The Allegation: A John Mackworth novel

by Tony Davies

  Copyright © Tony Davies 2015 All rights reserved

  All characters in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All proceeds generated from the sale of this book will be donated to the Dragon Charity which donates funds for property and infrastructure related projects in poverty stricken countries, principally in Asia. (www.stdavidgroup.com -­‐ Dragon Charity)

  ISBN: 978-988-14451-0-0

  Chapter one

  In the beginning

  The office was luxuriously appointed and was on the 42nd floor of Exchange Square in Central on Hong Kong Island. Floors 37th to the 42nd were occupied by companies owned by Andrew Weston, although his name did not appear anywhere in the Hong Kong Land Registry.

  Each of the floors was rented by a British Virgin Island company, which in turn was owned by another offshore entity. This was replicated through a labyrinth of companies and trusts so that it was impossible to establish the true identity of the tenant. Andrew Weston liked his privacy.

  Most visitors would have said the view of Victoria Harbour from the floor to ceiling windows was breath taking. It encompassed everything from the Lama Channel in the west to Causeway Bay and beyond in the east. The room was expensively furnished with one wall displaying paintings by Xu Bing and Zhou Chunya. Both were originals. A third wall contained a large plasma screen and a side table was adorned by an exquisite jade carving of a dragon, which had been commissioned from Sui Jianguo. Andrew Weston liked to support Chinese artists.

  The main desk where the occupant of the room sat was faced away from the window so that its occupant was not distracted by the view. Not that Andrew Weston ever worried about being distracted. Opposite were three chairs and off to one side was a lounge suite with a small coffee table where up to six people could comfortably sit. There were no personal effects or memorabilia in the room. If asked, most visitors would say that whilst no expense had been spared in its decoration the room was sterile and lacked personal warmth.

  Andrew Weston spent a considerable part of his day working in the office and didn’t care what people thought of it. Well, he didn’t care as long as people recognized that its occupant was a man of wealth. Weston had long ago realized that whilst appearances weren’t everything, in his business, it did pay to display the trappings of wealth. That he could afford to do so was not in doubt, he was a very rich man indeed.

  He would have like to have boasted he had come from nothing, built his business with talent only, but that would not have been the truth. He had enjoyed the privileges of a good boarding school education in the United Kingdom, courtesy of his father who had been a financier in the city of London. When his mother had died of breast cancer when he was nine, his father had packed him off to his old boarding school. Words of encouragement that it would make a man of him rang hollow and he was only too aware his father, like many single parents, was relieved that the school was taking responsibility for his upbringing.

  During his adolescence Weston had come to realize his father’s decision had been the right one. He would never have fitted in with his parent’s lifestyle. Fortunately, on the occasions they did spend time together they formed a relationship based on admiration and respect. His father had been instrumental in him getting his first position after Oxford and in many ways had remained his mentor and friend.

  Weston’s entry into the professional world began with a small investment banking operation in which his father held a significant stake. He had quickly learnt that there was no prize for coming second in the cutthroat world of the city and the only way to flourish was to make more money for the bank than his peers. Being popular with his superiors was useful, as was having the necessary social skills to mix with and entertain clients.

  None of that mattered though as long as he was a ‘money machine’, as his superiors liked to term it. You could screw a colleague over a deal, steal his client, have sex with his wife or worse, his mistress, none of it mattered as long as you made more money for the bank than he did. That was the way to get ahead in the city and Weston had excelled at it.

  Five years after joining he was running his own private equity team and was enjoying a seven figure annual salary. He had a blue chip client base of investors and his team comprised highly talented subordinates who were every bit as ruthless as he was. But it came with a price. He rarely worked less than seventy hours a week, never took a holiday and had few, if any, friends. He was the bank’s leading ‘money machine’ and seemed destined for the very top of the organization. And then he walked away from it.

  To the surprise of almost everyone, Weston left the bank to look for new opportunities, as he liked to put it. He took the obligatory three months gardening leave and visited Asia for the first time. Two weeks in Hong Kong visiting some of his father’s contacts convinced him it was a place for ‘movers and shakers’.

  So instead of listening to several of his friends that New York was the place to be, he decided to set up shop in Hong Kong. He put his name about and was quickly offered a COO role with Westminster Capital. The firm was a thirty-man operation supported primarily by money out of Indonesia. It did small-scale private equity deals as well as brokerage and proprietary trading. The CEO and Chairman was a Brit with one eye on retirement so hiring a fresh young gun like him seemed to make sense.

  Six months later Weston had maneuvered himself into the CEO position and six after that, in a bloodless coup, he was officially installed as the Executive Chairman. The former CEO returned to the UK with a satisfactory severance package and dreams of fishing in the Scottish highlands. The Indonesian shareholders were happy enough to see him go and let the Young Turk get on with making them money. They kept him on a tight rein for a short period, but gradually they loosened the purse strings and everyone had subsequently benefitted.

  At the age of forty-two Weston was now regarded as one of the pre-eminent dealmakers in the region. Westminster specialized in IPOs and debt funding for sectors such as manufacturing, property and retail and its brokerage and proprietary trading operations had been expanded to become hugely profitable. It had an extensive client list of listed companies and wealthy Asian based families that didn’t like media attention.

  As with many successful businessmen, Weston regarded Westminster as his personal fiefdom and brooked no interference from his shareholders. Whilst this was occasionally the cause of friction, since he made he made a great deal of money for everyone involved, including himself, no one challenged his authority.

  Weston was sat at his desk and faced his Head of Intelligence, a title, which meant very little in terms of what Paul Bent did for Westminster. Bent was regarded as Weston’s ‘fixer’. If there was a problem that needed fixing Bent fixed it, no questions asked. His methods were not always ethical, but that didn’t bother Weston. Only the result mattered.

  Weston had worked with him for four years and thought he knew the man’s strengths and weaknesses, as much as anyone could know them. Bent was thorough, astute and firmly believed the end justified the means. He got the job done with a minimum of fuss, which is how Weston liked most tasks to be completed. Nevertheless, he kept reminding himself that his father had the right approach - ‘trust no one, they are all out to steal your toys’.

  “So, what’s the problem?” asked Weston. Bent was not a jovial man by any means, but his demeanor on this occasion left no room for doubt. He was clearly an unhappy man. Weston moved his coffee cup to one side and sat back in his chair.

  “I want you to listen to this recording. I received it on my unlisted number earlier today” said Bent. He then pressed the start button on a small
MP3 player.

  “Bent”

  “Mr. Bent. Stephen Chan is an employee of yours. He is having a homosexual affair with Big Nose. They were together in room 1243 at the Venetian on the 27th June.”

  Neither spoke for several minutes as Weston gazed at the ceiling. His thoughts were interrupted when Bent said “the caller sounds Asian, but we may know more when I have had it analyzed. Only a handful of us know we use the name Big Nose. Someone on the inside is involved.

  ‘Stephen Chan has been an analyst in our infrastructure team for the past three months. He is working on the Macau Leisure Centre project and he isn’t directly involved with Paradise Cove.’

  ‘Fairly standard background, thirty years of age, single and lives alone in Happy Valley. I had a look at his schedule and he was on leave on the 27th. I don’t know yet who was booked into room 1243, but I will find out.’

  Weston pressed his intercom button and ordered more coffee for himself. Bent declined with a brief shake of his head and while they waited for it to be brought in Weston’s thoughts wandered to Lee Wai. Lee was the Hong Kong government official who was to head the negotiations with Westminster over the Paradise Cove project. He had a long Roman style nose, which was most unusual for Chinese and the Westminster team given him the code name ‘Big Nose’. Could he be having an affair with one of their employees? Whilst it seemed unlikely, it couldn’t be ruled out. He wondered how Stephen Chan could have met him. It was unlikely to have been through the project. It didn’t matter though, if there was some merit to the allegation Bent would eventually find the link.

  Bent looked at his boss and decided he should continue talking. ‘I met Chan when he first started, just the standard introduction. He didn’t come across as gay, but these days you can’t tell. There is nothing in his file that indicates anything adverse and he seems to be a quiet, competent sort of guy. We really need to sort this out before it causes any damage, the whole thing could blow up in our faces.’

  Before Weston could respond one of his assistants brought in a fresh cup of coffee. After she had left Weston hissed, “Paul, I don’t need to be told what the fall out would be if the allegation is true and it became public. Having one of our employees involved with the senior government negotiator would be a disaster. The collapse of the project would be the least of our problems.”

  Bent did not react to the rebuke and the tone of his voice did not change when he countered, “Chan seems to be a bit of loner in the office, although in fairness he has only been here six months. He rents a small apartment in Happy Valley. Apparently he doesn’t have a girlfriend, or at least he hasn’t mentioned one in the office. One sister, no brothers and his father is a retired government servant. His mother does some charity work. He has been off work for the last three days, flu or something.”

  “We could look into the allegation ourselves or use Kroll or one of the other agencies to do it. We will have to be careful though. If we tell them of the allegation there is no guarantee it won’t leak out. Despite their reputations, you never know with organizations that size. I was thinking we could use someone low key, a smaller operator with less risk of a leak. Depending on what we find out we can then decide which way to play it.”

  “So who do you suggest?” asked Weston.

  “The guy who dealt with the Walker matter last year, John Mackworth. He is ex Hong Kong police and was a bit of a high flyer until an incident about five years ago after which he left and set up on his own investigation business. Calls it Mackworth and Associates, or M and A for short. He deals with, how shall I put it, ‘sensitive cases that require resourcefulness and discretion.’ He comes highly recommended by several parties I trust so he is okay on that front. Apparently there is very little drama with him and he is prepared to cut corners where necessary. I have only heard good things about him.”

  “No-one is perfect, there must be something lurking in the background?”

  “Apparently he likes to be left to get on with it and he doesn’t like a lot of client guidance or interference. Whilst that seems reasonable enough, not every client is going to be happy with that approach so he isn’t ideal for everybody.”

  Bent smiled as he said this. He firmly believed he was more than a match for any ex-police officer, no matter how good he was. Controlling John Mackworth should not be a problem. “I can set something up quite quickly, assuming you want to go down that route.”

  Weston cast his mind back and briefly recalled what had happened in the Walker case. An ex-employee of Walker Equity, one of their competitors, had threatened to go public with confidential documents regarding payments that had been made to a third party. Whether the payments were illegal was debatable, but Walker certainly didn’t want the adverse publicity caused by their disclosure. The ex-employee had wanted a rather large sum to return the documents, which Walker was reluctant to pay for fear of copies coming forward in the future.

  Weston had heard about it from one of Walker’s employees who they were paying a monthly retainer to. Bent had a lot of people on the company’s unofficial pay roll and his sources often came up with information such as this. Unfortunately, the employee couldn’t determine how it had been resolved nor could he obtain copies of the documents in question. An opportunity wasted in Weston’s opinion. He had been able to discover that Walker had hired someone to sort it out and that person had been John Mackworth.

  Weston thought about it for a moment before replying, “Fine, do some more digging and if he looks okay then set up a meeting. I should like to meet him. He sounds like an interesting man and you never know, even if we don’t use him on this case he may come in handy in the future.”

  ……………………………………………………………………………………………..

  After Bent had left the office Weston walked to the window and looked at the distant mountains separating Kowloon from the New Territories. He told himself it was like spinning plates. As soon as one started to wobble you had to spin it again. The problem was that they all wobbled at some point and you ran around endlessly spinning them all. As soon as you stopped running they fell and the show was over.

  He thought about the allegation and what it could mean for his company. Someone was out to cause trouble and although the caller hadn’t asked for anything, he knew that was only a matter of time. If the sole intention of whoever had called was to harm Westminster or him he would have already gone public. The phone call was only the first salvo in what was likely to be a drawn out battle. The problem was that he didn’t yet know what his opponent wanted. But he would want something. It wasn’t a random call, a spur of the moment action by a disgruntled employee. The caller would know the first thing they would do is check the hotel room angle. This problem had legs and they would be running with it for some time to come.

  As for John Mackworth, the recommendation had come as no surprise. Unbeknown to Bent, one of his clients, a Japanese national living in Hong Kong, had used Mackworth when his daughter had run off with her gold digging Chinese boyfriend. The daughter was only eighteen and the boyfriend was considerably older and with few prospects of advancement according to his client. Within a week Mackworth had tracked them down to a small hotel on Lantau Island called the Mui Wo Inn. He had approached the daughter first when she was sat alone in the hotel’s coffee shop. He briefly explained the boyfriend’s background and showed her photos of him with his Taiwanese wife and small son.

  When the boyfriend arrived, Mackworth had spoken to him in Cantonese and after a short but heated exchange he had left the hotel and had not been heard of again. Weston had discovered all this when the client was much the worse for alcohol and had confided in him that he had ‘rescued’ his daughter from the clutches of a money grabber. Mackworth’s role in the whole thing did not sound exceptional, but it appeared he had got the job done with a minimum of fuss.

  Weston’s thoughts strayed to Bent and he inwardly smiled. That man had a will to win that far surpasse
d most and it applied to everything he did, from a game of tennis to ferreting out an informer. He could be relied upon to produce a result, a rare commodity in Weston’s opinion, and this problem would be no different.

  Chapter two

  An innocent child

  The curtains had been drawn to prevent the bright sunlight from illuminating the room. The boy was lying face down on the bed and his hands were tied to the headboard. He was naked and his dark skinned body stood out starkly from the white sheet beneath. He was crying softly. He could hear the sound of cars going past the window, but he knew they wouldn’t help him. He was alone and no-one would help him.

  He turned on his side and looked around the room. The walls were bare and the only furniture was the bed he was lying on, a chair and a small wardrobe. The carpet was clean but seemed old and tired. The single ceiling light had not been turned on. The room had a name. It was called ‘Hysan’. He had heard someone call it that, but he did not know what it meant or where it was.

  He heard voices outside the door and he tried to curl into a small ball. Small was safe he told himself. He stopped crying, as if in some vain attempt to not alert the voices that he was in the room. But of course the voices knew, they had put him there. The voices drifted away and all was quiet again. It was hot in the room, but he told himself it was hot everywhere in summer. The room was no different. He tried to think of other things, of playing with his friends or going swimming. He liked swimming. In fact, he liked lots of things, but he did not like coming to this room. He was afraid of this room.