by John Gubert
His hands moved to her thighs. The desire for closeness was more acute than ever. This was the way that they expurgated the horror of the killing. And this time they needed that purification more than ever. Maria looked at him.
She came closer to him. They came together. She was close to him. She came yet closer to him. They were as close as they could ever be. Physically they were close. Mentally they were united in a common purpose. They reached a new sense of arousal as the horrors of the night were expelled by the joys of the morning.
Then it was over. Then it was quiet. Then it was peaceful. Now it was over. Now it had never been. It had maybe happened. But it had not mattered. They sat there for a moment. Then Maria kissed him one last time and moved away. He felt the cool air against his nakedness. Then he pulled his clothes back on. Maria did likewise.
“I thought of you last night” she said. “I knew you would be in turmoil and would need me today. I knew you’d be in early.”
She smiled and then looked serious again. “She would have killed you if you hadn’t shot first. As it was she almost did. Your bullet must have hit her just as she pulled the trigger. She missed you by inches. You had no choice. Is there anything in the papers or did Delaney do a cover up?”
Charles walked to his desk and picked up a tabloid. “Delaney did a spin on the story. It says that there was a gangland attack on a female crime boss. It names Maddy and calls her the head of a drug gang. No mention of the guards. They must have been spirited away.”
She looked at him sadly. “It’s all coming to an end. Soon we’ll all say goodbye. I’ll miss you. Will you miss me?”
“I’ll miss you. I miss Claire. There are bits of my life that are yours and yours alone. I’ll always miss you. But we need to end this and you need to have a life away from it all.”
Maria walked over to the door and opened it quietly, “I’ll see you later. It’s work time now.”
Charles sat back at his desk. He felt refreshed and alert. He saw the pad on which he had written “reschedule Tuesday” when Jacqui and he would have to go to New York for her father’s funeral. He had died just the previous week and now his Empire was fully in play. Charles worked through the rest of the papers and looked at the notes for his secretary. He thought to check out the position with his father. His hand moved to the phone, he realised someone was at the door.
Three people were there. The Honourable James, flanked by Sir Brian and Lord Dunkillin. They all looked as if they had had a terrible night. Pale and tense, they looked at him with some trepidation.
“What on earth’s wrong?” Charles asked innocently. “What are you doing here?”
Charles was genuinely surprised. They were too. “Didn’t Jacqui call you?” asked the Honourable James. “She said you were here when I said I needed to speak to you.”
“I’ve been working here,” he said. “My phone must have been on the answerphone. But what is it that’s so important? Why don’t you come in?”
Just at that moment Maria returned. She had noticed them too late. She covered herself quickly. “What’s happening? I wasn’t expecting anyone here? I’ve just come over to pick up my spare house keys. I’ve a friend coming and she’ll need them. I left them in my desk.”
“We have a meeting. Maria, you can go. We won’t need you. Unless you think otherwise, gentlemen,” Charles said with a courteous smile.
The Honourable James shook his head.
“Well, gentlemen, I wasn’t expecting you. Now you’re here, why don’t you sit down? Maria, have a good weekend. See you on Monday,” said Charles.
Maria left and they were all alone. He looked at the three pale, nervous faces and waited with interest.
“Well, gentlemen,” he repeated. “What is it that you want me to hear?”
The Honourable James stood up. He placed his hands behind his back. He took a deep breath and then spoke in an emotional voice.
“The bank has lost a substantial, ahem, a very substantial, sum of money on the derivatives market.”
Charles looked at him. His voice was cold, “How much have we lost? When? And how?”
“Most of the trades,” he said miserably “were done by Stephens. The valuation model was a fake. We were losing money all the time we thought we were making it. We’ve lost in London and in the US.”
“How much have we lost?” Charles repeated menacingly.
“We’ve dropped about two point seven billion.” Dunkillin looked at the carpet. Sir Brian went redder and redder.
“Pounds?” Charles exclaimed.
“No, dollars,” he responded, as if hopeful that Charles would find some comfort from that explanation.
“That’ll put us in a loss,” added Dunkillin weakly.
“I’d worked that out for myself.” Charles snarled at him. “Is that the sum total of the bad news?”
“Of course,” said the Honourable James quickly. “We’ve been through the books with a fine tooth-comb. Nothing else has gone wrong. We can guarantee that.”
Charles looked at him angrily. “We need to tell the Bank of England. And we need to tell the Stock Exchange. We’ll have to do that before the market opens. There could be a run on the shares. And we could have trouble in the markets. Have you got the figures? Let’s work through them?”
Charles turned into a man of action, “Get the company lawyers here. They need to draft a statement. We’ll release it late Sunday. Get the number for the Bank of England. They must run a duty desk. We’ll reconvene in an hour and I expect the lawyers to be here by then.”
Charles dismissed them contemptuously and picked up the phone. He called Jacqui and recounted what had happened. She played along. The call would be recorded and would show how surprised and shocked they were. This was part of their carefully crafted cover up.
The hour passed and the lawyers arrived. Charles briefed them and told them to prepare the announcements. He then got the Bank of England number from the Honourable James. He dismissed everybody and called it. He knew he would get a junior official at the Bank. He answered crisply.
“This is Charles Rossi, Chief Executive of IBE. I need to talk to someone in authority. Now. We will be putting out a statement on Sunday. It could cause problems.”
“Have you told the FSA, Sir?” asked the minion. He was referring to the bank regulators.
“No, I felt it more appropriate to talk to you first.”
“Can I have a number?”
Charles gave it and he rang off. He thought for a moment. He got up and walked into the Honourable James’ office. Dunkillin was there, slumped in a chair. Sir Brian was standing by the window.
He addressed the Honourable James. “We need a report on the dealings, both here and in New York. As Lord Dunkillin and Sir Brian had joint responsibility for the treasury area because of their alleged expertise, they could write the report. It may, though, be better if they co-operate with the auditors and we get them to do the work. Do you have an emergency number?”
The Honourable James shook his head, “But I know their senior partner. I have his home number.”
“Then call him.” The Honourable James did not react to the evident contempt in the tone. He did not complain about the instructions he was given. He just called. He spoke for a moment and then handed the phone to Charles.
“I need a team of people around. I need experts in treasury and especially derivatives. We have a problem. In fact, we have a dreadful problem. I need an initial report by Sunday night and a full report as soon as possible thereafter.”
The auditor knew better than to ask more questions. His people would soon take over. He would be there too. He agreed that the Honourable James would instruct him. Charles suspected he himself would have to be with the Bank of England. Then another thought struck him. He decided to step up the pressure. He knew they hadn’t told him everything. Some of the bad debts had already come home. But they had said nothing about them.
“Oh, and by the way, I want a special extra audit of the whole treasury and credit area to be undertaken from next Monday. The remit will be simple. I want a full report on all exposures of the bank. And I want it fast. And I want it to be for me, personally. “
The auditor agreed. Charles left and returned to his office. The phone rang. A meeting between the bank and one of the regulators was scheduled for midday. Charles would present himself at the front door. They would be waiting for him.
At noon, he stood outside the heavy metal door of the Bank of England. The door opened and he was ushered into a small gap between the outer door and an inner one. The outer door closed with a clang. Immediately after the inner one opened and he was standing in the spacious lobby of the elegant old building. Ahead of him was the green strip of garden.
A young man in a crumpled suit approached him. “Mr Rossi, please would you come this way. One of our assistant directors will see you now.”
They walked upstairs and the young man ushered Charles unctuously into the office. It was a cross between a railway waiting room and an academic’s study. Books were untidily piled into a cabinet at one end. The table was old and highly polished. The heavy wood desk was covered in stained leather, contrasting with the plastic PC that stood there, unblinking and unloved.
Once again, Charles was received with extreme courtesy. But the look was apprehensive. A bank chief executive only calls on the central bank on a Saturday if he is the bearer of some pretty dire news. Charles didn’t wait for the question.
“Let me put you in the picture. Before the Far East opens at nine p.m. tomorrow, IBE has to make an announcement. We have incurred material losses as a result of illicit trading. I was only advised this morning. I would also note, for your ears only, that I suspect my Chairman and two of the executive directors have been withholding vital information from me.”
Charles stopped and let the devastating words take their effect. The Bank official looked at him, still apprehensive, and then asked, “Can you quantify the loss?”
“I am told that it’s two point seven billion dollars. I called the auditors in this morning. They will also audit the credit and other key risk areas. I have to say our Chairman assures me that the loss is no greater than this. Lord Dunkillin and Sir Brian have joint line responsibility for the treasury area. They assure me nothing else has gone wrong.”
“But,” said the central banker thoughtfully, “You have no confidence in their judgement?”
Charles looked at him and raised his eyebrows, “Would you in my place?”
He didn’t answer. He was not one of the old school-tie brigade. Charles suspected he was worried of the effect of the announcement.
“We can withstand the likely loss of liquidity through to Wednesday. Then we could have a credit crunch. We have a lot of short dated loans up for renewal. If we find people won’t renew, we’ll be in a liquidity crisis. On Monday and Tuesday we’re all right. We have lots of cash coming back to us,” explained Charles.
“What about the US?”
“I thought it better to talk to you. I can get our US chief executive to talk to the Fed. Or would you prefer to?”
“He’ll have to talk to them. But let us get in touch first. I’ll need to talk to the Governor.”
Charles was surprised. So, in cases like this, even the Governor had to work weekends. And he would not realise that, by next weekend, things were bound to get worse. Once the auditors found all the bad debts, the real fireworks would start.
“I’ve called in the lawyers. They’ll draft a statement. We need to advise the Stock Exchange, too.”
The central banker nodded, “Can we see the statement before it’s released?”
“Certainly, I’ll make sure you do.”
“Are you in charge?”
“I will be calling a board meeting later today. I’ll speak to the US based directors around one. They should be at home.”
This time, the central banker grinned for the first time, “Yes, they’re a bit long in the tooth to play away from home.”
Charles grinned back. It was useful to have soul mates at this time. “I guess so. They’re hardly spring chickens.”
“All right,” the central banker said. “I’ll put my people in the picture. Then we should talk again. We need to use a landline. Where can I catch you?”
“I’ll be in the office for the moment. The direct line’s on the card.” Charles wrote another number. “That’s the one at home. We’ll be in.”
“What will you do?” he queried.
“We would be solvent on a hit of two point seven billion. We are heading for a two billion-dollar profit this year. I only hope that I have all the bad news. In that case, other than with help in the short term, this will be a two or three week wonder. Not on the stock market, but definitely on the money markets.”
“What if you discover more problems?” the central banker asked, as his training clicked in and he thought of the worst possible scenarios.
Charles could hardly tell him that he knew there would be many more problems. So he adopted the high ground. “If there is an issue of needing more capital, I can manage it. We can inject money. Short term, I would need help. If there is more bad news and nobody wants to lend to us, there’s nothing I can do. We’d hit the rocks. But I am assured this is not the case and we’ll have a first cut from the auditors over the next week.”
The official looked at him with relief. Charles was obviously on the side of the angels as far as he was concerned. Charles couldn’t tell him that he knew the Di Maglio guarantee would bail out the bank and stop it becoming insolvent, although its value would be severely weakened as a result of the frauds.
And why should they worry in any event? They had made their billions when they had sold the bank at an inflated price and when they had initiated their different frauds. As for the bit of the bank they still held, they were not going to lose money on that, irrespective of what happened, thanks to his father’s expert trading and Jacqui’s fraudulent manipulation of their share register.
Charles and the central banker talked a bit more but about nothing of consequence. He gave Charles his card and said that he would act as his contact point for the weekend. “I’ll be here all the time,” he said ruefully. “I can hardly leave in the circumstances.”
Charles left the same way he arrived. He walked to the bank and headed up to the top floor. The Honourable James rushed out to him. “How did it go?” he asked nervously.
Charles looked at him coldly. “I hardly sung your praises. I told them of the problem. I’m in charge. I’ll talk to them from now on.”
“Do you want my resignation?” he asked, as if that was what a gentleman would do.
“Fuck you. No. I need you, Dunkillin and Sir Brian here. Not today. You can bugger off now as far as I’m concerned. But you’ll be here till we sort this out. And don’t try to be too clever.”
“I don’t like your tone,” he said pompously. “I could resign.”
Charles looked at him with contempt. “Get this in your thick skull. And make sure that your pals understand it too. You do as I say. We get IBE out of this shit. And if we don’t you could be in it up to your precious aristocratic necks.
I don’t care if you end up in prison. Eton, the Guards and some high security jail may worry you as a CV but it doesn’t me. This is my company. This is my money. And you’ve screwed me. You’ve done it either through incompetence or through something worse. You’re all out, but when I say so.
And I wouldn’t try anything. Your names are shit now. Your reputations are worthless. The only thing between you and prison is my money. If I bail out the bank, you lot should be OK. If not, say goodbye to the grouse moors and all the other crap that turns you on.”
With that Charles turned away from him and went into his office. This would put them all on edge and that was what he wanted. They were already close to panic and could even
top themselves. That would compound their guilt. Charles, though, didn’t need that. Either way they were in deep trouble. And he was happy to allow them to decide how they wanted the future to be.
The rest of the day was spent monitoring the auditors’ work and sorting out issues with the lawyers. He also called his father and put him in the picture. In reality, he was alerting him so that he could start to buy back the shares once markets opened on Monday.
At 1pm, he called New York. McGarth, of course, knew all about the losses. He had the bulk of them on his own balance sheet. Charles recounted the meeting at the Bank of England. He told him to stand by to call the Fed.
His last call was to Giovanni. He was not surprised as he had been party to the whole plan, but he was concerned over the timing. He wondered if they would be in New York for the funeral. Charles confirmed they would. He planned to fly out on Tuesday morning and then back again overnight for Wednesday. Giovanni said that he would stand by for the inevitable board meeting that night or on Sunday.
Charles returned to his desk and waited for more news. The Bank of England called. They agreed to meet on Sunday morning at 10am. By then Charles would have a draft of the lawyers’ paper. The auditors would be unlikely to give any information by then. McGarth would have seen the Fed.
Charles was alone in the office. He called Jacqui and said he would be coming home. There was no point in staying any longer. The die was cast. The final act had begun.
Once back home, they took stock. They did it in the war room where they had watched the set up at the airfield. It was Jacqui who recapped the position, while Charles sought to put it into a sort of schedule.
“The bank is now in play,” she said. “The auditors will uncover some of the phoney loans next week. It’ll take them a bit of time to sort out the exact position. But the bank will go downhill now.”
“Yes. But at some time I’ll call Sir Piers at Associated and make them bid for the company. It will be child’s play to get them to bid for the bank. We still have the whip hand there and they’re hardly going to want us to leak the dirt we have on them to the public. After all, the market in bank stocks is going to be nervous; any tainted bank would be at risk. And boy would they be tainted if we leaked all the dirt we have and the stuff we have fabricated about them!”