by John Gubert
He went white with shock. “I play straight.”
“Why don’t you put together a document saying what you will do. You will pay us one point eight billion after all and you will give Ryder his freedom.”
“But we agreed one point two.”
“The price went up when you questioned our methods in getting rid of the guy. We also remembered that we had documents that put you into a bad light. And we were shocked by your threatening letter to the dead man.”
“You bastard. You double crossed us.”
“You deserve it. You may despise us but you will always lose out to people like us. You got a good deal at the price.”
He shook his head. “You can’t blackmail me.”
“I can and I will. And moreover, I don’t give a shit about what happens to you. You have no choice. Co-operate or you suffer. And I mean suffer. I’ll release the data we have on you. And I’ll do it after I’ve sold your shares short. Then I make a profit as well. You’re not dealing with one of your city school friends now. This is hard ball. And we play it our way. So don’t tell me what I can do or can’t do. Just be glad if our interests are running in common.”
He went pale again. Then he went red. I thought for a moment he was going to have a fit. But he pulled himself together and just said, “You, young man, are a financial terrorist. You will never be accepted in decent society.”
“That’s decent society’s loss. I want that document.”
And I got it that evening. I was flying back with my father’s pardon. And I had an offer of one point eight billion for shares that had cost us just under a billion. The total kitty had swollen to nearly five billion.
In Geneva, we had a conference. It was a fait accompli that we would accept the deal. It was good to delay the decision though, if only to make Sir Piers sweat on it a bit longer.
“What do we do now?” I asked my father “We need to restructure our companies and sort out all the funds. Most of the companies we own were just there to confuse anyone seeking to trace any of the money or shares. We need to liquidate them. And we need to get agreements between ourselves. We have to sort out what we will do in the future.”
“Do we revert back to being Ryders then?” asked my mother.
“I can’t see that happening,” said my father, “We also need to live a low key life style. I am not wanted but can hardly be seen as the billionaire owner of our companies. We’ll go back to France and get a place in Tropez. It’s nicer than Croix Valmer by far. And we need to think where we will go in winter. The South of France isn’t an ideal place. I’ll be in the background. Charles is the key player. He will have the visibility and he should retain the Rossi name. It’s now an established alibi and nobody will recognise him.”
“Where will you and Jacqui live?” asked my mother.
“We have to base ourselves in London. It’s the financial centre. That buffoon, Piers Rupert-Jones, called me a financial terrorist. We can operate as such from there. But we need to find two types of business. There will be a legal one and the illicit one. It’s just like the Di Maglio operation. The only exception is that our illicit one will be financial crime rather than drugs and prostitution.”
“We go back to my father and tell him we are worth over two billion,” said Jacqui. “His whole empire is worth around eight or nine. It’s taken him a lifetime to get there. He may be persuaded to join in with us and get rid of the drugs and stuff.”
“Joining our financial power together would allow us to take a crack at almost anything. With a ten billion plus kitty, we would be as powerful as governments. We could manipulate most markets. That would allow us untold advantages,” I said.
“Let’s sort out our side first all the same. Then we can get in touch with Jacqui’s family on any possible co-operation” said my father. “It’ll take us a few months to get straight.”
I called back Associated and agreed their offer. That evening we signed the deal. That evening United Bank shares rose again as Associated announced they had acquired our stake and would make a full bid. Associated fell. We knew that would happen and had taken positions to profit by it. Our whole principle had to be to never miss an opportunity, especially if it involved insider dealing and a guaranteed profit.
Jacqui and I headed to London. My parents headed to the South of France. We based ourselves again in the Ritz. It all seemed so quiet after the weeks and months of activity. We were indolent. We found somewhere to live. We watched the markets and made contacts. We saw Di Maglio from time to time.
He treated us with respect. He came to the wedding. The bodyguards came to the honeymoon. We were super rich but that had exacted a price. Neither Jacqui nor I were innocent any longer. We had played dirty. We had used murder. We had stolen.
The Sir Piers of this world would never allow us into the inner sanctums. But they had to deal with us. And, although we had wealth beyond any of our expectations, we wanted more. The game was to get the ultimate power. And that was a game we would start to play in the not so distant future.
And it was some months later in a quiet street in the City of London. A tall blonde man walked down the street. His clothes were expensive. His bearing was confident. The girl with him was glamorous. Their briefcases showed they worked in the City. They must have been from an investment bank for they definitely had money to spend on themselves. They were not recognised as they walked into the bank.
The Chairman greeted them. They went to his office. It was an opulent room with views of St Paul’s Cathedral from one window and the Royal Exchange and the Bank of England from the other. “Your principals are willing to pay us three times book for the bank,” he said. They nodded.
“I think we should start talking detail,” said the Chairman.
“I think we should,” said the man. The die was cast. The name was prestigious. The new Rossi and Di Maglio holding company was buying a bank. And that bank would in time cut a swathe through a City that worked to rules by which it would not abide.
The man smiled. So did the woman. The adrenalin was starting to flow again. Underneath the table Charles and Jacqui played footsie to pass time while the Chairman droned on about integrity and loyalty. They were good virtues for the opposition. But never for us.