reason I got this job was because I speak Russian,’ said my next interviewee.
‘Well employing people for their language abilities isn’t so unusual. You sell motorized super yachts. Since the Saudi billionaire Prince Al Waleed publicized that he does most of his business from his super yacht, every self respecting Arab multi-millionaire wants one.’
‘Yes, but I deal only with Russians or CIS countries.’
‘Okay.’
‘These super yachts start a $4.5 million.’
‘Yes.’
I heard a sigh.
‘They only employed me because so many Russian speaking men kept walking in off the street with bags full of hard cash. It’s the bulk of our business.’
‘Ah.’
Chapter Nine
My next source would only speak face to face. He was a jumpy British bank manager working at a new offshore start up in the Arabian Business Park. He had just moved from an Asian offshore bank with a worldwide presence to his new role.
‘The things I could tell you about that last place,’ he said fiddling with a Mont Blanc pen, at pains to accidentally show me its expensive moniker.
‘Go on then, tell me.’
‘I can’t. It might get me in trouble.’
‘Nobody has to know it was you.’
‘Yes, but….’ he said raising his hands as if to say what can I do.
‘Which football team did you say you supported again?’
‘Spurs!’ he blurted out.
‘Tottenham Hotspur. Yeah. Good team. Remember Ossie Ardiles back in the old days?’
‘The good old days,’ he said, pointing the pen at me, the little boy on the terraces looking out through his adult eyes.
‘They haven’t had it so good lately have they?’
‘Well no, but….’
‘But they are plucky, and brave, they’ve got courage, you’ve got to give them that.’ I said prodding his pride gently.
He frowned and tried to work out if I’d just called him a coward.
‘You can stop patronizing me. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said and waited.
‘Promise you’ll hurt the fuckers.’
‘Well, that depends on what you tell me.’
‘I was bullied…’ he began, embarrassed by the admission.
‘Yes?’ I said, showing interest, but knowing it was hard to trust information from someone who left under a black cloud.
‘…by this silly little gobshite with a Napoleon complex. He liked to pretend he was an old Etonian, went to Oxford, that he was plugged into the British old boy network. But that was all bollocks of course, he’s as common as muck. James Lawrence, Jamie, Jimbo to his mates.’
I started to ask a question but was quickly cut off.
‘I mean what did he do that was so fucking special?’ he asked for me. ‘I’ll tell you. The miserable little worm married the ugliest daughter of a well connected Syrian family and used their influence to maneuver himself into a position of authority at the bank where I was working. And for that little favor he had to keep his new family and especially his new wife very happy.’
‘Let me guess, kids, big house, lots of money?’ I said.
‘You got it, if she was going to marry a foreigner they still had to make the right impression. He didn’t even like her. That much was obvious from all the tail he chased and the whores he charged to expenses. But they had an agreement, you see?’
‘No. Tell me.’
‘Well, in return for her overbearing family’s persuasive powers he would provide her with a certain amount of liberty and financial independence. They could then happily avoid each other's company.’
‘I see.’
‘Not quite. With her family’s help he brought in big clients and big money. That’s how I ended up working with him,’ he said, jabbing the air with his pen. ‘He took over a new platinum investment program for preferred customers that I created.’
‘‘So what happened?’
‘Well if a customer had $70,000 or more to invest or save over a fixed term they would receive exceptional annual returns of between 12 and 15%. When he took over that figure suddenly
‘Well employing people for their language abilities isn’t so unusual. You sell motorized super yachts. Since the Saudi billionaire Prince Al Waleed publicized that he does most of his business from his super yacht, every self respecting Arab multi-millionaire wants one.’
‘Yes, but I deal only with Russians or CIS countries.’
‘Okay.’
‘These super yachts start a $4.5 million.’
‘Yes.’
I heard a sigh.
‘They only employed me because so many Russian speaking men kept walking in off the street with bags full of hard cash. It’s the bulk of our business.’
‘Ah.’
Chapter Nine
My next source would only speak face to face. He was a jumpy British bank manager working at a new offshore start up in the Arabian Business Park. He had just moved from an Asian offshore bank with a worldwide presence to his new role.
‘The things I could tell you about that last place,’ he said fiddling with a Mont Blanc pen, at pains to accidentally show me its expensive moniker.
‘Go on then, tell me.’
‘I can’t. It might get me in trouble.’
‘Nobody has to know it was you.’
‘Yes, but….’ he said raising his hands as if to say what can I do.
‘Which football team did you say you supported again?’
‘Spurs!’ he blurted out.
‘Tottenham Hotspur. Yeah. Good team. Remember Ossie Ardiles back in the old days?’
‘The good old days,’ he said, pointing the pen at me, the little boy on the terraces looking out through his adult eyes.
‘They haven’t had it so good lately have they?’
‘Well no, but….’
‘But they are plucky, and brave, they’ve got courage, you’ve got to give them that.’ I said prodding his pride gently.
He frowned and tried to work out if I’d just called him a coward.
‘You can stop patronizing me. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said and waited.
‘Promise you’ll hurt the fuckers.’
‘Well, that depends on what you tell me.’
‘I was bullied…’ he began, embarrassed by the admission.
‘Yes?’ I said, showing interest, but knowing it was hard to trust information from someone who left under a black cloud.
‘…by this silly little gobshite with a Napoleon complex. He liked to pretend he was an old Etonian, went to Oxford, that he was plugged into the British old boy network. But that was all bollocks of course, he’s as common as muck. James Lawrence, Jamie, Jimbo to his mates.’
I started to ask a question but was quickly cut off.
‘I mean what did he do that was so fucking special?’ he asked for me. ‘I’ll tell you. The miserable little worm married the ugliest daughter of a well connected Syrian family and used their influence to maneuver himself into a position of authority at the bank where I was working. And for that little favor he had to keep his new family and especially his new wife very happy.’
‘Let me guess, kids, big house, lots of money?’ I said.
‘You got it, if she was going to marry a foreigner they still had to make the right impression. He didn’t even like her. That much was obvious from all the tail he chased and the whores he charged to expenses. But they had an agreement, you see?’
‘No. Tell me.’
‘Well, in return for her overbearing family’s persuasive powers he would provide her with a certain amount of liberty and financial independence. They could then happily avoid each other's company.’
‘I see.’
‘Not quite. With her family’s help he brought in big clients and big money. That’s how I ended up working with him,’ he said, jabbing the air with his pen. ‘He took over a new platinum investment program for preferred customers that I created.’
‘‘So what happened?’
‘Well if a customer had $70,000 or more to invest or save over a fixed term they would receive exceptional annual returns of between 12 and 15%. When he took over that figure suddenly
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