Fatal Error

by Michael Ridpath

  Did I? If I did, he might keep me on. If I did, then our friendship might remain intact.

  But I had gone too far. Guy was wrong. I had told him many times and I believed it with all my soul. I couldn’t go back on that.

  I shook my head.

  ‘We’ll pay you your month’s notice,’ said Guy. ‘And I’ll get Mel to arrange an emergency resolution of the board to remove you as a director. But I suggest you leave today. There’s not much point in hanging around.’

  He was right, there wasn’t. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone. I opened my case and stuffed my few personal possessions inside it. Then I closed it up and headed for the doors.

  I passed Ingrid’s desk.

  ‘David!’ she called. I slowed. She leapt up and fell in step beside me. ‘David. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve been fired.’

  ‘You’ve been what?’

  ‘He’s just fired me.’

  ‘He can’t do that.’

  ‘He just has.’ I looked at her. I had lost Ninetyminutes to Guy. At that moment I wanted to know if I had lost Ingrid as well. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, are you coming? With me?’

  ‘I’ll talk to Guy,’ Ingrid said. ‘I’ll get him to change his mind. I’m sure you two can sort something out …’

  I turned on my heels and walked out the door.

  I went home. Home in the afternoon on a weekday was a strange place to be. I felt angry. Deeply angry.

  I resisted the temptation to get plastered, and went outside again instead. I headed for Kensington Gardens and walked. Walked and thought.

  I remembered the moment when I had read Guy’s plan for Ninetyminutes and decided to drop everything and go for it. The delicious feeling of resigning from Gurney Kroheim. Guy’s enthusiasm as he talked Gaz round into joining us. The first day in our new office in Britton Street. The excitement of launching the site. The thrill of seeing it succeed. The sense of achievement in creating so much from nothing.

  It was a warm afternoon, the warmest of the year so far. I found a shaded bench and sat on it. A large family of Italian tourists walked past, arguing. They frightened away a squirrel that an old lady on the bench next to mine had been trying to tempt with a piece of bread. She frowned in momentary annoyance, and then held out the bread again, making clucking noises. She had all day.

  Where had it all gone wrong? Of course part of it, probably a large part, had nothing to do with Guy or me. It was beyond our control. We were unlucky the market had crashed just before we raised the forty million instead of just after. We were unlucky that the internet bust had been quite so vicious. But Guy and I working as a team could have dealt with that. And even if we had failed, it wouldn’t have seemed quite as bad if we had failed together.

  I was reminded of that flight up to Skye. I had trusted Guy in the storm, almost trusted him for too long as he had flown up that glen. I had wrested the controls from him with seconds to spare. This time, he had hung on to them.

  Ninetyminutes had meant so much to me. It had been my chance to prove to myself that I was more than a risk-averse accountant. But in the end, was I? I had failed as an entrepreneur. At the last minute the accountant in me had tried to rescue things, but that had been too late. I was out of my depth. I should face facts. There was nothing special about me after all.

  I was sure Ninetyminutes was going bust. I would lose my investment. That I could handle. I would have to try to find another job, probably in a big bank. That would be true defeat. And, of course, I would have to tell my father that I had failed him. That he had been foolish to back me with everything he had. That he now had nothing.

  I left the bench and the old lady, who by now had become good friends with the squirrel, and wandered for another hour or so. When I got back to the flat I turned on the TV and watched rubbish. I cracked open a beer, but just one.

  Then the bell rang.

  It was Ingrid.

  She stood in my doorway. ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m leaving Ninetyminutes.’

  Something melted inside me. I smiled.

  She opened her arms and we held each other tight.

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  She plopped down on to my sofa. ‘Can I have a glass of wine or something?’

  I opened a bottle of white and poured us both a glass.

  She took hers eagerly and drank from it. ‘Mmm, that’s good.’ She answered my question. ‘It was when you asked me to come with you and I didn’t give you an answer. I waffled on about reaching some kind of compromise with Guy. Well, once you’d gone, I knew I was wrong. I knew I was hiding from the truth.

  ‘You know how determined I’ve been to make Ninetyminutes succeed. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved there. I suppose I thought Ninetyminutes was like a test. I was under pressure and the important thing was to try harder and not give up. And to support Guy. And then I saw you walk away from him because you believed he was wrong, and suddenly I saw things differently. I know Ninetyminutes is in deep trouble. I know Guy isn’t going to get us out of it. And, well …’

  ‘What?’

  She looked embarrassed. ‘I thought for once I’d rather go with you than go with Guy.’ She smiled shyly at me. She ran her hands through her chestnut hair. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m doing the wrong thing.’ Then she smiled again. ‘But it feels right.’

  ‘I think it is right,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll tell him tomorrow.’

  ‘You haven’t told him yet?’

  ‘No. He left early. I only really decided on my way home. So I came here instead.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  We sat in silence, drinking our wine.

  ‘Some more?’ I asked her.

  ‘Sure.’ She held out her glass and I refilled it. ‘You know, I’m not sure Ninetyminutes ever could have worked.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, Guy got pretty close to achieving his aim, didn’t he? A few more months of growth and Ninetyminutes will be the number-one soccer site in Europe. Most people know the brand name now. Lots of people want to buy the clothing and the merchandise.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘The problem is we haven’t got any cash and we aren’t likely to make any any time soon.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Ingrid said. ‘And that matters. Now. It didn’t seem to matter a year ago. A year ago the Internet was a gold rush, a land grab. Once you’d got the eyeballs gawping at your site, the money would roll in. Advertising, e-commerce, no one knew exactly how it would happen, they just knew it would happen. If Ninetyminutes had reached the stage we’re at now a year ago, we’d all be worth tens of millions.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘But the world’s changed. It turns out the Internet is a lousy way to make money. People expect it to be free. People expect to buy goods over the Internet more cheaply than in the shops. Advertisers want tangible results and don’t have bottomless budgets for an unproven medium. There’s just not that much money in it. So Ninetyminutes is worth virtually nothing. That’s what Guy doesn’t understand.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying we did succeed in what we set out to do. It just didn’t make us the millions we thought it would. I suppose if we’d been really smart we’d have realized that at the time. What you’ve done is realize it now. But I think we should be proud of all we’ve achieved. All of us: you, me, Guy, Amy, Gaz, everybody. It’s not really our fault the numbers don’t stack up.’

  I saw what she meant. Looked at her way, it hadn’t been a waste of time. It hadn’t been a disaster at all.

  Ingrid picked up her glass. ‘To Ninetyminutes.’

  ‘To Ninetyminutes.’

  We both drank.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Ingrid asked.<
br />
  ‘I don’t know. I’ve got my savings in Ninetyminutes, So has my father. I really don’t want to see it all pissed away.’

  ‘It’s not just the money that worries you, is it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean Guy.’

  ‘You’re right. It is Guy.’ I tried to explain. ‘When Guy showed me his vision for Ninetyminutes he was showing me not just a good job or a good investment, but a new life. A life that I had always wanted but had been too scared to go for. He talked about creating something new and exciting, taking risks, breaking the rules, building the new economy. He inspired me. He made me believe I could become a new person. And then … and then he let me down.’

  ‘But we just said it wasn’t his fault that Ninetyminutes is going under.’

  ‘It’s not that. In fact, if Guy and I had led Ninetyminutes to a glorious end together, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Sure, I’d have lost some money, and it would have been a disaster for my father, but I would have felt I’d achieved something. Become a better person, a different person. As it is …’

  ‘As it is, what? I don’t understand.’

  I looked at Ingrid. My promises to Guy meant nothing any more. ‘There’s some stuff about Guy you don’t know.’

  I told her all about Owen and Dominique and Abdulatif and Guy’s efforts to cover everything up. And I told her that I still didn’t know whether Guy had murdered Tony.

  She listened closely, at first with disbelief, then amazement, then anxiety.

  ‘So you see I have no idea who Guy is,’ I said at the end. ‘I know he’s a liar. I know his brother kills people. But I don’t know whether Guy kills people too. I don’t know whether the only reason Ninetyminutes has lasted this long is because Guy killed his father.’

  Ingrid sipped her wine thoughtfully. ‘You might be right about Owen, but Guy?’

  ‘I know. That’s what I thought. But he’s an actor. A good one. And when he’s in a tight spot over his brother or Ninetyminutes, who knows what he might do?’

  ‘God.’ Ingrid shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I need to know. About Guy. What kind of person he is. Whether what I’ve been doing for the last year means anything.’

  ‘So what do we do? We can’t just walk away.’

  ‘You can,’ I said. ‘In fact, I’d recommend it.’

  ‘I’m not going to,’ Ingrid said. ‘We’ll sort this out together.’

  My emotions had been in turmoil for weeks: hope, despair, anger, frustration. For weeks I had been at war with these feelings, trying to control them, trying to control Ninetyminutes. I had fought this war alone. I had thought I had lost, but now Ingrid was with me perhaps I could win after all. We gave each other comfort, strength and, in an as yet undefined way, hope.

  We went out to a small Italian restaurant round the corner for dinner. We drank more wine. We discussed what we could do to rescue Ninetyminutes and find out about Guy once and for all. But as the evening wore on we talked about other things, about each other and about life outside Ninetyminutes.

  As we left the restaurant, Ingrid linked her arm in mine. ‘Do you mind if I come back with you?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’d like that. I’d like that very much.’

  37

  I awoke to the sensation of a hand stroking my thigh. It was six thirty. Ingrid was lying next to me in my bed, and I didn’t have a job to go to.

  I rolled over. The sunshine poured in through my bedroom’s puny curtains, painting stripes of pale gold on to Ingrid’s skin. She was definitely one of those women who looked better the morning after.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, with a languid smile.

  ‘Good morning.’

  Her hand moved upwards.

  Half an hour later I went through to the kitchen to make some coffee. By this time I would usually be in the shower. But not today.

  ‘Are you going straight in to Ninetyminutes?’ I asked, carrying two mugs back to the bedroom.

  ‘There’s no hurry. Guy’s always late these days. And besides, I quite like it here.’ She took her mug and sat up in bed. She tasted the coffee and pulled a face. ‘Yuk! That’s disgusting. If I’m going to come here again, you’re going to have to get some decent coffee.’

  ‘What do you mean? It is decent coffee.’

  ‘It’s crap. I’m Brazilian. I know.’

  ‘I knew I should have made tea,’ I muttered.

  Despite her grumbling, Ingrid took another sip. ‘What are you going to do today?’

  What was I going to do? It was tempting to spend my first day of freedom from Ninetyminutes in bed with Ingrid. But I couldn’t.

  ‘Go and see Derek Silverman for starters. And then Clare. I must make them realize Guy has got it all wrong. Then I’ll see if I can get hold of Anne Glazier again. She should be back in her office today.’

  ‘I’ll come with you to see Silverman,’ said Ingrid. ‘Once I’ve told Guy I’m quitting.’

  ‘Thanks. I could use the support.’

  ‘It’s going to be frustrating, though, isn’t it?’ Ingrid said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sitting on our hands watching Ninetyminutes go down the tubes.’

  ‘Well, I hope we’ll be able to do something to stop it. But they’ll find it hard without you.’

  ‘Gaz will manage.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’ Gaz would be able to keep the content coming, but without Ingrid the whole editorial and publishing process would soon unravel. Especially if it was necessary to cut back and reorganize. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t resign.’

  ‘What do you mean? I told you why I want to quit.’

  ‘Yes. And all that makes sense. Believe me, I value the support. But I think you’ll be more use still working at Ninetyminutes. Things will be bad enough as it is without you leaving. And it will be useful to know what’s going on at the company. If we are going to save Ninetyminutes, we should do it together. Me on the outside and you on the inside.’

  ‘You don’t expect me to go along with Guy?’

  ‘Absolutely. For the time being. Until we get Silverman and Orchestra to see our point of view.’

  Ingrid sipped her coffee. ‘Maybe I should stay,’ she said. Then she frowned.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘That means I have to go to work now.’

  ‘I’m afraid it does.’

  She put her coffee down and leaned over to kiss me.

  ‘Well, perhaps not quite yet,’ I said.

  After Ingrid had left, I had a shower, put on a suit and went to see Derek Silverman at his town house in Chelsea. He showed me into a study at the back with a view over a perfect herbaceous border, blooming powerfully in the sunshine. He was very civil and offered me a cup of coffee. I told him that in my opinion Ninetyminutes had no choice but to retrench and Guy had been mistaken to fire me. Silverman was polite, he listened and he seemed to understand my point of view. But he was firm.

  ‘Guy is confident he can raise more funds. He’s the Chief Executive. I’m not one of those people who believe in dumping the Chief Executive as soon as things get tough. You’re putting me in a situation where I have to choose between you and him. I have no choice but to go for him.’

  ‘But we’ve got ourselves in trouble before by relying on Torsten Schollenberger,’ I protested.

  ‘Guy and I discussed this at dinner on Monday night. He says the deal is ninety per cent done.’

  ‘He’s wrong.’

  ‘It’s possible he may turn out to be wrong. But from my standpoint it seems to be the best chance we’ve got.’

  ‘But …’ I hesitated, and then went ahead anyway. ‘Ninetyminutes has been in a similar situation before. Last year, when Guy had that argument with his father and resigned.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And, well, a few days later Tony Jourdan was killed.’

  ‘That was a hit-and-run driver, wasn’t it?’ Silverman said.<
br />
  ‘Perhaps. The police don’t know who it was.’

  ‘What’s your point, exactly, David?’

  What was my point? Was I going to accuse Guy of killing his father? Once I had suggested that to Silverman there would be no going back. And I had no proof, yet. Even if I did suggest it, what would I expect Silverman to do? Change his mind in my favour? Fire Guy because he might possibly be a murderer? No. That would be unfair. Not just unfair, wrong.

  ‘Nothing, Derek. Nothing. Thanks for your time.’

  Silverman saw me out. ‘I’m sorry that you felt you had to leave. I’ve been very impressed with what you’ve contributed to Ninetyminutes over the last year. One of the saddest things I see is when good teams split up under pressure.’

  I wanted to protest, claim I hadn’t wanted to leave at all, that it was Guy, not me, who was feeling the pressure, but I realized there was no point. Guy had got to him. So I went.

  Once out on the street I pulled out my mobile and dialled Orchestra’s number. Clare Douglas reluctantly agreed to see me in her offices in an hour. But she said she’d only have ten minutes between meetings.

  I was shown into a conference room, where I waited for half an hour before Clare arrived. She looked flustered.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This doesn’t seem to be a great time to be a venture capitalist. No sooner do I put out one fire than another starts.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m already late for my next meeting. I’ve only got five minutes.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘You’ve heard I’ve left Ninetyminutes?’

  ‘Yes. Guy has explained it all to me.’

  ‘Did he tell you why?’

  ‘He said that you wanted to cut back on costs drastically to conserve cash. He said he’d found another investor so he could continue growing the business.’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Well, he says he has. I have to believe him.’

  ‘It’s an old friend of ours from school. He’s let us down once before. He’ll let us down again.’

  Clare looked doubtful. She was not her cool Scottish self that morning. She frowned. ‘That’s not what Guy said.’

  ‘I know.’

  Clare hesitated. ‘Look, I’ve spoken to the Chairman. I’ll be sorry to lose you, but I trust Derek Silverman. People here have known him a long time, and if he wants to stick with Guy on this I’ll go along with him.’