emerged from her office looking harried. Linda Wu had built the Analysis department from three people and a photocopier into the most profitable division in the company. She'd done it by being smarter than everyone else and never letting them forget it. "Morning everyone. Quick announcement. Two things. First, Luca Bergmann will be joining our team today." The office went quiet. Luca Bergmann. As in, son of Klaus Bergmann. As in, their actual boss's actual son. "Nepotism," Amélie muttered in French. "I heard that," Linda said. "And second, we've just secured Dmitri Volkov as a client. He'll be in this afternoon for preliminary meetings." This caused an entirely different reaction. Dmitri Volkov was the Dmitri Volkov. Thirty-two, recently sold his fintech startup for an amount that had too many zeros to be decent, and according to Forbes, one of Europe's most influential young entrepreneurs. His company was expanding into West African markets, which was probably why Bergmann & Associates had won the contract. Sophie was already on her phone. "Oh my God, have you seen him? He's gorgeous." She thrust her screen at Zuri, who glanced at it with studied disinterest, then looked again. it.