Arbitrage

by Colette Kebell

  ‘Shall we continue?’ asked Anders. He took by her arm without waiting for a reply and kept silent up to Regency Square.

  ‘Then you will leave the legal profession to become a bank owner?’ asked Anders. He liked that contact against the heavy overcoat, probably cashmere, and walking together. It seemed a gesture of other times walking around like that.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m a lawyer and probably will continue to be that after. And then I hope it’s only temporary, while my father is in a coma,’ said Amelia and asked, ‘What about you? What did you do before going around being a model?’

  ‘You’ve got to stop repeating my questions and begin to ask your own, brand new ones,’ said Anders. The lack of ideas went hand in hand with lack of imagination, and at that moment Amelia was short on both, topped by the weight of the events of that week.

  ‘The bank is right there in that building,’ she said to her companion, stopping. The idea of going through the main door and entering was scaring her. If she crossed that threshold and entered, she could no longer go back.

  ‘Are you bringing me in there with you or are you leaving me outside like one of those dogs sometimes seen waiting for their master in the doorway of a supermarket?’

  ‘Well … I don’t know … it’s a private meeting and then … The way you’re dressed …’ Amelia was cursing inwardly, she was hardly ever at a loss for words and often had no qualms in telling outright lies. Yet, she was in awe, she had not been able to take the thread of the conversation and keep it in hand. Anders was as good looking as a god and with eyes to get lost in.

  ‘Is that a coffee shop in front of the bank, there on the waterfront?’ asked Anders squinting.

  ‘Sort of, it’s a brewery. Why?’

  ‘I’m going to stay there for a while; at least I’ll get rid of a bit of moisture from my bones.’

  Without waiting any longer, Anders dragged her across Regency Square. They arrived in front of the bank and stopped for a moment.

  ‘Well, I’m going in,’ said Amelia, reluctant. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

  ‘I got an idea,’ said Amelia, ‘Why don’t we have lunch together? Today? I’m not asking to stick around but maybe we can meet here at half past twelve?’

  ‘Are you sure? Will you not be too busy with that bank of yours?’

  ‘I’ll make time. What do you think?’

  Anders popped a kiss on her cheek and said, ‘It’s a deal. Let’s get in touch later.’

  They headed in opposite directions, each one lost in their own thoughts.

  CHAPTER 12

  Amelia entered the bank as if it already belonged to her, with a decisive step and look of ice. The coat, slightly wet from the rain, released water droplets on the marble entrance, raising the squeal of rubber soles of rare passers-by who roamed that morning. The fear that had gripped her until a few moments before was gone when she walked through the door of the building. She announced herself at the reception and none less than a group of five people, all in grey jackets, white shirts, and red ties, came to welcome her. She recognised one of them as one of the bank’s internal lawyers. They had occasionally used her firm in the past, but it happened only rarely.

  They sat in the main meeting room where several papers laid on the table, waiting. Some folders were already open, others stacked one above the other. From what the lawyer had explained, Amelia would take the absolute majority of the bank, which although was not listed on the stock exchange, was substantial. At least until her father had returned in full possession of his mental faculties. The other two owners were a Russian oligarch, whose name Amelia heard a few times in the news, a close friend to the Russian president, and an American lobbyist, but also with a name of Russian descent. How they had come to associate themselves with her father remained a mystery, and still, it wasn’t necessary for them to be present during that transaction.

  They began to review the papers and pretty soon her thoughts went to Anders, sitting in the brewery on the other side of the road, drinking coffee, and watching the faces of passers-by. While other lawyers were continuing to explain procedures, accounts, and balancing, her gaze went for a moment toward the window facing out towards the street. She wouldn’t be able to see the brewery from where she sat, but maybe if she raised from her seat for a moment … She asked for a suspension, and while secretaries were unleashed to prepare coffee and pastries, Amelia rose to peek out of the window. Much to her dismay, she found that, although she could see the brewery from where she stood, the two shop windows and the entrance of the room reflected the light of the day, preventing her from seeing inside.

  Amelia kept an eye on her watch and when it was almost half past twelve, she called for a break.

  ‘Are you sure, Ms Mortcombe?’ asked one of the lawyers. ‘If we push through lunch we should be done in an hour or so. There isn’t much left to discuss.’

  She already hated that bank. A bunch of people following her at every step, people stepping aside in the corridors to let her pass, but most of all she hated that bunch of obsequious lawyers. One of the many reasons why she cherished her independence, working in her own firm with Logan, not having to deal with all that corporate nonsense.

  ‘Yes, we take a break now and continue in an hour’s time.’ Her tone was categorical. Perhaps more so than she intended to, but she was looking forward to getting out of the building.

  ‘Maybe we could have a quick lunch in our canteen. It will save us time …’

  ‘No, I’m done here. I’ll be back in an hour or so.’ Without waiting Amelia picked up her bag and coat and walked out of the meeting room before anyone could say anything further on the matter.

  She took a deep breath of fresh air as soon as she was outside and started walking towards the brewery. Anders was walking towards her from the centre town.

  They kissed each other on the cheek. ‘Do you think they will have food in there?’ he asked, pointing towards the brewery.

  ‘Nothing too fancy but I know they do seafood and small plates. Let’s give it a go.’

  The brewery was modern in style, handwritten on a blackboard behind the bar was listed the house specialities.

  They sat on a small table with a view on the sea.

  ‘So, what do you do in your spare time?’ asked Anders once the waiter walked away with their orders.

  ‘Let me think. Long walks on the beach, watching the sunset, and candlelight conversations with a glass of wine.’ Laughed Amelia. ‘But I throw all that away as soon as the winds pick up and I have a chance of doing kitesurfing.’

  ‘You do kitesurfing?’

  ‘Yes, you too?’

  ‘No, but it sounds exciting. I did a bit of sailing and windsurfing though. How long does it take to learn?’

  ‘Not much. For the basics, two or three days training just to avoid ending up in France or on the shipping lane. If you want to jump over the pier, much longer.’

  ‘Jumping the pier? Are you kidding me?’ asked Anders.

  ‘No, look …’ said Amelia picking up her phone and showing a video on YouTube.

  ‘That’s so cool!’ Anders watched, amazed at that short clip.

  The food arrived and Amelia told a few kitesurfing stories. Anders talked about himself, his youth in Sweden and when he moved to the UK. The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, it was time for Amelia to go back to the bank.

  ‘I’ll stay a bit longer,’ said Anders. ‘Can you recommend where they teach that kitesurfing thing?’

  ‘You are a brave man. There’s one by the London Road train station, and another one in Hove.’ Amelia picked up Anders’ phone and bookmarked a couple of addresses.

  ‘Maybe if I crack on, I can take you out next weekend?’

  ‘It’s a date. Now I really have to go, though. I’ve got your number.’ They both stood up and Amelia gave Anders a kiss on the cheek, a bit too close to his lips. Then she walked out of the brewery without looking back.

  A date
. She liked the sound of those two little words.

  The meeting resumed and continued after lunch, where finally the last thing to do was to sign the papers for her to take possession of the bank. Amelia felt her stomach turn, not knowing what to do. She knew that she couldn’t hold the reins directing the bank, continuing into a position her father had begun decades earlier, often at the expense of affection for his wife and two daughters. The only reason she was there was because her father didn’t completely trust Robert Price, her brother-in-law, to take the reins of the bank.

  Maybe I could sell it off, and eradicate Daddy-dearest, she thought for a moment. This was pure revenge, and even if it wouldn’t make any difference to her father while he was in a coma, it would at least give her some relief. On the other hand, she knew that revenge was never pursued to punish an opponent but to make the one who implements it feel better. No, it would take too much time.

  Amelia knew what she should do; so she gathered the most essential folders in a binder, she asked them to send the remainder to her office and started to leave. A choir of voices of disappointment arose, voices that Amelia heard no more. She phoned Logan to inform him that the documents would reach him that day and maybe they would see each other before closing the office. Without further postponements, she ran out and headed for the brewery on the opposite side of the road.

  She looked around quickly, searching Anders out as soon as she reached the entrance, but she couldn’t see him. She headed to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine, knowing full well beer wouldn’t be enough and peered around again, table to table. He had already gone.

  When she arrived at the office a couple of hours later, she’d drunk more than usually acceptable to herself, and she’d even bought a pair of outrageously expensive shoes. Logan was already at work on the documents shipped by the bank, surrounded by boxes and sheets that had now invaded the room. When he saw Amelia in that state, he did not want to hear reasons and called a cab to take her home. Instead, Logan would have a lot to do with all those documents. He prepared fresh coffee and ate leftovers from the day before as the night progressed inexorably.

  On the following Monday Amelia woke up early to go to the office and stopped in the same café where she’d met Anders, without finding him. She had thought of calling him or sending a message, but what could she say? She had tried random phrases in her mind, more targeted ones and she’d also given answers to them. Between one case and the next, she’d dialogued with imaginary Anders for at least three hours without having the courage to dial that number. The reality was that for some reason, she now preferred being in Anders’ company, even if he was only in her mind, than deal with her day to day life. He brought a spark, a novelty in what was a serene but monotonous life, with no surprises.

  There was security in knowing how each day, and the next, would pass: smooth and without a hitch. What would happen, she wondered, and where would she be today if she’d abandoned her studies, thrown caution to the wind like Anders and lived unconventionally, or if she’d taken a boat headed to South America like her grandfather’s cousin had done at the beginning of the century?

  It was an unusual gesture, sometimes quoted at family dinners which still required her attendance from time to time. Someone said he had made a fortune in exporting meat or perhaps, as someone else said, he had bought half of Buenos Aires speculating on real estates. Amelia awoke from her thoughts, she gave a second look inside the bar just in case she hadn’t noticed Anders, paid more than necessary for her coffee and walked out, heading to the office. She thought for a moment if she shouldn’t try the brewery, the one near the bank. For some strange reason walking a couple of miles would have been more comfortable than a phone call, but then resigned to doing so. Probably Logan was right when he told her she needed to dare, to take the reins of her life in her own hands, to take risks.

  ‘You only live once,’ he said to her, ‘you’re the sole master of your own destiny.’

  Logan was already working, and looking at the documents which were placed on the floor like an abstract painting, he’d spent all weekend on them, she realised. The office always made her relax. It was an old converted apartment with high ceilings. Although the desks were modern, over time she’d acquired some antique furniture, used mostly to host journals and books; she was pleased with the end result, it made the office feeling cosier, less intimidating. Amelia spent more on furniture for the office than for her own house, and sofas and chairs that would be suited for a London apartment were well placed at the entrance and in the waiting room.

  ‘It is amazing,’ Logan was kneeling between the hallway and the kitchen, trying to peer into a file.

  ‘What is amazing?’

  ‘These documents, for example, I’m trying to find out who actually owns these accounts in Switzerland,’ he said, pointing a finger to a piece of paper right in the middle of the corridor, ‘and one of the companies is the Gerald Tore Capital Management. They receive funds from the bank, but I tried to go back to the parent company, and I’m lost, having followed the tracks in Luxembourg, the Cayman Islands, the Isle of Man, Panama, and back. It doesn’t seem to have any parent company.’ He was fascinated, like a child intent on rebuilding a puzzle, although financial, trying to put together pieces that rarely matched.

  ‘I’m confused, Ryan. What do you mean?’ Amelia smiled to herself looking at the partner crawling on the floor.

  ‘I need a couple more days to check, but usually this Chinese box system serves to hide a lot of money with the intent to evade taxes. If not worse.’

  ‘Worse?’ asked Amelia, halfway between intrigued and worried.

  ‘Usually it’s illicit acquisitions, but they could hide money from the mafia, arms trafficking, drugs. Are you sure you want to know what’s really behind it?’ he asked inquisitively.

  ‘My father made some bad choices, of this I am aware. I want to know what’s behind it before making a decision, we’ve been through this.’

  ‘There are a lot of documents signed by Albert Romanov.’

  ‘Albert?’ Amelia flashed back to the last time she’d met Romanov, right in that office and the lively discussion which had followed. She was sorry, but by then it was too late to apologise. Romanov had been killed, and she couldn’t recant. ‘All right. You keep digging and let me know.’

  Amelia went to her office, but she couldn’t concentrate on work. Anders, the bank, the potential trafficking by her father. Everything was happening too fast.

  CHAPTER 13

  There would be a battle, thought Amelia. It was amazing that she had the power of representation of all that her old man possessed. But there were rules to follow, it was not the case that Amelia could actually close the bank and give all the money to charity. Her sister wouldn’t be involved, she was weak and didn’t understand anything about finance. A completely different matter was her brother-in-law, Robert Price, who had done everything to try to set foot in the bank. He’d succeeded after the marriage, but not in a prominent position. He managed mostly Russian customers in the private banking sector.

  The Russians were coming in droves, and they were buying half of England, building after building. They were no worse than the Arabs, who, in summer, descended upon London in droves with their supercars and blocked Knightsbridge. But they weren’t any better.

  Robert Price wouldn’t accept being left out from the management of the bank and would have certainly tried to persuade her sister Carla to do something. He couldn’t do much as, the documents spoke: Amelia would handle the family fortune. She didn’t care, and at that moment the only thing she cared about was the truth. There would be time to act later.

  Her thoughts went to Anders. Amelia couldn’t grasp how she’d reacted to that meeting. Anders was of striking beauty, tall, blond, and with a physique cultivated in the gym, no doubt, but still, there was something else she was intrigued by. Perhaps his determination, acting as if he had all the answers. And the way he looked her in the eye, a
lmost without even blinking, as if searching for a clue to the depths of her soul.

  She looked again at the paper towel with a scribbled phone number on. It was strong handwriting. She picked up her phone and dialled the number. One ring, two, and then three. Nobody answered, not even an answering machine to leave a message.

  ‘I believe there is a shortfall of several million, maybe more,’ said Logan coming into Amelia’s office; he entered without knocking, his eyes still immersed in the documents which he flipped through giving Amelia chance to compose herself and banish the fantasising about Anders, in which she’d been submerged.

  ‘What do you mean, a shortfall of millions?’

  ‘Yes, here, look at these transactions. The bank has made regular transfers to these subsidiaries’ accounts, but from this day,’ he said, pointing to a date on a report, ‘they’d messed up. Enormous sums. The documents from the subsidiaries show other movements to other companies in the group, but at some point, the money disappears into thin air.’ He was almost embarrassed about not being able to solve a mystery.

  He was a proud man and cared about a job well done. For some reason, not being able to tie up loose ends bothered him, he was utterly absorbed in those papers and now it was a matter of irritation.

  ‘Let me see,’ said Amelia, but financial accounting was not her forte, and if her colleague had failed to untangle the knot, she would hardly understand much.

  ‘Damn! It is about ten million!’

  ‘Welcome to creative finance, where the money miraculously disappears and reappears somewhere else,’ announced Logan. ‘If once Houdini, Penn and Teller, and David Copperfield were the magicians, nowadays the real magic happens in the financial environment.’

  ‘For the time being, continue to investigate, I want to know what shady business my father was involved with. If we cannot understand, we’ll ask an auditing firm to intervene; we don’t have much time left.’