by James Hudson
“Cruel but true,” George grinned.
“Exactly!” Ross exclaimed. “Just think what some Hollywood actors do. They work really hard, play in movies, and they make people happier. They make millions of dollars, audience buy these movies, they donate their money to charity. They actually make this world fairer. I’d say they are the conductors of justice in this world. Even more, some of them adopt people kids from Africa or Asia, and that’s even greater.”
“So, you concluded, Ross, that you’re a very good man,” George grinned.
“Would you like some apple juice?” Ross asked suddenly.
“Yeah, why not?”
He poured two glasses. George took one of them and sipped. Ross stared at him.
“What?”
“You drank first. You trust me now?”
George laughed. “It seems that way! So, are you Robin Hood, man? You play the stock market, you make money, you give it away to charity. But you have luxury cars, security guards, eat like a king…”
Ross grinned. “I should be rich, George. Or how would anyone believe me that I have serious intentions? If I come to a rural school or church and tell them I wanna renovate it, they would immediately give me an appraising look. They would go outside to look at my car. If they see a Range Rover, they will trust me.
Regarding these things… probably I’m too old, George. But these cars, mansions, security guards are burdensome things for me.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Honestly! All I need and all you actually need is this wonderful world! A table full of delicious food, a bottle of wine, and nature, rain, silence…”
George nodded and smiled.
“You should be a politician, man. People would believe you. Although you’d never be able to convince them that you’re a sincere guy, you could make them love their families, adore nature, charity, environmental protection, etc.”
“No, I’m too old for that. Yeah, I know that some men become Presidents in their 70s. I don’t like frenzied activity. But I’m going to support you, George. You’re gonna become a leader again.”
“Leader of what?” George frowned.
“You must announce publicly that you’re alive, that you weren’t dead, that your enemies will be defeated.”
George gulped the juice. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I have to struggle.”
“Why?” Ross exclaimed. “How old are you? Thirty-five? Are you going to give up? Are you tired or what? You are the financial God, George!”
“I used to be, Ross…”
“No! You created trends in the financial world! A year ago, North Korea had been making headlines in the news. All traders were scared to death by the statements of the leader. Hoon Kwak, that crazy bastard, enjoyed threatening with nuclear tests. You were one of the initiators.”
“Well, I just visited North Korea. Hoon Kwak acted on his own authority. I’d just spoken to him…”
“Oh, yeah. What about the Middle East? Attacks on the oil plant!”
“You know everything,” George squinted his eyes.
“Well, I just saw what happened with the oil prices. I could see the reaction of the Americans – they were infuriated. OPEC meetings, sanctions against Iran, against Russia… All that was initiated by you to some degree.”
“Don’t exaggerate!” George frowned. “I couldn’t plan a series of events. I talked to people and invested my money. That’s all!”
“I need you back, George,” Ross said slowly. “Walter Schmidt is a creepy, jealous moron. He is destroying your company. Aren’t you offended?”
George sighed heavily and thought, He’ll never understand that I cherish no hatred for Walter Schmidt because I can’t remember anything. All this is just like an exciting movie – my business, my enemies, my girls.
“You make money to help others,” George said. “But why should I return? To make money to help people too?”
“Yes!” Ross exclaimed. “As for me, I hate spending money on myself. I feel awkward…”
“You just buy top products on the market, right?” George grinned. “To tell the truth, I’ve recently helped one woman who’s hated me... I gave her money.”
Ross raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who is she? What was her reaction?”
George shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“If she tells you—”
“Stop, man!” George interrupted Ross. “I think I’m not gonna enjoy charity. I need some other values.”
“OK. But what about the financial markets?” Ross asked. “You think you can leave all that just in a second? You’re officially dead, man. You wouldn’t find a crappy office job! Even if you did, would you just sit at the computer, sending useless e-mails and printing reports? Your boss would fuck your mind because you wouldn’t sell some shitty goods? Millions of pounds, dollars, and euros would fly past you, George. Your mind would shrink because you stop thinking big!”
George shuddered. He remembered his talk with Emma Robinson. I never think of how to wash the dishes after dinner. I think it’s an inexcusable waste of time. Life is too short to think about dirty dishes. These were his words!
“Your enemies will never forget you. Because we all know that you George are a cunning motherfucker! When will you stop pretending that you give up?”
George twitched. Ross sounded hostile.
“I’m just kidding!” Ross smiled. “Relax.”
He really thinks I’m a smart, crafty man, George thought. Everyone treats me like a con artist, clever scoundrel, smooth operator. I don’t really have a choice… Probably, if I emerged from the underground, I’d escape from the deadlock. At least, I must stop hiding, find my home, find anyone whom I could trust. I should somehow start a new life…
25. Nature Can Talk
“I like silence,” Ross said quietly. “The noisy center of London doesn’t let us think.”
“Silence is for older people,” George grinned. “Silence is devastating. Because you have to be alone with your thoughts.”
“You don’t like your memories, do you, George?” Ross squinted his eyes.
George didn’t reply.
“What did I tell you!” Ross exclaimed. “People must remember you. YouTube! And Instagram!”
“For what?” George asked. “To come out of hiding?”
“Yes! You should be officially alive, man. Do it now, and we’ll launch a war against Walter Schmidt.”
“All right,” George nodded.
“Now, let’s go home!” Ross said loudly. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
George made three steps and stumbled over the tree roots. He was drunk. He could feel his mind was slipping away from reality.
“What a great night!” Ross said in a mollifying tone. “I can feel Nature is talking to me. You know, George, sometimes I think I could stop working and start living in the forest among animals and birds. Don’t you think it’s wonderful?”
“Probably,” George shrugged. “As for me, I’m not ready to stay lonely.”
“Well, I’m not going to be lonely,” Ross grinned. “A dog, a cow, a goat, a horse, a goose, a parrot, a little kitten, fishes.”
“Are you going to talk to them?” George chuckled.
“Of course!”
“I think only selfish people love to talk to animals. Animals can’t speak! That means you’ll be speaking to yourself, not even expecting a reply.”
“You like to be around people, George?”
“Yes! I’m a city guy.”
“A skyscraper guy,” Ross grinned. “But people betray, George!”
“Anyway, I’d never prefer a goat or a cow instead of a young woman.”
Meanwhile, they left the woods and came up to the cars. The security guys were inside what was a bit strange. They didn’t care about the safety of the boss.
Ross opened the door of the Range Rover.
“Stay safe, mate!” he said. “And I’m waiting for your first video on YouTube!”
George nodded and hopped in the car. “Thanks for dinner!”
“You’re welcome, my friend!”
George’s head was swimming. Warmth spread over the whole body. His arms, legs, and head seemed weightless.
“Where to, Mr. Hartley?” the driver asked.
George looked around. No sullen guys in leather jackets. This is strange. I could shoot him. Probably, I was too suspicious. Ross is not my enemy.
“The same address. Coffeehouse.”
The SUV quickly pulled away. George closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.
26. Hotel
George Hartley shuddered and opened his eyes. Something was touching his back. He was still sitting in the back seat of the Range Rover. Massage!
“We’re at the place, sir!” the driver said. “Coffeehouse.”
Wow! He must’ve woken me up, having activated the massage function. It’s very kind of him.
“Thanks a lot! Bye!”
George got out of the car. The night was cold and quiet. George was still staggering when he looked inside the coffeehouse.
Police! They probably construct facial composites. Holy shit! I must get out of here!
George quickly walked toward the hotel. A huge wave of anxiety washed over him. Hot shower, coffee, no light! George thought. I’ll huddle up in a corner and decide what to do next.
He entered the hotel lobby and moved to the elevator. He felt the USB flash drive in his pocket. Must be another dreadful truth about me… 12th floor. To the left. Holy shit! The door to his room was open. Somebody was definitely inside.
George drew the pistol and slowly sneaked up to the door. Someone coughed. A woman!
George peered inside. A hotel maid! He exhaled in relief. He quickly hid the weapon. Fortunately, she didn’t notice it. The woman turned around and smiled at him. She was mopping the floor. It smelled of fresh lemon. George smiled back. Most likely, the maid was a Pakistani woman.
George remembered that Katie had warned the reception not to enter the room. They ignored her demand. George sighed. He didn’t want the conflict. He extracted a five-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to the woman.
The maid stared at him, paralyzed with fear. She squeezed the mop and didn’t move.
“Come on! Take it!” George said uncertainly.
But the woman shrank in horror.
What a stupid woman! George got angry. I want to help her! Doesn’t she need food, new clothes, and medical care? Then he felt confused. Such a strange feeling! I can’t look into her eyes… Charity is such a hard thing… To send 100 grand to India was much easier. What should I realize now? That I’m merciful? That I’m bringing justice to the world? I probably deceived thousands of traders, and now I want this maid to be happy?
“It’s so clean and fresh out here,” George muttered. “I really like it. I want to thank you. Take it, please. But I’ll ask you not to bother me again. All right?”
He swallowed his saliva and raised his eyes to the woman.
She nodded, turned around, grabbed her bucket, and quickly left the room. She didn’t take the money.
George frowned. This is not good. She didn’t like me. Maybe I should… send her flowers. Or not. If she has a husband, he will kill her.
George took a hot shower. Water sobered him up. When he left the bathroom, he felt much better. I shouldn’t drink anyway. It can lead me to trouble.
The laptop quickly woke up from sleep mode. George inserted the flash drive. Another video… He sighed and pressed ‘Play.’
Two men were sitting in the big armchairs, holding wine glasses, a low table between them. The room resembled a luxurious hotel room. One of the men had a little dog lying on his knees. The animal had very sad eyes like it was tired of the conversation. George immediately recognized gentlemen. Walter Schmidt and Ross. The video was obviously recorded recently – Ross was around the same age as George saw him an hour ago. Walter Schmidt was about forty.
“What about Hartley?” Ross asked.
“I hate him!” Walter Schmidt exclaimed.
“Why, Walter? Is it personal enmity?”
“Everybody is tired of his tricks. And look at the financial results. They are brilliant! I mean, I’d lost a lot of money in the stock market, but he’d never lost a penny!”
“Well, the markets are created by rich and mighty people, Walter. To make people poorer.”
“I know,” Walter Schmidt nodded. “But I’m concerned that Hartley went too far. The operation with the poisoning of the Russian spy and initiating of sanctions was incredible!”
“You’re just jealous, buddy,” Ross smiled. He peeled a small banana and tried to feed the dog. But it didn’t open the mouth. Then it barked loudly. Ross sighed. “I wonder why my boy’s not eating delicious things.”
“Ross, I’m talking seriously!” Walter Schmidt cried out.
“What should I comment, Walter? You don’t give a damn about the world economy, do you? You’d do everything to replace George Hartley. But he’s not the only one. There are a lot of people who are richer than him. Remember the heads of the financial funds in Germany who actually rule the monetary policy in the European Union, the people in the USA who rule the American financial markets, and who have a significant impact on the foreign exchange rates.”
“I just have one question,” Walter Schmidt said nervously. “How does he do all this? In most cases, Hartley doesn’t bribe the mass media. He makes people believe that everything happens entirely by accident as if nobody planned it. But what if this ‘plan of developments’ exists… Where the hell could it be? I bribed his system administrator in the skyscraper. He stole some data from Hartley’s computer. But the email-addresses were hidden, and the content of those emails didn’t catch my interest. I know that the intelligence agencies are curious about his activity.
I wonder what’s he gonna do next. We’re sitting here, Ross, and all we can do is read financial news, analyze charts, quarterly reports and so on. But Hartley somehow knows what to do! Who gives him all valuable information?”
Walter Schmidt choked with anger. He stopped talking.
Ross shook his head. “I don’t think that Hartley has a mighty wealthy patron. He acts on his own.”
“I can’t believe that!” Walter Schmidt exclaimed. We both studied at the same university.”
“Wow!” Ross jumped in his armchair. “Were you friends?”
“No. He barely knew me,” Walter Schmidt grumbled. “But I’d been watching him, collecting information. Of course, I couldn’t imagine how far he’d go. Hartley never studied well. I got better marks. But he had the best girls! I still don’t know why. The girls said he was strange and unpredictable. And they complained to me that Hartley didn’t pay attention to them.”
Ross grinned.
“He was quite an unusual guy. He had an aptitude for mathematics. But also, he loved journalism. He even worked as a reporter for a short period of time. Hartley established contacts with lots of reporters and editors. But I noticed that he despised poor people. Rich, smart, and successful men attracted him.”
Ross scratched his head. “So, he could get in contact with intelligence, right?”
“Of course!” Walter Schmidt nodded. “I suppose they serve their own financial interests. That’s why they cover his operations, using a wide network of special agents.”
“What about his family? Were his parents rich?”
“Yes,” Walter Schmidt. “I’m sure he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”
“Anyway, in my opinion, it is of little significance,” Ross said. “If he hadn’t been a leader, hadn’t had a strong personality, he wouldn’t have become one of the richest men in London.”
“Nonsense!” Walter Schmidt exclaimed. “He is a henchman of the intelligence agency! Maybe the Russian oligarch bribed him—”
“Oh, come on!” Ross rolled his eyes. “Walter, as I know, you have 20 million. What else do you need?”
“My fund has faced severe crisis recently,” Walter Schmidt said nervously. “So, I need to find the list of upcoming speculations! I must know what Hartley’s planned!”
“What if this list doesn’t exist?” Ross asked.
“It exists! I’ll find it at any cost!”
27. Out of the Shadow
George walked back and forth across the hotel room. This is strange that Walter Schmidt is five years older than me. We studied together… Anyway, it really doesn’t matter. Walter Schmidt was obviously envious of me. What about that list? Did he really poison me to find that list? This is why he stole my employees… Ross was right. Walter Schmidt is a jealous hater who has an unattractive personality.
Ross, Walter Schmidt, and I – we all made money by deceiving people. But Ross has always tried to strike a balance between making millions and making poor people richer. He tries to establish financial justice in the world.
As far as I know, I always wanted to fuck the world. But where are my millions? Are they stolen?
Walter Schmidt could start working for my company and become a spy. But instead, he chose the easiest way – to cultivate his hatred, then screwed up his courage to kill Emma Robinson – the woman in the wheelchair – and almost kill me. Emma Robinson must’ve known the truth. Although she cooperated with the intelligence agents, she didn’t tell the main secret to Walter Schmidt. And he killed her… Am I right? So… the main secret still exists? Is it really a list of coming speculations?
So, what’s now? Start the battle?
George created accounts on YouTube and Instagram. It turned out to be easy.
Without pausing to think, he started live streaming.
“Ladies and gentlemen! I’m George Hartley, who had actually been buried a few days ago. I’m back! And I’m so glad that I faked my own death. I cleared my mind, took a fresh look at my enemies and friends. I’ll tell you that nothing can sharpen your emotions more than closeness to death. I mean, if you’re tired of your boring life, or faced a middle-age crisis, no dangerous trips to Africa would help you. All you need is just fake your own death. You should be officially dead. And then you will start thinking a lot about what you have done, what you haven’t done, what’s your dream and so on.