Read Online Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less by Jeffrey Archer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeffrey Archer
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Psychological, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Swindlers and Swindling, Revenge, Extortion, Securities Fraud
Ads: Link
thirty-five
thousand shares in a company called Discovery Oil.”
“Have you checked carefully into this
company?” enquired Izard.
“Yes, of course I have,” said Lord Brigsley
very sharply. He was not in awe of the bank managerial class.
In Boston, Harvey Metcalfe was briefed over
the telephone by Silverstein of the meeting in Annabel’s between David Kesler
and a nameless contact who appeared to have more money than sense. Harvey
released 40,000 shares onto the market at $8.80. Williams & Glyn’s took up
35,000 of them and, once again, the remainder was taken up by small investors.
The shares rose a little. Harvey Metcalfe was now left with only 30,000 shares,
and over the next four days he was able to dispose of them all. It had taken
fourteen weeks to offload his entire stock in Discovery Oil at a profit of just
over $6 million.
On the Friday morning, the shares stood at
$9.10 and Kesler had, in all innocence, occasioned four large investments:
Stephen Bradley had bought 40,000 shares at $6.10. Dr. Adrian Tryner had bought
35,000 shares at $7.23. Jean Pierre Lamanns had bought 25,000 shares at $7.80.
James Brigsley had bought 35,000 shares at $8.80. David Kesler himself had
bought 500 shares at $7.25. Between them they had purchased 135,500 shares at
an investment of just over $1 million. They had also kept the interest alive by
their investment, giving Harvey the chance to offload all his shares in a
natural market.
Harvey Metcalfe had done it again. His name
was not on the letter paper and now he owned no shares. Nobody was going to be
able to fix any blame on him. He had done nothing illegal; even the geologist’s
report had enough ifs and buts to get by a court of law. As for David Kesler,
Harvey could not be blamed for his youthful enthusiasm. He had never even met
the man. Harvey Metcalfe opened a bottle of Krug 1964, imported by Hedges &
Butler of London. He sipped it slowly and lit a Romeo y Julieta Churchill.
Harvey settled back for a mild celebration.
David, Stephen, Adrian, Jean Pierre and
James celebrated the weekend as well. Why not? The shares were at $9.10 and
David had assured them they would reach $20. On Saturday morning, David ordered
himself a custom-made suit from Aquascutum, Stephen tut-tutted his way through
the end-of-vacation examination papers he had set his freshman pupils, Adrian
went to his sons’ prep school to watch them taking part in their school Sports
Day, Jean Pierre reframed a Renoir and James Brigsley went shooting, convinced
at last he had one in the eye for his father.
Chapter 3
D avid arrived at the office at nine o’clock
on the Monday morning to find the front door locked, which he could not understand.
The secretaries were supposed to be in by eight forty-five.
After waiting for over an hour, he went to
the nearest telephone box and dialled Bernie Silverstein’s home number. There
was no reply. He then rang Richard Elliott at home–again, no reply. He rang the
Aberdeen office. As before, no reply. He decided to
return to the office. There must be some simple explanation, he thought. Was he
daydreaming or was it Sunday? No–the streets were jammed with people and cars.
When he arrived at the office for a second
time a young man was putting up a board.
2,500 sq. ft. to let. Apply Conrad Ritblat.
“What in hell’s name are you up to?”
“The old tenants have given notice and left.
We shall be looking for new ones. Are you interested in seeing over the
property?”
“No,” said David, “no thank you, ” backing away in panic. He raced down the street, sweat
beginning to show on his forehead, praying that the telephone box would be
empty.
He looked up Bernie Silverstein’s secretary,
Judith Lampson, in the directory. This time there was a reply.
“Judith, in God’s name what’s going on here?”
His voice could have left no doubt how anxious he was.
“No idea,” replied Judith. “I was given my
notice on Friday night with a month’s pay in
thousand shares in a company called Discovery Oil.”
“Have you checked carefully into this
company?” enquired Izard.
“Yes, of course I have,” said Lord Brigsley
very sharply. He was not in awe of the bank managerial class.
In Boston, Harvey Metcalfe was briefed over
the telephone by Silverstein of the meeting in Annabel’s between David Kesler
and a nameless contact who appeared to have more money than sense. Harvey
released 40,000 shares onto the market at $8.80. Williams & Glyn’s took up
35,000 of them and, once again, the remainder was taken up by small investors.
The shares rose a little. Harvey Metcalfe was now left with only 30,000 shares,
and over the next four days he was able to dispose of them all. It had taken
fourteen weeks to offload his entire stock in Discovery Oil at a profit of just
over $6 million.
On the Friday morning, the shares stood at
$9.10 and Kesler had, in all innocence, occasioned four large investments:
Stephen Bradley had bought 40,000 shares at $6.10. Dr. Adrian Tryner had bought
35,000 shares at $7.23. Jean Pierre Lamanns had bought 25,000 shares at $7.80.
James Brigsley had bought 35,000 shares at $8.80. David Kesler himself had
bought 500 shares at $7.25. Between them they had purchased 135,500 shares at
an investment of just over $1 million. They had also kept the interest alive by
their investment, giving Harvey the chance to offload all his shares in a
natural market.
Harvey Metcalfe had done it again. His name
was not on the letter paper and now he owned no shares. Nobody was going to be
able to fix any blame on him. He had done nothing illegal; even the geologist’s
report had enough ifs and buts to get by a court of law. As for David Kesler,
Harvey could not be blamed for his youthful enthusiasm. He had never even met
the man. Harvey Metcalfe opened a bottle of Krug 1964, imported by Hedges &
Butler of London. He sipped it slowly and lit a Romeo y Julieta Churchill.
Harvey settled back for a mild celebration.
David, Stephen, Adrian, Jean Pierre and
James celebrated the weekend as well. Why not? The shares were at $9.10 and
David had assured them they would reach $20. On Saturday morning, David ordered
himself a custom-made suit from Aquascutum, Stephen tut-tutted his way through
the end-of-vacation examination papers he had set his freshman pupils, Adrian
went to his sons’ prep school to watch them taking part in their school Sports
Day, Jean Pierre reframed a Renoir and James Brigsley went shooting, convinced
at last he had one in the eye for his father.
Chapter 3
D avid arrived at the office at nine o’clock
on the Monday morning to find the front door locked, which he could not understand.
The secretaries were supposed to be in by eight forty-five.
After waiting for over an hour, he went to
the nearest telephone box and dialled Bernie Silverstein’s home number. There
was no reply. He then rang Richard Elliott at home–again, no reply. He rang the
Aberdeen office. As before, no reply. He decided to
return to the office. There must be some simple explanation, he thought. Was he
daydreaming or was it Sunday? No–the streets were jammed with people and cars.
When he arrived at the office for a second
time a young man was putting up a board.
2,500 sq. ft. to let. Apply Conrad Ritblat.
“What in hell’s name are you up to?”
“The old tenants have given notice and left.
We shall be looking for new ones. Are you interested in seeing over the
property?”
“No,” said David, “no thank you, ” backing away in panic. He raced down the street, sweat
beginning to show on his forehead, praying that the telephone box would be
empty.
He looked up Bernie Silverstein’s secretary,
Judith Lampson, in the directory. This time there was a reply.
“Judith, in God’s name what’s going on here?”
His voice could have left no doubt how anxious he was.
“No idea,” replied Judith. “I was given my
notice on Friday night with a month’s pay in
Similar Books
