Fifteen years ago, late December. Balaban's backroom, where St. Louis' hottest young dealmakers exult over the stock market, sneak soft drifts of cocaine into the sugar bowls, eat entrées they once couldn't pronounce. Tonight, 30 of the most successful converge for their annual self-declared "board of directors" dinner. Afterward, they swirl cognac, waiting for this year's Christmas present... More >>>