Blood Money (8 page)

“Yes I agree, and considering that she's only been in the job a short while she's shaping-up to be a really strong leader. Though I wouldn't want to be married to a woman that fierce, she's probably just what the FSA needs right now. It's early days but at long last I can see we've a positive future ahead of us. So, I can tell there's something on your mind. What is it?”

“Well…” she's anticipates Tom won't want to hear this, but following the Director of Enforcement's strong message Rebecca owes it to herself to try. “It's clear Hillary wants to use publicity as a deterrent. How's about we target something really big to set the cat amongst the pigeons?”

“And what's your suggestion this time?”

“As I've said before; the biggest offender out there is the Kronos hedge fund.” At the mention ‘Kronos hedge fund', Tom's face hardens and a little colour returns to his pallid cheeks.

“Come on Tom, it's the obvious target, we…” But before she can get any further, her superior loudly and firmly cuts her off. “STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!”

She freezes; alarmed by his reaction.

“This is a topic of conversation that I'm getting very tired of young lady! You would do well to remember who runs this department. And when it comes to deciding where to focus our limited resources it is I who calls the shots, not you.”

Tom holds his hand up, yet again dismissing her persistent requests to go after Kronos. He knows that as soon as he makes a move in their direction, he'll get another bullet, but next time (as it quite clearly states on the note) it'll be delivered at 1,400 feet per second directly into his skull.

For several moments neither of them speaks. The silence in the office is heavy with tension, but Rebecca is no shrinking violet, after all, she's just doing her job. And anyway, this is getting to be a matter of principle. Surely he can be swayed; all it needs is a subtler approach, maybe from a different angle.

“If you factor in the masking techniques they'll be throwing-in they are clearly the number one offender. Also I've been checking…”

“STOP!” -Again, he blocks her in mid-sentence. Now he's getting really angry with her. “Get out of my office before I…”

Seeing him clenching his fists tightly, she reacts without hesitating. Turning on her heels, she storms out, shutting the door as firmly as she dare without it actually slamming behind her.

Returning to her desk, Rebecca's head is full of confusion. ‘What the hell is he doing? He couldn't even answer me properly and never seems to explain his refusal to target Kronos!
The guy's a total waste of space.
His incompetence and gutlessness is actually working against the goals of the department.'

Tom Vaughan counts to ten and then gets up from his desk.

Leaving his office he approaches Rebecca's workstation with the intention of talking a little more rationally to her and finally drawing a line under the matter.

“Sorry for my reaction back there Rebecca, I'm fully aware of your study into Kronos…Ok, your analysis is well presented, but you've got to understand that we're never going to get the hard evidence we need. God only knows we've spent months trying. We need a tip-off, we need witnesses, and most likely it needs to be from someone on the inside. It's the very fact that Kronos is run like a dictatorship that means we're never going to get that breakthrough. And that is the truth behind me not wanting to waste any further effort on them.” Only now does Rebecca lift her head up from her computer monitor to look Tom straight in the eye. Her boss continues his placation, “If we run around accusing Kronos of insider dealing without hard evidence we're going to find ourselves being sued for slander and I won't allow the FSA's good name to be damaged by your misdirected impulsiveness.”

Tom starts to feel like he's actually making sense. He's using logic to argue against a logical person. It seems to be flowing, so he doesn't stop, “We need to continue with the good publicity right now, so let's go after some easier targets run like normal operations. That's my decision and it's not up for debate.” Fearing that Rebecca is about to say something to challenge him he continues on the offensive, “If you continue to fight against me then I'll have to take it as insubordination and that might mean me having to take you through full-blown disciplinary procedures.”

“No Tom, please…”

“Look Rebecca, all I'm asking is that we all stick together. You're doing some really valuable work, but losing your job is a real possibility if you choose to continue down this track.”

“You're serious aren't you?”

“100%. Have you actually got it at last? Has it sunk in yet? Go against me and you're going to get into a whole heap of trouble.” Tom turns and looks away. He pauses before looking back at her again. “You are not to go anywhere with this obsessive Kronos thing you have. Have I made myself clear?”

“Jesus, ok Tom…-there's no need to be so…” Rebecca's face cannot hide how upset she is. “I've got the message.”

Tom can see from her expression that Rebecca might now be thinking that he's over-reacted, so he tries to calm the situation down a notch. The last thing he needs is for her to start crying in front of her female colleagues and neither does he want her to suspect that there's anything wrong with his decision making abilities.

“Listen Rebecca, the FSA doesn't have open relationships with hedge funds. We can't enforce them to have internal compliance procedures. We have no way of knowing if they even have anyone employed as a compliance officer. And we can't see their financial reports or any other records they have for that matter.”

His voice is softer now; his tone more conciliatory. “If we pursue hedge funds we are wasting valuable enforcement resources. There isn't enough regulation, and we'll never get the burden of proof we need. For the time being they are out of our remit. There is very little probability that the Government will ever tighten the controls them, and that's just the way it is, so deal with it. -The FSA does not, and cannot regulate the hedge funds themselves or set standards for them. Perhaps one day the EU will enforce some proper regulations, but we'll have to wait and see on that. Just don't go there Rebecca. You're getting too attached; I can see it's become a bit of a private crusade for you. There's no need to take it so personally…remember it's just a job.”

“So what do you want me to do Tom?”

“I want you to focus on everything else but the hedge funds. They're strictly off limits, like I say, outside of our remit. Give me the one-offs, give me the investment banks, give me individual brokers, give me international commercial banks and give me merchant banks. Give me whatever you can give me but get Kronos out off your mind! I'm going to put it on record that this little chat has been an informal verbal warning. Sorry about that, but I think it's for the best.”

Tom returns to his office thinking: ‘I'd better write-up that little conversation whilst it's all still fresh in my mind, get her to countersign it and submit it into HR straight away…Whatever she does from now on is up to her, but it'll be on record that I've done everything in my power to stop the FSA from pursuing an interest in Kronos, whatever it takes to avoid me winding-up dead on a mortuary slab.'

*

This has got to be one of the lowest points in Rebecca's career. She's never even been close to getting a disciplinary warning before now. ‘What the hell is going on? Have I really become as obsessive as Tom thinks? Perhaps I have? I must be a trouble maker for him to get angry like that. Did I deserve it, or was it a complete over-reaction on his part?'

Completely confused, Rebecca begins questioning her own sanity. ‘I've got to get my head straight. Staring at data all day long, spending protracted periods of time working in isolation. Maybe I'm becoming more than a little bit unhinged?'

Alone with her thoughts she feels overwhelmed by frustration. Getting a coffee from the vending machine and bringing it back to her desk, she begins to immediately sip at it, not caring that it's scalding her mouth. She really doesn't want to lose her job. She should stop being so head-strong and start taking direction from her boss. Clearly that was the last throw of the dice in trying to convince him that they should go for the biggest fish in the pond.

She has to get Kronos out of her head.

Looking out of the window, Rebecca sees that the sun has started to shine through a break in the clouds. In many ways she feels it will be a relief if she can at last stop thinking about Kronos. But in the back of her mind the data will still be there and she knows that Kronos will always be at the top of the list.

Perhaps she is too close; perhaps she is taking it all too personally. But there's something nagging away inside her head, something about Tom's reaction just wasn't right.

She looks at her monitor and looses herself once more in the numbers.

A goddess appears from Bank tube station, from the sullied depths she rises up into the sunlight. This girl-in-a-million is so good looking that it's hard for the everyday people in the street not to gaze at her. Facing away from the imposing Bank of England and The Royal Exchange, this living embodiment of sexual attraction ignores the gaping mouths and turned heads, and crosses the busy road.

Hips fluidly swaying, she sensually and confidently walks her way down Lombard Street.

Now in her mid-twenties this enchantress has had more than a decade to get used to the male attention that perpetually follows her. Though it's usually a nuisance, she now accepts it for both the good and bad that it brings to her life.

*

The streets and offices of the Square Mile are still very much a place of male domination. The youthful men who enter the City join it with vitality and naive enthusiasm. They are caring, charming and full of aspiration; they are highly competitive, but still believe in fair play.

But the City changes all who enter it. Over time, its vices consume them and soon they value nothing but money. Their lives become a daily fight for survival as they despise, lie and cheat. Divorced from normality, they learn to loath the system that traps them here, that makes them its slaves. They transform into mercenaries, misogynists, capitalists, philanderers, bigots, bullies, adulterers and addicts.

Constantly being judged, constantly under pressure, they give-in to the compulsions of greed. Their young minds become paranoid with fear, doubt, insecurity, self-loathing, self-pity, cowardice and hate.

In recent years the heterosexual male dominated Square mile has started to change and many companies now have well intentioned equality policies in place. The biggest banks and trading houses are at last making all the right noises in public about their anti-discrimination initiatives. But sexism and homophobia are still rife throughout the City. The trading floors can be the worst, like football terraces they are full of hurled abuse and aggression. If you don't fit in, if you show signs of weakness, if you fail to respect seniority, or if (God forbid) you ever make a mistake…expect to get pilloried and humiliated by superiors and peers alike.

*

Our vision of beauty sashays her way up to the corner-entrance of 60 Lombard Street. Though she doesn't move like normal women, neither does she overplay her sexuality.

Two years ago, she realised that many of the men frequenting the bars in the capital's financial centre seemed to be dripping with cash. Although inconsequential to her, it was clearly an instant attraction for the short-skirted, fake-tanned, extension wearing wannabee gold-diggers who hung around these places like flies.

Ignoring all the clumsy chat-up lines that these smartly suited men could throw at her, she couldn't however ignore the thought that working in the Square Mile would be highly lucrative. She shunned more obvious career options because she believed she'd got both the brains and self-belief to truly test herself in the world of high finance. There was a glaringly obvious problem however; her academic achievements were limited to a HND in media studies from Guildford College, and that clearly wasn't going to open the necessary doors.

She avoided many ‘kind' offers of help until someone she trusted explained how a friend in an investment bank owed him big-time and could put a word-in. The interview was arranged, she was told what the questions would be and how best to answer them. The interviewer and interviewee both knew they were going through the motions but continued with the charade nevertheless; the debt had to be honoured, and honoured it was.

With a foot in the door, the future was now hers for the taking. Straight away she put in the big hours, determined to show herself as capable and as successful as any man.

She lasted just four months.

Used to guys fawning over her since her teenage years she thought she could cope with such a male dominated workforce. But day by day, the incessant lewd remarks, the childish practical jokes and the derogatory one-liners ground her down until her determination was broken. Leaving in tears, all she'd really achieved was to gain a rudimentary understanding of finance and the workings of the City.

Then by chance she found her natural vocation. What she'd learnt during her four months of hell, combined with her media studies qualification proved to be sufficient to get her a position at ‘The Speculator'.

From the magazine's perspective, it all made perfect sense. Let's face it, how do you get busy professional men to give-up an hour of their valuable money-making time? How do you get them to loosen their tongues and drop their defences?

You send in Emma Barnfield, -the hottie with a heart-shaped face who can breach any male stronghold with her dazzling smile and innocent deep, brown eyes. A digital recorder, a compact camera, some hairspray and a lip gloss are now the tools of her trade. Naturally articulate and confident, she soon had sufficient knowledgeable about the City to do the job asked of her and now she opens-up tight lipped financiers as if they were cans of beans.

Boldly striding up to the reception desk, Emma introduces herself and explains to the attractive female receptionist (who looks plain and frumpy by comparison) that she has an appointment with Mr Vasilakos at 10 am. She signs-in and takes a visitors badge which she clips onto the lapel of her perfectly fitted outfit. The security guard, who's been gazing at her ever since she came in, opens his eyes even wider as she unbuttons her jacket to reveal her tiny waist and a cut-away white blouse that strains to contain her all-natural charms. Sitting down in a leather chair she waits for her victim to approach.

At just gone ten o'clock, Alexis despatches his secretary to fetch the unknown female journalist waiting in reception. At this stage, the motivations for him giving up his time are purely down to the need to flatter his already over-inflated ego by grasping an easy opportunity for self advertisement.

The fund manager's PA escorts Emma up in the elevator to the top of the building, bypassing the majority of the Kronos operation which takes place in the almost entirely male-dominated first and second floors.

She is courteously shown into the oak-panelled board room and then left alone to wait. Miss Barnfield walks around the elongated table, passing the time by studying the antique oil paintings mounted on the walls until Mr Vasilakos sees fit to make his entrance.

Alexis has already spied a glimpse of Emma's hourglass figure as she walked past his glass-fronted office and his immediate reaction was to smile broadly to himself. Now, he pushes back his executive leather chair and rising from his desk he moves across to stand in front of an ornate gold-framed mirror hung on his office wall. Straightening-out his Hermes tie, he runs his manicured fingers through his receding wavy hair whilst turning his head left and right. Finally he draws back his lips to check on the state his teeth.

Seemingly satisfied with what he sees, he smiles to himself like a tiger about to dine on a tasty young deer. Flirting is the national pastime in Greece, and sex is its national sport, so he knows he's about to thoroughly enjoy the next hour or so.

Leaving his office, he goes to greet the journalist in the boardroom as arranged, and on hearing the door opening behind her, Emma swivels round to face him with her sweet and natural smile.

The Greek struggles to speak, and he has to force-out an introduction. “Pleased to meet you, I'm Alexis Vasilakos.” He steps forward and shakes her hand, feeling unusually self conscious and more than just a little bit flushed in the cheek.

Purring sweetly she announces herself. “Hi, I'm Emma Barnfield from The Speculator magazine. Thank you so much for agreeing to have a little chat with me, I do appreciate that you're a really busy man so I truly value having a few moments of your time.” The ruthless man's heart melts as she smiles enthusiastically; her glistening lips widen and part to reveal perfect teeth.

Emma is the first to break eye contact, looking down as she opens her small shoulder bag to retrieve a business card. When she looks-up, she simultaneously tosses back the brown tresses of her hair so they land over her slender shoulder. She gives him ‘that smile' again and handing him the card Emma immediately goes on the offensive: “I must say I've been keeping an eye on you for some time now Mr Vasilakos, and following that violent attack the other day I decided I simply had to meet with you for a private one-on-one.”

Alexis is content just to look at her and says nothing.

“Everyone at The Speculator is in awe of your ability to sustain such remarkable levels of performance.” Alexis is finding her so blindingly sexy that his ability to concentrate on what she's saying is faltering. There is a momentary pause until Alexis at last summons-up the will to snap himself back into reality “Why don't we talk in my office?” he says, “I'm sure we'll be far more comfortable in there.”

Alexis holds the boardroom door open, gesturing for Emma to squeeze past him, saying “I'm the second door down on the left.”

He allows her to walk several paces ahead, affording him the chance to study her figure properly. She has the toned, youthful curves of a cheerleader and the long wavy brown hair of a beauty queen. As she glides further away he intensely admires the graceful, feminine fluidity of her walk.

Once in his private den, Alexis offers her a chair. He chooses a pair of seats near to the side of the office so as to avoid the possibility of obstructions such as desks or tables from blocking his view.

“You don't mind if I take my jacket off do you Mr Vasilakos?” Emma confidently asks, to which the lecherous man responds with as much charm as he can muster. “No, of course not. Make yourself comfortable, and please call me Alexis my dear girl. We Greeks are a very friendly people so there's no need for formalities. Please…make yourself at home.”

She decides to make a little small talk before commencing the interview; it's usually a good ploy.

“Greece is such a wonderful place Alexis, -and what history! I went to Santorini last year. What a beautiful, beautiful island, and…” (leaning forward just a few inches, and quietening her voice to a seductive whisper) “…such a romantic place, don't you think? The sunsets were so spectacular.” She stands-up and turns around, asking “Would you recommend that I visit Athens sometime?”

Bending over at the waist, she takes her time to hang her jacket on the back of the chair. She knows exactly what she is doing, allowing him sufficient time to feast his eyes on her curvy rear, her long slim legs and the back of her high heeled shoes.

As a young man, he saw thousands of young English girls coming over to spend a fortnights' holiday in his homeland of Greece, away from their parents for the first time and with only one thing on their mind…For a moment his mind wanders. He tries to picture English Emma on the white sands of a Greek beach, she is standing in front of him wearing only a small bikini, she is just eighteen, he perhaps twenty. She's simply powerless to resist his crooning advances.

Alexis still hasn't answered by the time Emma turns around to face him once more. She smiles and sits down. “Alexis? –Athens. Would you recommend that I go there?”

As Emma shuffles to get comfortable in her seat, her tight, straining skirt rides up her thighs by just a matter of half an inch. The subtlety of the movement and the nature of its upwards direction duly noted by the Greeks beady eyes.

“Yes, of course I would. It's a magnificent metropolis. Very easy to walk around and full of treasures from the ancient world: the Acropolis, the Agora, the Theatre of Dionysus, the Temple of Zeus and of course the Parthenon. And come nightfall, I'm sure a young lady like yourself would enjoy Psiri, the trendy clubbing area. Yes, you would love it! But I haven't been back there myself for quite some time.”

Crossing her legs, her skirt rides up even further. “Don't you get homesick?”

Alexis can't help himself from staring at her toned thighs, her long elegant legs and her shapely ankles.

“Sometimes I do, but I have now made myself very comfortable in London and Monaco, and when I need to remember my mother country I have a fantastic collection of ancient Greek artefacts in the basement.”

“Really? -That sounds fascinating, what sort of artefacts?” “Oh, you know…-pottery, bronze helmets and swords. Some Thracean, some Macedonian and some from Sparta. There are also a few statues and busts, and I also have a valuable collection of very early coins…-Did you know it was the Greeks who first began to put portraits and the names of their kings on one side of their coins and a coat of arms or some symbol of state on the reverse?” She raises her eyebrows in a show of interest even though she really couldn't care less. “I could let you have a quick look later. -Many pieces date back to 500 BC you know!”

“That is most fascinating Alexis, I would like that.” She chirps with false enthusiasm even though her thoughts are running along completely opposite lines. ‘Please someone help me. -I can't believe anyone could come up with a conversational topic as lame as that! What on earth would make him think that a young woman would be interested in a load of dusty old rubbish?' She banishes these negative thoughts and forces herself to smile at him once more.

“But first Alexis, I want to find out all about you and how you became so successful in business.”

He's staring at her all the while. Even whilst performing the simple act of getting a digital recorder out of her bag she oozes with effortless sexuality. At this point Alexis doesn't really care what comes out of her mouth, but if he's to avoid embarrassing himself he must start concentrating very hard on her questions. Buying himself some time to try and appear casual and relaxed, he asks her how The Speculator magazine is fairing in light of the current economic down-turn.

“The magazine is doing well; we're selling plenty of copy each week. You see, in these difficult times it is even more important that the well-off make the right speculatory decisions. Our growing readership needs the very latest information to determine where they can make the greatest return. Of course The Speculator is also packed with insightful opinion, hard-hitting commentary and accurate analysis about financial speculation. Each week's edition is bang-up-to date, after all who wants to read about what was happening a month or more ago?