BANKING ON TOM CHAPTER 10

 BANKING ON TOM CHAPTER 10

THURSDAY

 

In a sparse warehouse in the East of London Tom’s younger brother Mike was having a business meeting with a tough looking type from Eastern Europe. Mike was wearing his signature three-day stubble. In his line of business it helped to look the part. London had become his home fifteen years ago after his final business in Dublin failed, leaving money owed everywhere and leaving Tom with a guarantee to honor. He reckoned his business ideas were good – just a few years ahead of their time. The first American explorers had got killed by the Indians, it was those who followed behind succeeded.

 

Around this time his marriage to Miriam failed also. Too much alcohol and too little money. He returned home late one evening to an empty house. Miriam left a terse note. She had returned to her native Sligo. She was going to forge a new life.

 

Mike did however learn a valuable lesson. Society was full of people with secrets they wanted kept hidden. Mike set up a private investigations business in parallel with the antiques business used mostly as a cover. Mike had gone teetotal. With his sobriety came success. He often thought of picking up the phone to ring his brother Tom. But he could never quite find the right time. Mike found romance the second time round. Vicki was a yoga teacher five years his junior. She was also divorced with a teenage son from her first marriage who got on well with Mike. Mike's work centered on the less attractive side of society and occasionally brought some danger. He left work at work, in his so-called office, a warehouse not far from the docks in Wapping whence he sold low value antiques. Over the years he had sold off adjacent properties for residential development. Once regarded as worthless these sites had multiplied in value since the property crash of the late eighties. The British Banks had lost their shirt on London developments and were happy to see the back of them. Mike had arrived at exactly the right time. He got some help from Irish developers who were willing to back a fellow countryman. Mike had long paid them back handsomely. Mike could now afford to retire to his holiday property in Marbella but was too fascinated by his work. 

 

This week he was looking into the activities of the wife of a top city banker who suspected she was seeing another man while he worked twelve-hour days. Mike had retained Igor, one of his most dependable men. Within a week Igor had found incriminating evidence. Lots of it. The wife was careless and freewheeling. Her boyfriend was her hairdresser who was many years younger than her husband. And much more virile too. Mike handed over the incriminating evidence to his client. The client asked that the hairdresser be taught a lesson. Nothing too serious, but serious enough. Mike was filling in Igor. Igor would ‘deal’ with it, as he often did, with tact and measure. The hairdresser would not return to cutting hair for a week. Nor would he be chasing the Banker’s wife. Both would get the message.  Over the years Mike had been asked to offer more serious even lethal beatings. There was good money in it. But Mike gave it a wide berth. It was a slippery and dangerous path. On one side were the police and a certain prison sentence, on the other hand were organised mafia who wanted the patch for themselves. Mike fed off the crumbly. He knew his place. And everyone was happy. Well reasonably happy. He saw friends in the same business get greedy and it never ended well. Mike kept on the right side of the police. He fed them discreetly with information and they never had cause to knock on his door. Discretion was his motto. At the end of the meeting Mike handed over a bundle of cash to Igor. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. By the end of the day the cash would have changed hands. Nothing could be traced back to Mike. Modest. Low key. No loose ends. He would return home. Share a coffee with Vicky and then return to his respectable front, selling furniture from his warehouse.

 

Life was not totally perfect. He had received word of his mother’s illness on the grapevine. He would have to return to Dublin soon to see his mum and face Tom. Maybe a blessing in disguise.

 

The Chairman, Sebastian Shackleton, and his wife Lily were early risers. Their simple but elegant bungalow overlooked Killiney Bay south of Dublin. It faced South East and caught the morning light as it travelled from Wales. On a perfect summer morning they could make out the Brecon Beacons as a silhouette in the Eastern sky. Even in winter the low sun filtered into their bedroom. Winter was special. The low sun reflected off the water in Killiney Bay and they received a double dose of sun. Wonderful hues of yellow and gold filled their bedroom. Lily had been against Sebastian’s idea of placing a large stone buddha in the garden. She felt it somehow unChristian. Sebastian, as always, got his way. Now she had embraced the idea and had chimes in the trees that added a certain magic. The Buddha was a fat jolly fellow with a beatific smile.

 

They would often spend minutes in silence at the start of day lost in their thoughts, in turn meditating and day dreaming. Today they felt a greater need to centre down and discover a peace that would see them through the vicissitudes of the business world. To remain in the world but not of it. They were not greedy or grasping. They had not changed house since their marriage nearly fifty years ago.  They were noble and generous. But they were no fools and made sure that no unscrupulous chancers might mistake their Christianity for foolishness.

 

Sebastian had but one objective. To save the bank from others and from itself. He took out his notepad and pencil. He began to write down a list of people he knew who might back him in his mission to raise between forty and fifty million pounds to buy the bank from its British owners and retain his management team. He knew this would delay his retirement by a year or two as the new owners would insist on his staying on board for the first while.

 

He had reluctantly agreed to Tom’s plan. It seemed to have a very good chance of succeeding and should buy him the necessary time to drum up the necessary capital. He spoke with Jim O’Sullivan several times a day and often long into the night. Jim was using his contacts in the Banking world to raise capital. Jim was anxious to keep the number of people very tight and heeded his wife’s good advice to stick with one financial institution only. 

 

If either Sebastian’s or Jim’s money came in immediately it would obviate the need to prosecute Tom’s plan. All bets would be off and the program disbanded. It would be back to life as usual, albeit with new owners. It was entirely possible that Tom’s project would go ahead and within a week or so the new capital arrive. There was no financial reward for Sebastian or Lily nor did they seek one. His pension was fully funded and held separate to the Bank by one of Irelands top life assurance companies. Sebastian was driven by his concern for his staff many of whom had spent decades with the bank. He also wanted to protect the clients. The depositors would be slightly unnerved but fine if their money ended up with head office in London. The borrowers however would be at sea with new managers unfamiliar with them or their businesses. The accountants might look no further than the figures. Sebastian knew that the bank was like a living body with relationships and neuroses. He was determined he would not fail.

 

Tom was on his third espresso when Jim put his head round the office door. Unlike Tom, Jim was not a morning person.

‘Thanks, Tom, for looking after the staff. I presume it was not an early night?’ Jim asked rhetorically knowing it was probably a ‘late one’.

‘Not early Jim, but good for team building. Despite our best efforts Maura has made her way to London to tackle Ben Osborne. Indeed everyone has shown up on time.’

Jim look satisfied. He didn’t really mind what the staff got up to after work as long as they were at their desks by eight the following morning. Work hard, play hard, seemed the motto and the message. Jim was conscious that as the staff got older, they had responsibilities to families and he discouraged a midweek drinking culture. He accepted these days were a little different.

 

‘It’s all bets off Tom if we manage to raise the capital before the 28^th’

‘Of course’ Tom smiled. The chances of raising forty to fifty million in Dublin within ten days was well nigh impossible. But if the trades had to be cancelled, that would be done. Business was business.  There would be disappointed brokers everywhere. But they forget everything and hold no grudges and invest in the next deal that came along. The market and its traders seemed to have no memory. That said Tom harboured a suspicion that his Mexican clients and the Italians might not be as placid.

 

Maura was grateful that Ben Osborne had thought of sending out the executive car to the airport. The chauffeur was waiting for her in the Jaguar XJ6. As she sped into the City, she checked her numbers time and again. Together with Steph she had worked out the limits they would need to get approval for. They needed a specific limit for each bank they dealt with. Each counter party bank needed to be analysed for its financial strength and its trading competence. Many banks were eliminated because they were simply too small. Some bigger ones were discarded because they were unreliable or had poor execution records. Some promised great things but in the event disappointed. This is where the experience of the traders was critical. Even though she had approval in principal from London she wondered would they actually get cold feet when push came to shove. Those who shout the loudest often deliver the least.