“Amy, what I’m about to tell you is potentially very dangerous. For Chris, for you, maybe our whole family. But with Chris’ help, there may be a way out.”
“Jo, you are seriously freaking me out,” said Amy, her grip on her husband’s hands now for her own comfort. “A way out of what? Have you done something and need a lawyer?”
Jo chose her words carefully, to achieve a delicate balance of truth without sensationalizing her situation. “In a way, yes. I’ve uncovered some secrets that my employer will do anything to prevent becoming public. I mean anything. But with enough evidence, we think we can move quickly to expose them before they suspect how much we know.”
“We?” interrupted Chris. “You’ve already involved other people? Jo, this is madness. The only help we should be giving you is the best way to flee the country.”
“There are two other people involved, and don’t worry, they can be trusted.”
Chris looked disdainful.
The room fell silent, Jo hoping for signs of at least some support, Chris hoping Jo would back down. It was Amy who spoke first.
“Look Jo, of course we’ll help. Won’t we Chris? And not just with the flight to the remote jungles of South America.”
Chris exhaled through a clenched jaw.
“Ok, I’m not being given much choice here. I agree to listen and maybe offer some advice that you absolutely never heard from me.” Jo nodded. Chris reiterated, “I mean never heard from me, even if this ends up in a courtroom and you are under oath. However, I’m making no promises to get involved, and neither is Amy.”
“Chris, I’m capable of making my own judgment…” objected Amy.
Chris’ air of authority established itself even more strongly. “I said, neither is Amy.”
Jo noticed a look of reluctant admiration from Amy toward Chris. A recollection, perhaps, of Amy’s initial attraction toward him that had not been entirely eroded by the slow etching of familiarity and domesticity.
To diminish the likelihood of further qualifiers on the scope of help being offered and to discourage interruption, Jo adopted the tone and brevity of reading from a press statement.
“In the short time I have been employed by Butterfly Investments, I have become convinced, based on solid evidence, that a large part of the firm’s profits are not, as is widely believed, generated by proprietary trading systems or models. Instead Butterfly uses the cover of a large number of smaller legitimate positions to conceal the more profitable transactions that are based on trading on insider information. I further believe that the firm pays informants for this information and may even solicit them using industry and political connections.” Jo paused, to gauge reactions.
Amy was open-mouthed, looking horrified. Chris was maintaining a stoic lawyerly expression. Jo pressed on with the gravest of her revelations.
“I also know that Butterfly Investments is implicated in the death of Professor Henry Radcliff, although this part unfortunately I can’t yet prove.”
“But you can prove the insider trading allegations?” challenged Chris, refusing to be emotionally drawn into Jo’s last shocking disclosure. Amy remained silenced as if unable to process what she had heard.
“Well that’s where I was hoping you would come in,” ventured Jo. “We have a decent plan.”
“One that doesn’t end up with an unfortunate sailing accident?” asked Chris dryly.
“Not as long as we avoid boats.” Jo’s attempt at humor failed to penetrate Amy’s frozen expression or Chris’ defenses. “Sorry, I’m not trying to make light of this. I can’t provide any guarantees that this isn’t going to end badly.”
Amy snapped out of her catatonic state. “Well it seems certain that it’s going to end badly for one side. Let’s make sure it isn’t our side.”
Chris stopped her, “Amy there is no ‘our side’. There is your sister and her two unknown accomplices and there is a rich, powerful and ruthless investment company.”
Amy refused to back down, “Chris, you could have stopped at ‘there is your sister’. That’s enough to constitute an ‘our side’ isn’t it?”
“Ordinarily, of course, yes…” started Chris.
“Well let’s just expand that to include extraordinarily, shall we?” Amy’s flinty tone chipped away at Chris’ empowered persona, his expression moving back toward fear, reluctance and also the intimation of impending defeat.
“We’re in,” finished Amy. “What’s the plan? And let’s hope it really is a decent one.”
Jo quickly outlined the internal evidence that had been uncovered with Adam’s help. She also mentioned the existence of evidence linking the whistleblower at Money Trust to Butterfly. Again, Jo didn’t specifically identify Ben. This time Jo’s motives for the omission were conscious since she was certain that any mention of the press would be too much for Chris to take. Neither Chris nor Amy appeared to notice her failure to disclose the identity of the second accomplice.
“Chris, I really need your help,” urged Jo. “We need access to all the relevant legal documents regarding the special purpose companies set up in relation to the IBJ and Money Trust trades, as well as details of any related accounts that Whitfield Bowes tax departments might have records on.”
Chris was already biting his nails and shaking his head, “I can’t do that. Complete breach of client confidentiality.”
“Well Jo’s a client. She’s an employee at Butterfly Investments,” objected Amy.
“That’s pushing it a bit, to say the least, don’t you think?” sneered Chris.
Amy’s exasperation was increasingly apparent. “Oh, come on Chris, show some family loyalty and guts for goodness sake. When did you turn into the corporate zombie towing the company line?”
“When you decided to take a career break and saddle us with a huge mortgage on this shoebox of a cottage an hour’s commute from the office,” came the icy reply. “Not to mention your little Prada habit that you can’t seem to kick, along with your insatiable appetite for every overpriced designer baby product that all the other mummy clones must have.”
Jo realized that she had unwittingly provoked an ongoing argument reaching far beyond the matters at hand.
Amy took a deep breath, and with concerted effort, swallowed her anger with a terse, “Let’s not have that discussion again. At least not now.”
Forcing a more conciliatory tone, Amy continued, “What I meant is that I know you’re now working on about three projects for Butterfly. Nobody is going to suspect anything if you’re checking previous deals to compare legal or financial structures. You could choose some other random deals to check into too, if you’re concerned about the one’s Jo mentioned as raising red flags. And, by the way, this tiny cottage is an excellent investment.”
“Until interest rates go up again, and nobody can afford to buy it.”
“Chris, I said not now.”
“You brought it up again. Anyway, I’m just not comfortable accessing files at the office. You know what it’s like there. Everyone is always snooping into other people’s business.”
“You don’t have to,” countered Amy, “access and print out the files from home.”
“I still don’t know. I honestly don’t even have the time. There’ll be questions asked if I miss any deadlines on my projects.”
Amy refused to concede. “OK, how about I use your login to access the files? My legal training hasn’t been completely erased by fraternizing with the under two crowd. I’ll do it late at night, when you’re at home. Your time logged in will even increase your billable hours and no-one’s going to ask any questions about that.”
Chris had nowhere further to retreat, and the determination of the Lavelle sisters was bearing down heavily. He caved. “OK. Jo, tell Amy what you need. Amy, get this done quickly. If access to these particular files is being carefully monitored to protect Butterfly’s interests, and the queries get traced back to our home computer, the story is that Jo stole my access codes and d
id this without our knowledge.”
Jo and Amy descended on Chris with hugs, the victory momentarily eclipsing the gravity of the situation.
Close up, Jo could see the perspiration on Chris’ forehead.
“Chris, I really appreciate it, but I have to ask one more favor,” began Jo. “If we find the legal and financial information we are looking for, you would need to come with Adam and I to Jersey, maybe in a couple of weeks, to access the actual account records at Butterfly’s bank over there. We need a Whitfield Bowes lawyer to make it look legitimate. It will just appear to be a routine fact finding visit.”
The request was so beyond the level at which Chris was willing to get involved that he was smiling as he again shook his head. “Jo, Jo. Believe it or not, you’re still my favorite sister-in-law, but you know I’ll never agree to that.”
Jo was disappointed although she now realized what a long shot it had been. She resigned herself to at least finding the initial information they needed and hoping that another plan would emerge.
Amy was suddenly on her feet. “I can do it,” she interjected. “I still have my Whitfield Bowes business cards. Chris, if you set up the meeting, then you can give my name.”
“This is way too risky, darling. Too risky for you, for us,” Chris objected.
“Oh come on. It’s going to look like a routine visit from a boring group of suits. The bank won’t suspect a thing. I’ve never been over to Jersey, so no-one knows me personally or can be aware that I don’t work at Whitfield Bowes anymore.”
“Let’s just see if we can find the files first,” said Chris.
Amy and Jo exchanged glances. At least Chris wasn’t completely shutting the idea down. They expected to get their own way, but after years of mastering the art, the sisters also knew that timing was also critical.
“You’re absolutely right,” said Amy sitting back down close to her husband.
“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” agreed Jo.
Jo felt that the conversation ended with Chris feeling that he had won in some sense. She chose not to point out to him the hill of compromise he had just slid down at a rapid pace.
Later that evening, Amy handed blankets and a pillow to Jo to make up a bed on the floor fashioned from sofa cushions.
“Sorry about the lack of a guest bedroom. Not that Chris will ever hear this, but he’s right for once. This cottage is tiny.”
“But an excellent investment,” retorted Jo. They both smiled and flopped down, laying side by side on the makeshift bed.
Neither sister felt much like talking for a few minutes. Jo rested her head on Amy’s shoulder.
“Have you told Mum and Dad about any of this?” asked Amy eventually.
“No, not yet.”
“Are you going to?”
“I can’t decide. I don’t want to alarm them.”
“I know you may think that not telling them is protecting them in some way, but you are in real danger here. Maybe you should sound out Dad first. I know he can appear distant, but don’t underestimate his ability to see to the core of the situation. I know you love your facts and analysis, but he may offer insight into the real keys to the situation, the human motivations behind all this. And on the human side, lies the faults. The ego and vanity that leads to error.”
Jo yawned. “You’re getting quite philosophical in your old age.”
Amy aimed a pillow shot at her sister’s head. “Hey, you’re only a few years behind me. Seriously, promise me you’ll think about it.”
“OK, I’ll think about it.”
With nothing further to be said, the sisters hugged goodnight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jo was back at the office the next day, with a confidence imparted by the previous evening’s discussions and a Prada suit she had borrowed from her sister. She was largely being left to her own devices while Bray and his cohorts continued to be locked in discussions.
Late in the afternoon Jo was called into a meeting in Bray’s office at which Wright and Ives were also present. The atmosphere was cordial but formal, reminding Jo of the afternoon tea events at the Ritz hotel that her grandparents used to take her to.
Bray came directly to the meeting agenda.
“Jo, the firm is considering making some significant investments in a number of nanotechnology companies. What do you know about the sector?”
“Well,” Jo began, playing the role of a dutiful analyst, “for a start the industry is hard to ignore at the moment. The Financial Times seems to run at least one article a day related to some aspect of it. At the same time, there seems to be some confusion as to what the term nanotechnology actually means. There’s a lot of investment buzz touting it as the next tech boom especially with its use in artificial intelligence, but it’s a science, not an industry, and it’s not even that new. What it actually refers to is the science of building things involving matter smaller than 100 nanometers. One nanometer is one-billionth of a meter, by the way.”
“Thanks for the science lesson Jo,” said Ives yawning, “but where’s the cash to be made?”
“Well nanotechnology is set to completely change some industries such as memory chip manufacturing and even certain medical fields. The key is to separate those companies that are conducting research with profitable applications from those that have attracted a bunch of venture capital funding based on hype.”
“As usual Jo, you are admirably well informed,” offered Wright with a smile belying any admiration, “but how about the risks? Because where others shy away, that’s where we see reward.”
Jo, while wondering why she was being quizzed on topics on which the group was obviously well informed about, continued to play along. “For a start, safety and environmental campaigners want more government regulation, saying that the toxic effect of nanoparticles and other safety issues are not being properly addressed. A single accident or proven danger could be bad news for the whole market and its investors. Also, parallels are being drawn with the dot-com bubble, with warnings of inflated stock prices based of non-existent earnings. But, it’s not like any business-school graduate can create a nanotech start-up. Millions of pounds are needed to buy equipment, pay scientists and prove ideas.”
“Well,” said Wright, “as you may imagine, Mr. Ives here is well placed in the flow of new developments in the sector by virtue of his day job as Minister of Science. Also his department has the largest say in the allocation of research grants to individual companies and projects.”
“So” said Jo, doing her best to maintain an innocent tone, “is the plan to trade off information on company stocks that Mr. Ives knows will be receiving government funding?”
“Why Jo, that would be immoral,” chided Ives in a show of outrage.
“Not to mention, illegal,” added Bray.
“And you’d get caught of course,” finished Jo.
“I very much doubt it,” retorted Bray, his gaze penetrating Jo’s with what she thought was a certain maliciousness.
“Let’s move on from fictional scenarios, shall we? How about some real work around here?” suggested Wright.
Bray stood up and handed Jo a long list of public and private nanotechnology firms with the instruction that she was to conduct research and produce reports on each one of them. Jo strongly suspected that there was little that was real about the assignment; rather it fulfilled the dual purpose of creating a large volume of legitimate files to conceal Butterfly’s more clandestine dealings as well as keeping Jo occupied.
Leaving Bray’s office, Jo noticed a stack of new files with a pile of printed labels ready to be affixed to them. The labels all started with the title Project Hougoumont. Jo returned to her office, leaving the door open.
She dialed Adam’s extension and proceeded to have an audible conversation with him about some concerns with the way her computer was functioning. Just before the end of the conversation, Jo leaned forward under her desk as if she was going to re-start her computer and
talked quickly to Adam in lowered tones.
“Look out for any new directories or files being created that refer to Project Hougoumont.” Jo spelled out the name. Adam agreed to start looking.
“Some good news,” added Jo, “the Whitfield Bowes connection is sorted.” She chose not to reveal the details or the fact that further persuasion was going to be needed to pull off the Jersey visit.
Jo spent a couple of hours dutifully researching the nanotechnology sector.
On her way home Jo called Ben and relayed the Whitfield Bowes update. They agreed to limit further communication until they had enough information to move forward practically with the plan.
Back at her parents’ apartment, Jo found her father alone.
“Where’s Mum?” she asked.
“Off meeting your sister somewhere. She dashed off about an hour ago.”
“Well I’m famished. Have you eaten yet?”
“No, your mother didn’t leave any dinner,” replied Joseph, seeming puzzled rather than affronted. “She was in too much of a hurry gathering together a bunch of papers and notes. All a bit odd. Do you know anything about this?”
“No, not really,” said Jo truthfully. “Well how about I take you out for dinner now that I’m actually making a living. Pizza OK?”
Joseph grimaced, “Not one of those greasy, doughy affairs I hope.”
Jo handed her father his coat. “No, authentic Italian and with a decent wine list too.”
“Well in that case, lead the way.”
Father and daughter walked to the other side of the Barbican complex and entered a restaurant. Given that the establishment was part of an English chain, the Italian theme wasn’t entirely authentic, but the pizzas were cooked in a brick oven and Joseph Lavelle managed to track down a decent bottle of Chianti on the menu.
The mid-week crowd was sparse, but Jo still requested a quiet table toward the back of the room. The wine slipped down easily and Jo succumbed to the feeling of safety in the company of her father.
Having placed their orders, Joseph leaned back in his chair, swirling the contents of his large glass. His voice was low, but his gaze direct.
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