Arbitrage

by Colette Kebell

  ‘I know. Take your brother-in-law out for lunch, give him a shake. If there is something dodgy, he must be in the know.’ Logan picked up all the documents and left.

  The phone rang at that moment, and a brief look at the display revealed it came from Quentin, her former boyfriend.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Amelia in a peremptory tone, almost bored.

  ‘I wanted to know how you’re doing,’ said the man on the other end of the phone. Quentin had a deep voice, almost hoarse, which still made her quiver.

  ‘I’m stuck in a job that I don’t enjoy and, guess what, I’m overworked. Didn’t we decide to take a month off?’

  ‘That has already passed.’ There was a pause where Amelia cursed herself for not having marked that date.

  Amelia would gladly have spent another month, or maybe even a year without feeling the need to meet him again. She didn’t know what she still felt for Quentin and, especially during the past few days when her mind had wandered more in the direction of Anders, rather than her former boyfriend.

  ‘Look, I’m a little busy these days …’ she tried to end the conversation.

  ‘We could meet for dinner, maybe this evening? We don’t have to talk about anything in particular, just a dinner between two people who’ve known each other for a long time,’ he said. ‘I won’t eat you.’

  Nothing better. Amelia still couldn’t grasp how Quentin took it lightly. Was she the only one in the world to have feelings, to suffer and get angry when things weren’t going the right way?

  ‘See you at the Gotika, about eight o’clock. Now I have to go, I’m busy.’

  ‘Eight it is then. Kisses.’

  She hung up the phone and immediately panicked. The restaurant was near the office, although on the other side of The Lanes, and it was a pub, not too pretentious. Local food, frequented by both tourists and locals, with ample opportunity to complain about the food, the noise or anything that could attract his attention and give her an excuse to leave.

  Do I trust him? Because if I don’t trust him the very foundations of our relationship falls apart, she said to herself.

  She had never got to the bottom of the matter if Quentin had betrayed her or not, but the suspicion burnt within her. She was pretty sure, and perhaps it might have been better to know the full truth. She would be able to start afresh, instead of continually fretting inside. Instead of doubting his every gesture or word. She had thought about leaving him several times after her suspicions, the secret messages he received on his phone and immediately erased. She also caught him getting too close to that blonde chick in the marketing department where he was working, but nothing definitive.

  Her mind drifted back to Anders, that short space of time together had made her feel alive. She panicked. On the one hand, there was Quentin who wanted to start over and on the other Anders, who had her mind wondering about the possibility of an unexpected adventure. If only the bastard would answer the damn phone, she thought.

  You have to dare, said Logan’s voice in her head.

  She picked up the phone and dialled the number. Again, Anders didn’t answer.

  She had to face Quentin.

  CHAPTER 14

  ‘What do you mean she hasn’t signed yet,’ asked Price in a peremptory tone. He was on the second floor in the same bank that Amelia was now the principal shareholder in, a spacious office looking right on the Boardwalk.

  ‘She decided not to sign and took the documentation with her, to analyse it without hurry,’ said the clerk.

  ‘And why wasn’t I told sooner?’ pressed Price.

  ‘I don’t know, sir, I can check with the legal department? Maybe they didn’t think a small delay would be an issue, given it was a Saturday,’ said the clerk, who suddenly seemed extremely interested in the tips of his shoes.

  ‘All right, you can go,’ said Price. Clueless people, he thought as soon as the employee was gone, they had only one job to do, make her sign those bloody documents; he would take care of the rest later, but that was a mishap he did not expect. Amelia was supposed to sign and then ignore any matter related to her family as she’d done since she was a teenager. On the contrary, this abrupt change of mind was going to change everything and maintaining control over the bank would be a problem.

  Price began pacing around the room. Gaining full control of the bank was necessary to continue to work with the Russian mafia. There were accounts for hundreds of millions, and in addition to those, the mafia’s personal accounts. The bank wouldn’t stop without a defined owner but moving the slush funds would be riskier. And the clients he operated with did not tolerate delays or errors.

  He took an encrypted phone and dialled a number he had memorised years earlier.

  ‘We need to meet,’ he said.

  ‘Are there any problems?’

  ‘Some, requiring your skills.’

  ‘How many people?’ asked the woman on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Only one. It should look like an accident.’

  ‘They always look like an accident, that’s why you pay me a fortune,’ said the woman confidently. ‘Bring the dossier and half of the payment.’

  ‘All right.’

  Money, always money. Everybody asking for damn money. The Russians never had enough, his wife was possibly the worst and every day she found new, creative ways to spend it as if she did it deliberately to anger him. The killers cost a fortune, and a man with a little ambition had to navigate through all those obstacles to achieve some minimal result.

  The Russians wouldn’t have waited much longer, despite Price’s attempts to stall.

  ****

  That evening, Amelia arrived deliberately late to her meeting at the Gotika. Quentin was already seated at a corner table and was savouring a local beer. He stood up when he saw her enter and the waiter accompanied her to the table.

  ‘Amelia, you look wonderful,’ he said watching her and dwelling for a moment too long on her breasts, before helping her to sit. That was Quentin; knowing how to be a gentleman and a cheating bastard at the same time.

  ‘Do not exaggerate, this is one of my usual work outfits.’ She taunted, shifting her focus onto the inside of the restaurant, which was oddly uncrowded.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t attend Romanov’s funeral, I know he was a family friend,’ said Quentin sensing that Amelia did not wish to speak about herself. Not yet.

  And instead Amelia answered simply, ‘No big deal.’ And then, ‘He’s underground now.’

  ‘I never had an affair, you know?’

  Amelia felt her heart lurch. She was still in love and being in his presence made her wish she could smash a fist into his grinning face. Or make love to him.

  God, let’s hope he didn’t notice, she thought. Quentin could read her like an open book, or at least he was able to do so until a few months before.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you did it or not. It’s what I’m convinced of that does matter.’

  ‘What did you do during our break?’

  What had she done? She was ready to answer but a waiter came to take their orders. This gave Amelia time to think about it some more. About the previous month and the one before, the fact that in love truth is never essential, but how we perceive things is.

  They ordered a seafood appetiser and a main meat course. In that, they had not changed, always choosing the same dishes from the menu, independently. Two people so different, sharing the same tastes.

  Quentin poured the wine and, once he reposed the bottle, he grazed Amelia’s hand; she did not flinch. They were such large hands, strong-willed, which had caressed her and had been caressed countless times. For only an instant she compared him to Anders, also fairly muscular in body but with a sadness which ran through his eyes. She understood she could remain infatuated by two such different people, although one belonged to the past and to her real life while the other was just a dream, a wish. She wanted to leave with the urge to call Anders, once again, and resisted a
lmost for a whole minute, only to retrace her steps.

  ‘Do you mind if I go outside a moment for a smoke?’

  ‘I thought you’d given up, it’s a bad habit,’ said Quentin watching her putting her jacket on.

  ‘Only one per day. I usually smoke it when I have to sort things out.’

  ‘I never took you for someone who needs excuses for smoking.’

  ‘I don’t need an excuse,’ said Amelia crankily, ‘I was just informing you.’ And having said she he walked toward the exit.

  The need for a cigarette was real, but the urge to call Anders was even stronger. She lit it in a hurry and tried the number again. As usual, no answer. Damn it, why do people get a phone if they are never at home, she thought. And who nowadays does not have a mobile phone or at least voicemail.

  Angrily, she put the phone in her coat pocket, she cursed silently for not being more insistent and went back to the pub.

  They kept talking like two old friends even though they both knew they were lying to each other. When Quentin kissed her, suddenly and by surprise, just outside the restaurant, Amelia let herself go between those strong arms that huddled her close not wanting to let her go.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not going to do this!’ she said, wriggling out of his arms and stepping away from him.

  ‘Amelia… I thought…’

  ‘You thought wrong. Sorry but I’m going.’ Of one thing Amelia was sure, she didn’t want Quentin. There was too much history between them, of the wrong kind.

  ‘May I call you later?’

  ‘No, Quentin. I was wrong in coming here, I just realised that.’

  She didn’t wait for a reply. She walked away without a backward glance. She only stopped for a second when she reached the seafront to take a deep breath.

  Anders, where are you? she thought.

  CHAPTER 15

  Marcus Splinter was ‘the hook’.

  He had now reached sixty years of age and had been in jail a few times. On other occasions, he had been very close to it. Marcus was fluent in four languages, and he could have done any job he wanted to choose, but instead, he dedicated himself to scamming people. Educated at Eton and with a degree in literature from the University of Cambridge, he had stopped working after two weeks in his first job. Working in an office didn’t suit him and despite always appearing calm and in control, the tales of the unexpected was what made him feel alive. It didn’t matter if they were short cons for some quick money or the long haul ones that could provide hundreds of thousands of pounds; given a choice though, he preferred the second. Feeling the adrenaline flowing in his veins and the challenge was what made him move.

  Instead of settling for the path decided by his parents, taking responsibilities in the family business and marry a nice girl he preferred a life of poker, frauds, and deceits.

  He was sitting in the restaurant of a downtown hotel pretending to read the menu while in fact he was carefully observing Robert Price, a banker in Brighton with access to numerous wealthy clients, sitting at a table next to him. He had discreetly followed Amelia Mortcombe and, thanks to a generous tip, a waiter had secured him a table next to the two.

  Price had complained of the impossibility of taking significant decisions without a definite direction, and Amelia had replied she wouldn’t make any decision until she’d cleared up all aspects of the bank. When she informed her brother-in-law about the millions of pounds which had disappeared into the ether, the man became pale; he promised to open an internal investigation, but anyone could see that this information had troubled him deeply. The time for pleasantries had long gone, like mist evaporating in the sun. The two were in open conflict. The woman’s accent was definitely Oxford, with a slight London inflexion, while Price was definitely American, Texas or probably one of the southern states; the latter spoke with that slow cadence typical of those states.

  The watchful eye of Splinter saw Price paying with a credit card, but without being noticed by his partner, not leaving even one pound of a tip. Amelia Mortcombe seemed an incorruptible person, driven by morals rather than by a desire for easy money, according to Splinter. Price was a very different story. He was a greedy man, anyone could see it from a mile away. Which made him an ideal target.

  Once Price and Amelia left the restaurant, two gentlemen sitting nearby began to comment.

  ‘Nice guy that.’

  ‘Who, the one that just left?’

  ‘That’s right, Price. My wife plays tennis at the same club as his wife. You wouldn’t believe the stories she has told me. Greedy, attached to money, like no other. His wife is related to those of the Mortcombe Bank, I believe she’s the owner’s daughter. That’s why she’s still able to do what she wants; otherwise, that guy would pass her money using an eyedropper. Such a miserable, stingy sod.’ They continued to talk and gossip, without noticing that Marcus Splinter was listening to every word of their conversation.

  When the two patrons left the restaurant, Splinter’s teammates approached him.

  The first was Hank, the brains of the gang who had waited near the bar and the second was Domino, an attractive woman but with an intellect that would be the envy of many.

  ‘Made any progress?’ Hank asked sitting at the table.

  ‘Not really,’ answered Splinter, ‘but from what I could see there are developments.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Domino.

  The group had laid eyes on Amelia Mortcombe during the previous weeks. A British tabloid had reported the news about the Mortcombe Bank and had done an article on the most beautiful heiress of Brighton.

  Intrigued, Marcus had done an internet search and had managed to find a variety of information. The father in a coma, the killing of the second-in-chief to the bank.

  ‘That well-dressed gentleman you ran into is Robert Price, brother-in-law of our beautiful victim and head of the department for private investments. A seriously greedy and unscrupulous guy if you ask me.’

  ‘So, we have a new target?’ asked Domino.

  ‘What makes you think he’s the right person to con?’ asked Hank, who had started reading the menu. He looked around in search of a waiter. The room was modern, and Brighton was slowly moving up the ladder regarding restaurants. A couple of them had already been awarded a Michelin star, and it clearly showed that the town was continually evolving, vibrating with novelty.

  ‘Just a hunch, I’m hardly wrong. I have seen many like Price. From what I heard of their conversation he’s not quite the half figure we had thought of. In fact, at the heart of the bank are the private accounts that are under his management. If I have to bet, he’s the one running the show. I have to work a bit to get more information, but it will take funds to hook him up. He was on a rampage, although he didn’t want to show it, for a shortfall of several million and because Amelia Mortcombe hasn’t taken possession of the bank yet.’

  ‘Then we forget about the woman?’ asked Domino sipping from the cup of hot tea. Brighton weather was inclement, and although it was sunny, the cold was much more intense than in London. She was not accustomed to it, despite heavy clothing.

  ‘Not yet. Let’s see how things evolve.’

  ‘What we have in cash shall be enough?’ asked Hank.

  ‘In my opinion, it’s going to take at least a million pound. Maybe more,’ said Splinter considering some options in his mind.

  ‘If it goes wrong, it’s going to leave us with our arses on the ground.’

  Hank managed the money to devote to frauds and often was the one who had the last word about a job, even for others who were not present at the meeting.

  ‘If this job goes all right, we can retire once and for all,’ mused Marcus aloud. The scams were his life, but somehow, he always failed to get the big one, the one that allowed him to forget about everything and retire in a tropical country drinking Martini by the sea aboard a yacht. Nobody would scam him out of his lifetime of earnings, nor would that happen to his teammates.

  ‘How do we pro
ceed, then?’ said Domino.

  ‘Cautiously,’ answered Splinter. ‘First, I have to hook Price; maybe we can even pull in Amelia Mortcombe, although at this point, I’m not convinced. I heard from some friends that she works with a Ryan Logan, and the guy, besides being one who knows how to spin money, has some skeletons in the closet. If I can’t convince him, we can blackmail him.’

  ‘And who is this Logan?’

  ‘He was known in London a while back. He worked in a law firm and apparently doing spells with accounting books. Things at a high level, for big companies who wanted to avoid paying too much tax. He has also spent several years in prison.’

  ‘Blackmailing could be a dangerous game.’

  ‘Are there any circumstances in which blackmailing is a safe option?’ said Splinter. ‘Can we trust him?’ asked Domino.

  ‘No, but we can control him, I wouldn’t worry too much,’ replied Splinter.

  He didn’t know how wrong he was.

  CHAPTER 16

  Amelia awoke at almost ten o’clock. She should already be in the office by that time, but the advantage of having her own law firm gave her the right to take days off whenever she wanted, even though it happened infrequently.

  She looked at the time on her phone and noticed a message. The number was unknown to her, and she hurried to open it.

  I saw that you called me. Try this number, I’m not often at home. Anders.

  Her heart skipped a few beats. First came the excitement and then the anger. If only Anders had answered before. Maybe she wouldn’t have wasted time with that loser, Quentin. And then why he hadn’t given her his mobile number straight away?

  Anders looked younger than her and nothing might have happened between the two, but somehow, she was intrigued by that man. Not that she was old herself, Amelia was just twenty-eight years old, but Anders was indefinable, he looked younger, but thinking about his confidence, the way he spoke, his angle in judging things, he seemed much more mature. She decided to respond. To hell with Quentin, she thought, if these things are not done when we have the chance, when we are old, or worse, dead, we no longer have time.