by Ted Denton
‘I think that settles it then, Daniel,’ Francis Broome chimed in condescendingly. ‘You are angry now, but in time you will come to realise what really happened and you will accept that Rublex will have a big part to play in golf for many years to come. The reputation of the Tour and our primary sponsor remains intact. Without this evidence you speak of, any claims you make to the contrary will of course be vigorously denied and contested in a court of law.’
Daniel looked around the room at each in turn. He shook his head and then, without uttering another word, he hurriedly left the room. Broken. Dejected. Confused.
He trailed down the steps, eyes brimming with the bitter tears of shame. His parents, who had barely let him out of their sight since their unhappy reunion by his hospital bed in Barcelona, were waiting where he had left them. Sitting in the front of their Vauxhall Vectra. They had driven him to the meeting in a show of familial support. Daniel climbed dolefully into the back seat.
‘What happened son?’
‘Nothing. They wouldn’t listen. I can’t believe it after everything that I’ve gone through. I can’t. It was all just a lie. I don’t want to speak about it.’
‘You need to accept it, Daniel. These aren’t our sort of people, boy. You’ve aimed above your station and this is the result. You’ve tried your best to help people and you’ve been hurt. I’ve arranged a job for you with me back in Sheffield at the insurance firm. You can move back in with us at home.’
Daniel placed his head in his hands. Silent. Head spinning. The desolation was absolute.
The car pulled away slowly, cruising smoothly down the neat road that bisected the fairways of the beautiful Wentworth Club’s golf course. They tracked the winding tarmac through lush forest and out into the countryside. No one spoke. No one had anything to say. Daniel remained inconsolable.
Time passed. The motorway spread out before them. Inside the vehicle the stress remained thick and heavy. What few innocent comments passed between them to lighten the mood were ignored or merely grunted at in response. Daniel sat in an unhappy trance, hypnotised by a blur of passing pylons, road signs and speeding cars. He felt as if he was now being transported towards his final terminus – a limited life without the possibility and potential that he had so cruelly been permitted to taste.
And then the sound of a ringing mobile phone cut through the emptiness inside the vehicle. Daniel fumbled around in his pocket and, after what seemed an eternity, finally engaged the call. Mumbling in answer.
‘Good afternoon. Is that Daniel Ratchet?’
‘Yeah,’ sniffed Daniel, half-expecting a salesman to tell him he could claim back some non-existent Payment Protection Insurance on a no-win-no-fee deal.
‘Daniel. It’s Brooke Anderson from the Laureus World Sports Academy.’
‘Oh. Hi,’ Daniel said, brightening up moderately.
‘I’ll cut to the chase. I’m notifying you that we are publishing your article in our ‘Sport for Good’ magazine.
‘Article?’
‘Yeah. The one you submitted on corruption in golf and the undue influence of sponsors on top players in order to further their own objectives. Particularly the Rublex Corporation. We’re very impressed with the evidence you have compiled. The statistical patterns, the undercover video recording of the principal wrong doers admitting their crimes, the background narrative. It’s a compelling case you make regarding a very serious issue. Action needs to be taken.’
‘Um. What article? I didn’t write an article or submit one to Laureus.’
‘Your representative spoke to us and sent it on a memory stick on your behalf. A German guy. One Michael Hausen?’
Michael. So it was Michael who had found the tablet. He must have seen the evidence on there and in conjunction with his own personal experiences at their hands made the connection between the caddy gambling ring and the Russian Vory. He took matters into his own hands—must have written the article to make sure that those who stood up for truth, for justice and for opportunity in sport would get the evidence to expose Rublex for what they really are. That bitch Matilda must have been in on it all from the start. Smoothing the way with her beautiful and tantalising sexuality to encourage susceptible golf agents to sign dodgy sponsorship deals with Krostanov.
Once the man she had used to get her leg up, and obviously over with, on the Tour, the man to whom she became engaged, had proven himself to be losing control of the situation she needed another means to achieve her ruthless ambitions. Krostanov went to extreme lengths to find and eradicate all traces of evidence linking Rublex to corruption. It seems Matilda must have used it as a bargaining chip to replace him and secure his job with Boris Golich, even before he was dead. No honour amongst thieves as they say.
But before he had been murdered, Michael must have figured out that Matilda wasn’t to be trusted and wasn’t going to act. He’d read the information contained on my tablet and understood the implications. He’d pieced together the connection to the gambling ring and the danger they posed. He realised that I had been kidnapped and Bob Wallace butchered probably as a direct result of discovering the truth. Given such a serious situation, it had taken genuine, unprecedented bravery for Michael to act and to ultimately sacrifice his life. To do the right thing.
‘Yes. Thank you. That’s fantastic.’
‘Not only that Daniel. We’re so impressed by your efforts that we’d like to make you a job offer. On the strength of the Rublex exposé we are accelerating the launch of a new division at Laureus centred on corruption across sport worldwide, supported with a new endowment of five million dollars. It will be run from a new Miami base. We think a young hungry guy like you with significant experience in exposing major corporate sports corruption would be perfect to head it up. We’ll need you to come to London right away to discuss things. Can you make Monday morning at nine o’clock? What do you say?’
Daniel’s heart soared. ‘Thank you,’ he stumbled. ‘I’ll be there!’ He bounced on his seat, his dad watching intently in the rear view mirror as he rapped his knuckles in sheer delight on the car window.
He ended the phone call. Sat back in disbelief. Stunned into silence again. ‘Who was that love?’ his mother enquired curiously from the front seat. Daniel shook his head incredulously.
‘Who was that? That was the voice of justice and the final deed of a man who against the odds found it within himself to do the right thing. A hero who I had betrayed for the love of a woman and sent to his death. And in return I think he might very well have just saved my life.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To:
Matthew my Publisher – for holding no fear from the glare of writing in Technicolor.
Tom my Agent – for strapping in, holding tight and bringing it home.
David my Editor – for every ‘;?!:’ and your effervescent erudition. Bob Dylan – for unprecedented generosity, as greatest lyricist and winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, for allowing me to use your words in mine.
Lee Child – for driving the genre, leaving the rest in its wake as ‘barnacles on the boat’.
MJ – for never no doubt and for helping wild ideas soar.
DJ Judge Jules – for reading and re-reading from the start. For being one of the ‘Renaissance men’.
For all manner of kind help and support in the process of making it happen:
Ross
Colin
Matt
John
Bob
Andy
Xav
Michelle – for giving shelter from the storm. This book was born in the eye of a hurricane.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ted Denton was offered a bursary at an early age to serve as a commissioned officer in the British armed forces.
Fascinated with geo-political relations and bipartisan negotiation Ted has engaged with government departments and NGOs, undertaking extensive global travel.
He went on build an exciting career through founding a private
international consultancy.
Ted is passionate about boxing, writing and adventuring.
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