by Tim Heath
**********
The information that the Department of Trade and Industry had on the financials at HICL only added to the growing mystery that now covered the Gamble Holdings Group in general. Their research had been verified and also helped by a further background check with the Department of Information, a report printed by Jessica Ponter herself though she was not aware of its content or significance. Mary Ingham made some notes on the left hand margin as she speed read through most of the report but was more interested in the claims history of the company, slowing right down as she digested the figures, something that never came too naturally. Up until the takeover more than ten years ago, HICL had an average claims history, compared to the rest of the market at that time. A turn-over in the hundreds of millions, all gained from its corporate insurance base, which generated a good amount of profit as its claims record stood at 50%, which was around what could be expected in any good period. Storms or terrorist attacks hit everyone equally hard. HICL claims amount had risen in line with their policy numbers since the company started in the 1970s. Apart from the odd bad year, such as the claims arising out of the 1987 storms, they were steady. Year on year the company dealt with claims as quickly as possible and as cheaply as they could, but still £150 million a year, up to the takeover, was spent in insurance pay-outs. When the Gamble Holdings Group purchased HICL an accelerated number of policies were set up but the claims payout amount stayed the same and actually started dropping. Within five years of the takeover, the insurance pay-outs were under £100,000 a year, an impossible amount for a company whose premiums now topped the one billion pound mark. And they fell further, never again clearing the six figures in any one year.
“This is unreal,” Simon said, turning to Mary as they glanced over the figures together. “You’re telling me,” he continued to say, “that a company of this size, with thousands of clients has basically a zero per cent claims record.”
“That would explain their size,” Mary replied weakly.
“Rubbish! There is no way that these accounts are correct.”
“I’ve had them checked out, Simon,” Mary said, a little annoyed now that her methods were being questioned.
“I work with numbers all day long, Mary. Numbers tell a story and these numbers tell me that something isn’t right.”
Mary glanced at the sheet again, but figures were not her strongest point and she was unable to say anything in reply to Simon. She stayed quiet for a moment, finding herself glancing out of the window, the silence catching Simon’s attention for a moment as he glanced up momentarily but quickly continued, still absorbed in the figures.
“I’m going to do a little digging on these,” he said, pointing to the sheet. “I think I’ll be able to look at individual cases. Also, I want to see what these new cases were and what claims they had.”
He collected his things together, the two old friends exchanging their farewells and he almost bounded out of the room, a slight excitement in his step, Mary knowing from many years of working with him that he loved the challenge these situations offered him.
**********
Nigel woke up suddenly and checked the clock. Jumping up out of bed quickly, he opened his curtains and admired his wonderfully landscaped garden that stretched out before him. He opened the French doors and walked out onto his balcony, the air fresh and alive, just as he felt at that moment. He breathed in the cool, clean air. It was the air of home, the air of safety and the promised comfort of security. He could smell, from an opened window from the service block attached to his vast house, that lunch was being prepared, and again he smiled and enjoyed his success, his wealth, his lifestyle.
Walking back into his room, the rich cream curtains blowing in the cool breeze, he pulled out a suit from his cupboard and laid it on the bed. He then went into his en-suite bathroom and turned on the shower, the water jumping to life and warm straight away. The bathroom was clean, neat and ordered, like everything in his life. The bathroom was tiled all over with a warm natural stone floor, which benefited from its own under floor heating. Nigel left very few items out on the side, as everything had its place. Not that he used a lot of different products anyway, he always stuck to what he knew.
Once he had showered, drying himself with his lavish towels that were nicely warmed on the huge towel rail on the bathroom wall, he put on his bathrobe, leaving the suit on the bed, and walked to the dining room where he would eat lunch.
Everything was set out for him in its place and ready for his arrival. It was how he had ordered it, and his staff knew by now that this was how things would run. No one else was around, as usual, and he ate in peace, enjoying every mouthful, taking his time to taste what he was eating. He smiled to himself again, a slight chuckle coming out as he looked at his food, the room and his life and said to himself:
“This is good. This is really good!”
After a little while, he picked up a phone that was on the table and called the front gate.
“Hello, sir,” came the reply.
“Can you get the car ready please? Pick me up at the front door in thirty minutes.” There was an acknowledgement at the other end and Nigel put the phone back down, finished up what he had on his plate and went back to his room. The plates would be cleared away shortly, everything washed and then returned to its original place ready for his next meal.
In his room, Nigel put on a Prada suit, tie and jacket. Just wearing it made him feel rich and he allowed himself a smile again at his own good fortune. When he was completely ready, he straightened his tie in the mirror, put on a pair of designer sun glasses, even though there was only a little natural sunlight in the room, picked up his brief case and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him. He locked the lounge door as well and then walked to the front door. Knowing his car would be outside waiting for him, he picked up a well-used but strong walking stick that was in a coat stand next to the door. Bending his back a little, his weight being put onto the stick, he checked his facial appearance in the mirror then opened the door. He started to walk slowly towards the car, his driver rushing towards him to take his case from him and to help him down the four stone steps. He helped lower him into the car, which always took a little bit of time, and placed the case in the back seat next to him. Getting back into the driver’s seat he pulled away slowly, driving carefully up the quarter mile driveway and passing the gate house at the front, the gates having been opened in advance. They turned onto the empty road and disappeared down the street.
**********
Mary Ingham was sitting in her office as a memo was dropped onto her desk by a colleague, one of her administration guys who said nothing and left. Mary was reading it through when Simon appeared at the door, bringing a large coffee with him. The door was open, which was the way Mary preferred, so it was usual for visitors to just walk on in.
“I’ve had a good look into these figures, Mary,” Simon said, placing the coffee on the table before Mary. He pulled a chair around next to hers as he laid the sheets of paper out, side by side, in front of her. She sat back and tried to take in what she was looking at, but knew Simon would explain all. She picked up the coffee.
“Thanks for this,” she said, raising it to her mouth.
“Look,” Simon said eagerly, pressing right on with his agenda, “this sheet here details what the £100,000 paid out in claims refers to.” There was a printed sheet with three columns on it, listing numbers and companies as well as noting when the firm had first insured through HICL.
“All these companies had been with HICL since before the takeover. This one,” his figure pointing to a firm on the second line that had a fire costing just under £37,000 in 1995, “had premiums before that of £20,000 a year, as it’s a multi-office policy with lots of extras. After that the premiums were in the high twenties and they haven’t had any other claims. It’s similar to all the rest. Their complete claims record is made up of companies that pay at least the same back to them in premiums.
This is where it gets interesting though,” he stated even more excitedly, his voice rising slightly as he hurried his speech. “This sheet represents the thousands of policies that they have issued since the takeover. And none of these companies, not even one, has had a claim of any real size in the last decade.”
Mary glanced at the sheet but wasn’t about to argue the point. She tried to think of an intelligent thing to say, but knew in this area she was out of her league. Most people were with Simon and though she loved having him within the team she always felt he was wasted there, because surely there were more important things he could go on to do with the skills and abilities he had, things that would really add up to something. But she knew now was not the time to mention such things and taking a moment to think again on the matter, she focused back on what he had just said, searching for some sort of reply.
“Might it be that they’ve just been lucky?”
“It did cross my mind also, Mary,” he said tenderly, both of them knowing it hadn’t at all in fact, “even though this would be highly unlikely. Still, that might have been possible until I found this piece of information,” and he paused slightly, which only built on the tension.
“Go on,” Mary said, now fully drawn into the mystery.
“I noticed that some of HICL’s clients had gaps in their custom. Take Hamper Inc., for example,” he said, pulling out a separate sheet of paper that had the individual company’s logo on it. “Hamper Inc. is a large industrial company based throughout the north of England and Scotland. Their insurance premiums were in the £50,000 bracket before HICL approached them.” He held copies of their annual renewal papers. Mary couldn’t even begin to imagine where he had got them from but knew now was not the time to ask. “In 1996 HICL approached Hamper Inc. and offered them the same cover at half the price. There was no way anyone else could compete with that. Their premiums remained really low for the next four years before starting to rise sharply over several years. HICL actually lost the business for two years before getting it back three years ago at £40,000.”
Mary tried to work out what Simon was getting at. He held back and continued to draw out his story.
“I thought it was strange that HICL should raise their prices so much so that they lost the business, only to be able to get it back two years later at a fraction of the price.”
“Isn’t that just business, Simon? They tried to make more profit and got caught out?”
“That’s what I thought at first,” he said nodding, taking a moment to drink some of his coffee. “It was only when I was looking at the Hamper Inc. website that I noticed some press cuttings from back then. The year after HICL lost the business there was a serious fire at their Edinburgh factory. Repair costs were around £4 million pounds. The following year a dock worker was killed in Merseyside. The settlement was very generous for that and with the two claims, as well as the company’s growth, their annual premium was now six figures. No one else would touch it, but HICL approached again, offering a third of the price and they’ve had them since at about the same premiums.”
“So what we’re saying is that they’ve somehow covered up their claims history,” Mary speculated, “or that maybe they have an in-house project going on where things get sorted without a claim,” but she turned her nose up at her own idea even as she was finishing her sentence. Simon said nothing.
“Maybe they sabotaged this Harper Inc. firm having lost them, knowing that they’d get them back, as a high claims experience would mean high premiums?” and she shook her head in dis-belief. Simon got up.
“Let’s keep to the facts, shall we,” he said calmly. Picking up his coffee he continued, “I’ll keep working through the figures. Something will come to light, I’m sure.”
They sat in silence for a moment, both finishing the remains of the coffee that was now just losing its warmth. Simon got up, dropping his cup in the bin, leaving the office again, keen to get to the bottom of the situation.
**********
Brendan Charles sat at his desk, pen in hand, scribbling notes down onto a jotter pad. He’d been speaking to a contact for ten minutes already.
“So you are sure that he doesn’t work at SecureCCTV?” he asked forcefully.
“Certainly no one called Robert works there and we are quite sure no one by his description...”
“Quite sure?” barked Brendan.
“I’m very sure that this man is not a SecureCCTV employee,” the voice continued unnerved. He had spoken to Brendan many times before and was learning to say the right thing, though on this occasion he’d had a momentary lapse. He continued, “Access codes, the kind used by, well the man we’ll call ‘Robert’ for now until we know more, are changed every month, so even if he’d been a previous employee he wouldn’t know what they’d changed to.”
“But what if…,” Brendan jumped in but the caller was already ahead of him.
“Now of course we’re checking out the current crop of employees to match up links to this Robert,” the caller pausing at this stage, merely to underline that he was on top of the game and didn’t appreciate Brendan’s constant interruptions.
“Nothing has come up so far. We’re looking for the usual signs but something tells me it isn’t going to be that,” and with that he went silent.
“So how did he do it then?” Brendan asked the obvious but currently unanswerable question.
“We’re working on it!” came the resigned reply. Something told them both that they’d have to try harder than usual this time around.
The light on the desk phone lit up indicating that there was a call for him.
“I’m going to have to go,” Brendan finished, “keep me informed and keep my nose clean!”
**********
Nigel sat in the back of his car as it drove through the quiet country lanes. His Prada suit still sat well on him, his cane by his side next to him. The lavishly decorated Mercedes made him feel ready to tackle the world, his air conditioned section keeping him cool no matter what the weather. The driver was separated by a black glass screen that was also sound proof, though Nigel had an intercom to the front if he required a change of plan. The car was built specifically for him by a sub-division of Mercedes in Germany and there had been no expense spared. Even the windows were bullet proof and the frame as strong as possible for a vehicle of its size.
Nigel sat there thinking the day through. He always carried a notebook with him, a red fronted small pad that was as associated with him as the wealth that touched every aspect of his existence.
The car had a satellite telephone installed with encryption technology that made it all but impossible to track him, let alone listen to his calls. He picked up the receiver and made a call. The phone rang a couple of times before it was answered.
“Hello, sir,” came Brendan’s reply.
“I’m on my way to see you,” Nigel declared. “Our usual meeting place will do. I will see you in thirty minutes then,” Nigel finished, more of a statement than a question.
In any other situation, as a CEO of a large company that was just in the process of a takeover and with the world’s press trying to speak to him, there was no way he’d be able to just leave the office for a meeting. But this was different, it always had been. And besides, Nigel was his boss.
“Of course, sir. I’ll see you shortly.”
The ’usual’ place was a spot just outside the city. Brendan rarely met him like this, only very occasionally even speaking to him on the telephone. His boss was a very elusive character, leaving his team of CEO’s to run his affairs for him, though none of them had the kind of ‘relationship’ with Mr Gamble that Brendan had, which wasn’t even a close one at that.
Chapter 5
Robert had finished packing his bag and clearing his room when the midday news came on the television that sat in the corner. He glanced up and watched the headlines but it only played out what he already knew. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d done this all before, tha
t he knew what was coming but it was great for him to see history outworked, to be part of it as it unfolded. And who really knew where it would lead, what would happen or how things would work out anyway.
Robert pressed down hard on the bag so that he could get the zip done up. He picked up a folder that lay on the desk and glanced through its pages, all filled with hand written notes, some scribbled down and barely readable. Robert then cleaned up around the hotel room’s safe, which sat on the second shelf of the cupboard by the door. He had emptied it earlier, wiping away a thin layer of grease that he had sprayed on previously. Picking up his jacket, he put it on and grabbed his bag, not even trying to put it over his shoulder but carrying it in his right hand down by his side.
Pulling the door shut behind him he walked down the hall and called the lift. It was on the ground floor, having obviously been called and, not wanting to wait, he opted for the stairs and went down two at a time. Reaching the foyer a minute later he dropped his key into the ‘express check-out box’ having already paid for the room in advance using one of a number of false credit cards he had in another name. The bill itself would get paid as it was just the name on the card that was false. As he walked out through the doors, the receptionist glancing up, he entered the busy streets and looked for a taxi. A cab came past a few seconds later and stopped in the road, as the taxi rank was blocked by a black car. The car’s owner had obviously gone looking for something, clearly in a hurry judging by the position of the car so far from the kerb.
“Some drivers!” the taxi driver said, shaking his head at the abandoned vehicle illegally parked, as Robert jumped into the back seat.
