Thom Lewis paced impatiently back and forth on the third level of the parking garage. Not a breath of wind blew through the concrete structure, and the stagnant air was rife with the smell of exhaust fumes and motor oil. He wasn’t accustomed to being summoned to meetings and certainly didn’t abide tardiness, even if it was the senior partner of Williams & Teacher.
Adding to his frustration was the information Lenny Mansfield dropped in his lap that morning. With the Asian markets in turmoil, he hated to waste time on a trivial security concern of Lenny’s. But he’d already put-off meeting with the security man for two days; he quickly wished he hadn’t.
Now, Ambrose Sinclair requested to meet. ‘Extremely vital,’ he’d emphasised on the phone. He could picture Sinclair punching the air with an index figure to accentuate the point as he spat the words into the phone. But, he thought, wasn’t it always the case with Sinclair? Why he let the man get under his skin was a puzzle, and his inability to control the situation a further irritant.
The pall of carbon monoxide continued to swirl around him, and he could sense the first inklings of a headache. He just wished Sinclair would show, the sooner to get the meeting over with the better. Thanks to Lenny and the information he’d dumped in his lap, important decisions needed to be made.
Thom glanced up from checking his watch to see a sleek black Mercedes-Maybach S600 swing into view from the level below. It glided to a stop, and he quickly opened the rear door.
Ambrose Sinclair sat on the far side of the lavish back seat; the richly-grained leather upholstery let out a small squeak as Thom Lewis slid into the seat beside him.
Glad you could join me on such short notice.
I didn’t know I had a choice, Ambrose.
Take us down towards Frankston would you, Grigor. And on the beach road, please. The bay will look splendid on a beautiful day such as this.
The driver then raised the partition between front and back seats, and with the dark tinted windows, the two men sat in an eerily dark and silent cocoon. Thom breathed deeply of the fresh, cool, circulating air and hoped it sufficient to quell the pounding in his temples.
I don’t have time for a scenic drive, Ambrose.
Yes… you do, Thom. And you’ll also make time for this conversation. But before we get started, how is business? Our friends in Spain were enquiring as to how their investment was coming along.
Thom stared out the window as the Mercedes cruised by the shops on Toorak Road. So, this is how it’s going to be, he thought. Sinclair, letting him know who’s in charge. Like a dog pissing on a lamppost to mark his territory.
When his bank ran into financial difficulties a few years back, Ambrose Sinclair offered to help find interim funding to keep it afloat. At the time, the loan from the private Spanish bank saved the bank from insolvency. Now, it hung like an anchor around his neck, and with Sinclair in position to tug gently on the chain whenever he desired.
A more submissive Thom answered.
Grigor turned left onto Punt Road and headed south towards St Kilda Junction. Midday traffic was unusually heavy with commuters leaving work early to get a head-start on the Easter weekend. With the Mercedes mired in traffic, Thom stared blankly at the progress of two female joggers across the road in Fawkner Park.
Sinclair turned slightly towards Thom and crossed left leg over right.
Not the question Thom expected.
For the next 20 minutes, a silent Thom listened as Sinclair laid out what he’d discovered: The attempted hack on the firm’s infrastructure. The successful hack of Garth O’Neal’s workstation. What files were compromised and for what purpose was still unclear. But when digging deeper, the little Sinclair unearthed within Garth’s archives was bad enough. He shared with Thom the role Eric played in Garth’s little scheme. The hospice fraud. The offshore accounts. The shell corporations.
Ambrose Sinclair wasn’t yet able to put a dollar figure to the pair’s little undertaking, but Thom had a very good idea. Utilising the information received from Lenny Mansfield, he’d researched each of the accounts brought to his attention. Thom, at first glance, merely thought he’d a nosy assistant on his hands, now he knew it went much deeper.
So, what you’re telling me is Eric and Garth are defrauding the patients at the hospice, as well as the Australian government?
Correct, Thom. Fraudulent accounts from which they are syphoning off funds to their offshore accounts.
Ambrose let those words sink in for a moment. In the silence, Thom noted the pressing pain in his skull tick up a notch. And, with this dire situation sinking in, doubted it would subside anytime soon.
Thom took a deep breath and realised it best he be upfront with his business partner and benefactor.
They’d reached the Ormond Esplanade, and as Ambrose peered out across the bay’s vista he contemplated how much he should share with Thom Lewis. He watched a seagull circle overhead, before diving kamikaze style toward the shallows.
All or nothing, he thought.
Because that is precisely what he does for my firm. His speciality is setting up offshore accounts and tax havens for our clients. What his motivation is, I can’t say. To hazard a guess, I’d say he’s tired of hiding hundreds of millions on behalf of our clients and only receiving a pittance in return. And, Eric’s motivation?
Easy. He’s just flat-out greedy. It’s what I’ve always liked about him. I just didn’t know he’d be so fucking stupid to put both himself and the bank at risk.
Grigor slowed the Mercedes, turned right into the foreshore reserve at Brighton Beach and parked facing the bay. The small lot empty but for one other vehicle; an unoccupied black Toyota ten parking spaces away.
The two men headed north along the shoreline trail. Ahead, in the distance, the Melbourne skyline appeared to rise from the water, shimmering in the sun’s glare.
Thom blanched at the statement’s delivery. The level of disdain palpable, so matter-of-fact and dismissive.
Ambrose threw his head back and let loose an enormous laugh which shook his entire body. An elderly lady walking her dog along the foreshore turned in their direction. Her Irish Setter paid them no mind and continued to lope ahead through the shallows.
Ambrose resumed his measured pace along the trail, Thom a half a step behind trying not to look submissive in the man’s wake.
The next question is how best to deal with Eric? For obvious reasons, the police cannot get wind of this. You must keep Eric on a short leash until the fraudulent accounts are expunged and the damage he’s caused mitigated. Then, once the dust settles, he needs to disappear. He is a liability who cannot be allowed to remain in plain view.
Okay, Ambrose. I’ll make the necessary personnel changes, but my over-riding priority is to ensure as little upheaval as possible within the bank. I won’t abide seeing the Southern Cross brand dragged through the mud; it’s involvement in this affair can’t become fodder for the vultures in the press.
Ambrose came to a halt, leant forward to grip one of the wooden rails marking the trail and looked out over the water. Thom noticed the elderly lawyer’s face turning a light shade of crimson. Like a storm building on the horizon.
Thom stood firm, gazing out to sea, but inwardly the implications of Ambrose’s words began to find their mark. He could feel his command of events slipping from his grasp, his body shrinking in upon itself.
The next words spoken were measured and forceful, like a knife to Thom’s heart.
As the import of his words hit home, Ambrose turned from the forlorn banker and gazed out over the bay. He gulped in large amounts of the fresh sea air to calm his breathing. He could taste the salt on his tongue, and the smell of decaying marine life filled his nostrils.
Turning back, Ambrose switched to a more soothing tone.
They’d completed a circuit of the trail and stopped a few metres from the Mercedes. To Thom’s right stood a sandstone memorial to those fallen in the Great War. He swallowed hard trying to summon just one ounce of their courage. He knew he’d fall far short.
I’ll take care of this situation immediately.
Good, then I fully expect we can put this nasty matter behind us.
Grigor held the rear door open, and while Ambrose folded one leg inside the cabin, Thom spoke.
Driving back to the city, Thom shared the additional information provided earlier by his security chief. Ambrose’s response to the news of a further leak was subdued but not unexpected.
Thom stared out the tinted windows and watched the beachside suburbs slide by; Brighton, Elwood, St Kilda. While waiting for a green light at Carlisle Street, he attempted to order his thoughts. He was in danger of losing everything, and his mind a jumble of conflicted emotions searching for a coherent plan of action.
Across the street, the huge, gaping, grin of the clown’s mouth guarding the entrance to Luna Park seemed to mock him and the pure folly of his actions.