Craven Conflict

by David Cooper

  “There’s a bit of a catch. As you know, we’re on this accelerated timetable, and we’re only weeks away from the trial. In the next twenty one days we’ve got this specific disclosure hearing, we need to prepare witness statements, and we’ll have to make a start on assembling the trial bundle. If you did want to settle the whole claim, but you only accepted this offer on day twenty after all that work had been done, they’d be screaming blue murder about wasted costs. You’d probably be out of pocket anyway overall if we settled right now. But it could be a lot worse if we only settled in three weeks’ time.”

  “OK, I understand, just about. I definitely need the weekend to think about it. There’s a few business issues on my mind too. What about this hearing next Friday?”

  “Well, as you know, it’s all about these missing documents. You know, the paper trail for the paralegals being enticed away, as we’d have it. In one sense I don’t want to lose the initiative. But I just wonder about this offer. It might mean they’ll actually concede it on the record that Avery stole the paralegals off you.... No, then again, right now I think we should let it be known we’re still going ahead next Friday. You never know, it might lead to a better offer.”

  “OK, let me think. I’ll get back to you on…would Tuesday morning be all right?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Right, I’d better forward this email.”

  Once Lennie had hung up, Karen found herself in a near trance. Impulsively she scrabbled for Allason’s business card, and was on the verge of calling him before common sense kicked in. If she came across as too eager to break the news of Avery’s offer, she might only end up with a less favourable proposal from the agency said to be interested in acquiring Ripple. She had had enough experience in her professional role of advising candidates that they should sometimes hedge their bets, if there was any chance of nudging their interviewers higher without sounding too greedy.

  She noticed an unread text message from Penny Buckler, one of her companions from the previous night out, and opened it.

  ‘Last chance to change your mind about a wild weekend walking in Welsh wilderness!’

  Karen remembered that just before she had left the restaurant, she had been invited to join up with three of her friends who had booked a cottage on the Lleyn Peninsula for a two night break. Having expressed reluctance at the time, she realised that this was now exactly what she needed, to clear her mind for the crucial decisions that she would have to make in the week ahead. Once she had gratefully accepted, promising to be on the road as soon as she could return home and pack, she called Allason’s number in the hope of arranging to see him some time on the coming Monday. At the sound of his voicemail prompt, she left a short message of her own. She hoped that she had done enough to keep ulterior motives out of the tone of her voice.

  Monday 20 th May

  Craven’s meeting on the Dawley Vale Projects dispute proved not simply to have been a tactical error in its own right. It was more of a personal ordeal than he could ever have foreseen.

  An hour before the clients’ opponents were due to arrive, he had headed down to the meeting room for the anticipated preliminary discussion with Ralph Stuermer, the clients’ finance director. Squire had left Craven with no idea of what he would be in for. Although the recent correspondence had given him a fair impression of the personalities involved, he could never have expected a client quite like the brash New Yorker on the opposite side of the table. Stuermer began a one sided conversation by proclaiming how pleased he had always been with the work that both Squire and Craven’s predecessor Caroline Shore had carried out on Dawley Vale’s previous commercial disputes. This soon soured when Craven explained that the reason for his involvement on the file was Shore’s absence on maternity leave. After Craven had failed to answer a series of quick fire questions about the history of the company and its areas of business, Stuermer tetchily asked for a moment to make a private internal call to Squire. When he returned, Craven found his client in an even worse temper, Squire having proved elusive.

  The arrival of their opponents quickly served to make matters deteriorate further. Wasting no time in seizing the initiative, Craven’s opposite number Bill Brookes boldly described the procedure and agenda that he intended to follow, taking Craven’s consent as read. As Stuermer looked on in growing exasperation, Brookes proceeded to outline how Dawley Vale had woefully failed to meet the standard of service required under the contract. He casually dismissed the technical interpretation point as ‘mere sophistry’, and ended with a plea for a sensible settlement offer to save everyone’s time and effort.

  Craven then valiantly tried to explain why the interpretation point was likely to be a complete defence to the claim, regardless of what had actually happened on site. He made only minor progress before the first of many interruptions from Brookes, most of which followed a similar pattern with ‘just suppose you’re wrong and I’m right’. Had Craven been able to take a step back, and answer his opponent in his own preferred time and manner, he may have stood more of a chance of giving a better account of himself and defending his clients. But he was left ever more outgunned, with little respite or opportunity to fall back on his legal analysis. It did not take long before Brookes had batted the argument aside again and proposed that they all turn to an item by item review of the claim itself.

  Fortunately for Craven, the clients’ directors had conducted this exercise themselves. Stuermer chose to focus on the exaggerated consequential losses and the eye watering commercial margins within the damages claimed. But it was still clear to Craven that his client was scarcely able to take any kind of moral high ground. There was plainly little scope for Stuermer to try to assert that the contract had been performed in time, in full and in an entirely satisfactory manner.

  The point was not lost on Brookes when he sensed Craven’s unease and waited for his moment to strike. When the two directors had reached a virtual stalemate, Brookes asked Craven outright whether he agreed that the most sensible course of action would be to concede that Dawley Vale were in breach of contract right away. He suggested that they should leave the ‘petty technical argument’ to be addressed via a token discount on the payment that Dawley Vale would inevitably end up having to make. Craven’s strained refusal to concur, torn between the duty to speak up for his clients and the fear that he would only be putting off the inevitable, left both Brookes and his own client laughing out loud as Stuermer looked on sourly.

  The meeting came to a welcome close when Stuermer called a halt and stated that he would need to discuss everything with his co-directors, promising his opposite number a call later in the week. Brookes had taken his leave with a theatrical gesture in handing Craven a business card and promising that he could be contacted at any time ‘once common sense has prevailed’. Once Brookes and his client had left, Craven hoped for a chance to regain Stuermer’s favour, by asserting that the legal interpretation of the contract needed to be tested in court first. But he completely lost the opportunity when he started off by suggesting that Brookes had talked too much to cover up his legal weaknesses. Stuermer was far from impressed.

  “He’s good at his job.”

  Having delivered his stinging rebuttal, Stuermer strode out of the meeting room, not troubling to shake Craven’s hand or pay even the slightest regard to commercial convention or courtesy in taking his leave. Craven was left in near torment at the thought of how Squire would react when he found out what had happened. He remained bitter and angry that Squire had landed him in such a predicament in the first place, but knew that it would be futile to say so.

  When there was a tap at his door during the lunch hour, Craven feared the worst. But to his relief, it was not Squire. His visitor turned out to be Roger Blake, looking contrite.

  “Paul, I’d quite like a chat. Is it convenient?”

  Craven put down the paperback book that he had been reading for the previous half hour, in a vain attempt to clear his mind of the morning’s events.


  “OK.”

  Blake closed the door behind him and sat down.

  “I’ll come straight to the point. Rufus has told me about what you discussed with him last week. I don’t need to spell it out. He just said that I ought to know, as a senior, and he left it at that. But I’ve been thinking. I’m sure we could have made you feel more welcome here if we’d known about your situation a lot earlier. And I’d like to try to put things right.”

  Craven was taken aback.

  “Oh, I see…that’s good of you.”

  “Thanks. I wish I’d had some idea before I dragged you to the pub on that first Friday. Knowing what I do now, I feel really bad about that.”

  Craven nodded, unsure whether any comment on his part might be taken the wrong way.

  “Anyway, I’ve had a chat with Laurie and Niall, and we’d like to take you out for lunch on Thursday. Not to the pub, I hasten to add. There’s a quiet bistro I know…”

  “Niall? But isn’t he…” Craven felt apprehensive at the thought that Blake was looking to include Niall Cook, the department’s expert in company law and partnership disputes. Craven had steered well clear of Cook ever since the intense religious outreach at the pub in his first week.

  “I know what you’re going to say. He’s really embarrassed about that. He wouldn’t have gone on at you like that if he’d known. Just for your information, he’s an Elim Pentecostalist. Sometimes they don’t realise when they’re overstepping the mark.”

  “OK, I understand. And I’m fine with Laurie.” Craven had at least managed to forge a reasonably constructive working relationship with Laurie Dougall, the firm’s head of debt collection. He had been the source of a number of new referrals for Craven over the preceding weeks.

  “That’s good. I’ve half a mind to invite Jake Hutchings too…”

  “Not him.” Craven’s reaction was immediate and heartfelt. “I can’t stand him.”

  “Are you sure?” Blake asked. “You do know he’s just been elected by the trainees to be their rep on the Recruitment and Training Committee? He’s really popular in the ranks.”

  “I don’t care. I’d rather he kept out of my way. I do my best to keep out of his. Him and his smoking…”

  “OK, then, let’s forget him.” Blake knew when to back down. He suggested a time for his proposed meal out and asked Craven to check his diary. The arrangement was soon in place and Blake left. He had been on the verge of telling Craven that news of his disability had somehow become more widely known across the department than Craven may have expected, and that Craven ought not to assume that it was still confined to the partners and seniors. But he had changed his mind and decided to defer saying anything else until the more congenial atmosphere of the bistro lunch.

  For his own part, Craven quickly realised that this was exactly the kind of outcome that he could have hoped for, once he had decided to tell Squire about his deepest personal secrets. Even he could not fail to appreciate what a good turn Blake had done him.

  * * * * *

  “Who is he, then?”

  It was not lost on Dawn, as the working day drew to a close, that Karen had spent an inordinate amount of time hiding away and retouching her makeup after the last client had left. As Karen locked her office and made for the exit, well ahead of her normal departure time, Dawn could not resist a light hearted enquiry. For her own part, Karen took the question in good spirit. Allason had returned her call that morning with an invitation that she had accepted with almost indecent haste.

  “I can’t keep anything from you, can I! His name’s Piers. He’s a broker, and he’s taking me out for a meal. And before you ask, no, it’s not just a business meeting. Well, I hope not, anyway.”

  Dawn stood up and gave Karen a friendly pat on the back.

  “I bet he was the mystery man you had lunch with last Thursday. You know I don’t miss anything.”

  “That would be telling! Wish me luck.”

  “Hope it goes well.”

  Tuesday 21 st May

  Eager to discover how Karen’s previous evening had gone, Dawn tapped on the half open office door and entered. Noticing that Karen was holding her phone to her ear, Dawn took a step back, only for Karen to beckon her in and gesture towards the chair as she spoke into the receiver. The look on Karen’s face was determined.

  “Piers Allason, please…..Karen Rutherford…”

  Dawn raised her eyebrows, wondering if Karen had made a mistake, and her confusion grew when Karen emphatically pointed across the desk, waving for her to sit down. She complied, not knowing what to expect. A few moments later she found out, and she could never have predicted what she was about to hear.

  “Good morning to you too. I have a few words to say to you. Liar. Charlatan. Crook. Twister. Con Artist. No, don’t interrupt, I haven’t finished yet. I can hardly begin to tell you how relieved I am that you obviously don’t know how to copy people in on emails properly. Your directors are going to be hearing from me about you later today. And I give you my solemn word that if I ever have the misfortune to meet you again, I will punch you right between the noses. That’s all.”

  Almost casually, Karen stretched out a finger and pressed the phone cradle, ending the call before she carefully replaced the receiver. She gave Dawn a beaming smile.

  “God, I enjoyed that.”

  Dawn was agape with disbelief.

  “Jesus, Karen, wasn’t he the bloke who took you out to dinner last night?”

  “The very man. The meal was absolutely delicious, and the wine was like nectar. Bear with me a moment, though. I’d better get rid of the farewell snog for once and for all.” Karen fished in her handbag for a breath freshener spray and gave the nozzle an exaggerated squeeze, smacking her lips. “Much better.”

  “You’ve completely lost me. I can’t believe what I’ve just heard.”

  “Read that and it won’t take you long to understand. Came in about half an hour ago.”

  Karen passed over a sheet of paper. Dawn realised immediately that it was a printed copy of an email. But not one addressed to Karen.

  “Hang on, this is for Wayne! How did you get this?”

  “Read it and you’ll find out.”

  Dawn did exactly as Karen asked. She soon found herself even more astonished.

  ‘Hi Wayne,

  Totally off the record (!!), it looks like we’re on track. As I am very much a betting man, I’ll personally stake five hundred quid on Karen accepting your offer by midday tomorrow at the latest. How very useful indeed it was for you to have given me some solid chapter and verse about Ripple and its rocky state when we met last Thursday evening!

  Just to recap, as soon as she’s (a) accepted your offer and (b) signed up to the heads of terms for my Project Manchester deal, we’ll put you in funds for the five grand’s worth of blood money so that you can get properly shot of her claim. You’ve assured me that your legal expenses insurance will take care of her costs and yours. As you confirmed, your insurers will be delighted not to be facing the need to fund a trial any longer, so they won’t look too closely.

  We, of course, don’t anticipate losing a penny on this deal, in the cold light of day. Neatly hidden in the heads of terms will be a suitably disguised get out clause, which will ensure that our client’s purchase price for the entire Ripple business is subject to everything coming up to proof exactly as she’s assured us. It’s going to be dead easy to find some dirt when she’s so naïve and so desperate to fall into line.

  I could really have pushed my luck last night, just going off at a tangent, but there’s no need to be too hasty – she’ll be ripe for plucking in every sense pretty soon!

  Anyway, what we’ll do is zoom in quite hard on something fundamental, and give her two choices on a really tight deadline. Either she agrees to a much lower price for the whole business, and we recoup our investment that way, or she’ll capitulate on the idea of selling her finance division alone after all, in which case the five grand we
’d have thrown in your direction would be a pretty trivial premium on the side, compared to our commission for the big prize.

  If she tries to back out altogether, we’ll give her a glimpse of the big guns, and she’ll soon realise what a cold world it is out there, especially when you’d be free to go after her clients without fear of the consequences. It wouldn’t be long before she’s toeing the line again.

  You, my friend, will have to leave her legal sector clients alone if we did have to broker a deal for the whole Ripple business, rather than just the finance division, but there will be something more in it for you personally. Shall we say twenty per cent of the bigger arrangement fee that would be destined to come my way, or would you rather take the actual figure that we so recklessly bandied about? The real pleasure for you, of course, in that case would be to have a grandstand view of her smacking into the buffers. The place on the board of directors in the bigger company that she’d be taking for granted would go up in smoke, and there might then be a sad but necessary decision six months down the line that her personal services (as opposed to her client base and her infrastructure, suitably asset stripped) were no longer required. What a tough world we live in!

  I’m copying Karl Steiner in on this email (which explains all the detail) so that he’s up to speed.

  Regards

  Piers.’

  Lost for words, Dawn handed the email back to Karen, who quickly explained how she had come to receive it.

  “I don’t know how lucky I am. His sidekick’s called Karl, with a K. He must have clicked on auto complete and never realised that he was copying it to me instead.”

  “I can see that. But what about…”

  “Yes, I know. I can’t keep this a secret any longer. I really was on the verge of selling out and jacking in everything that I’d ever worked for, just to spare myself any more stress and aggravation. You must know how badly this has been eating away at me for the last two months.” Dawn nodded. “And here and now, it’s suddenly become nothing more than a three day wonder. All because of Mr Two-Faces here and his double dealing.”