Read Online Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game by John Dysart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Dysart
Ads: Link
to us.
“Mrs Hetherington, nice to see you here,” said the colleague, taking her by the arm and leading her away from me.
At the same time the other man addressed himself to me. Looking at my name badge which I had not yet had time to hand in he said, “Mr Bruce, may I introduce myself. David Firkin. I work for Mr Purdy at AIM. I hope you enjoyed the conference.”
It was clearly a manoeuvre planned to break up our little conversation. My guess was that Purdy didn’t want me talking to Alice. The question was “Why?”.
Chapter 7
It was immediately clear to me that Purdy had sent his henchman over to find out who I was and what, if anything, I thought I was up to. He could not afford to show that he was upset by my question.
“I found it very interesting,” I said. “Are you an investor, or a potential investor?” he asked, looking again at my badge.
“I’m semi-retired,” I answered. “I came along because I have several clients whose money I look after. The kind of people that AIM seems to be interested in. So I thought I’d find out what you have to offer.”
“Interesting. Have you got ten minutes? I could perhaps give you some more insight into our approach if you have the time and, if you think it worth it, we could arrange a more formal meeting later. Do you live in Edinburgh?”
“No. I live over in Fife in a small village called Letham. Do you know it?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Look, we have some meeting rooms here. Why don’t we take five minutes if you’re not in a hurry?”
It was a good salesman’s pitch and I decided to go along with it. Perhaps I’d learn a bit more.
Firkin’s colleague had by now joined us, having helped Alice on her way and we repaired to a small meeting room just off the lobby.
The room had been set up for just such eventualities. There was a table in the centre with six chairs around it. There was a jug of coffee, cups and biscuits on a buffet standing against the wall. The view from the window down Princes Street was magnificent.
“Coffee? Let’s sit down.” Firkin’s colleague, who was so far nameless, pulled out a chair for me and I took my place. He sat down opposite me and Firkin brought us three coffees. “No Name” looked about thirty. He was fairly big and muscular and, although he was dressed as all the others in a grey suit, shirt and tie, none of these things looked as if they belonged to him. He didn’t look like a young investment banker. He seemed to me more like a scrubbed up truck driver. But then appearances can be misleading, as Dad had always told me.
We chatted generally for a while. Firkin gave me the pitch about the personal approach to investing – the fact that AIM specialised in advice to suit individual circumstances. He was smooth, but there was no doubt he was trying to wheedle out of me as much information about myself as he could. How many clients? About a dozen. What kind of investment amounts? On average about a couple of hundred thousand. Where did my clients come from? All over the place – mostly in the country or in smaller towns. I kept away from the big cities.
No Name was taking notes, laboriously. His pen didn’t really seem at home in his large hand but he was making a valiant effort.
After about ten minutes I had had enough and said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. I have a train to catch in fifteen minutes.”
“No problem. It was really nice meeting you and don’t hesitate to call me next time you come through to Edinburgh and perhaps we can have lunch and discuss what AIM can do for your clients.”
I got up and turned towards the door.
“Just before you go, Mr Bruce . . .”
I turned back. “I presume you are who you say you are, but, if by any chance you are not, I would be a bit more careful about the way you ask questions in a public conference.”
Firkin said this with a smile. No Name had stood up, towering above his colleague by a good six inches, flexing his fingers after
“Mrs Hetherington, nice to see you here,” said the colleague, taking her by the arm and leading her away from me.
At the same time the other man addressed himself to me. Looking at my name badge which I had not yet had time to hand in he said, “Mr Bruce, may I introduce myself. David Firkin. I work for Mr Purdy at AIM. I hope you enjoyed the conference.”
It was clearly a manoeuvre planned to break up our little conversation. My guess was that Purdy didn’t want me talking to Alice. The question was “Why?”.
Chapter 7
It was immediately clear to me that Purdy had sent his henchman over to find out who I was and what, if anything, I thought I was up to. He could not afford to show that he was upset by my question.
“I found it very interesting,” I said. “Are you an investor, or a potential investor?” he asked, looking again at my badge.
“I’m semi-retired,” I answered. “I came along because I have several clients whose money I look after. The kind of people that AIM seems to be interested in. So I thought I’d find out what you have to offer.”
“Interesting. Have you got ten minutes? I could perhaps give you some more insight into our approach if you have the time and, if you think it worth it, we could arrange a more formal meeting later. Do you live in Edinburgh?”
“No. I live over in Fife in a small village called Letham. Do you know it?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Look, we have some meeting rooms here. Why don’t we take five minutes if you’re not in a hurry?”
It was a good salesman’s pitch and I decided to go along with it. Perhaps I’d learn a bit more.
Firkin’s colleague had by now joined us, having helped Alice on her way and we repaired to a small meeting room just off the lobby.
The room had been set up for just such eventualities. There was a table in the centre with six chairs around it. There was a jug of coffee, cups and biscuits on a buffet standing against the wall. The view from the window down Princes Street was magnificent.
“Coffee? Let’s sit down.” Firkin’s colleague, who was so far nameless, pulled out a chair for me and I took my place. He sat down opposite me and Firkin brought us three coffees. “No Name” looked about thirty. He was fairly big and muscular and, although he was dressed as all the others in a grey suit, shirt and tie, none of these things looked as if they belonged to him. He didn’t look like a young investment banker. He seemed to me more like a scrubbed up truck driver. But then appearances can be misleading, as Dad had always told me.
We chatted generally for a while. Firkin gave me the pitch about the personal approach to investing – the fact that AIM specialised in advice to suit individual circumstances. He was smooth, but there was no doubt he was trying to wheedle out of me as much information about myself as he could. How many clients? About a dozen. What kind of investment amounts? On average about a couple of hundred thousand. Where did my clients come from? All over the place – mostly in the country or in smaller towns. I kept away from the big cities.
No Name was taking notes, laboriously. His pen didn’t really seem at home in his large hand but he was making a valiant effort.
After about ten minutes I had had enough and said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. I have a train to catch in fifteen minutes.”
“No problem. It was really nice meeting you and don’t hesitate to call me next time you come through to Edinburgh and perhaps we can have lunch and discuss what AIM can do for your clients.”
I got up and turned towards the door.
“Just before you go, Mr Bruce . . .”
I turned back. “I presume you are who you say you are, but, if by any chance you are not, I would be a bit more careful about the way you ask questions in a public conference.”
Firkin said this with a smile. No Name had stood up, towering above his colleague by a good six inches, flexing his fingers after
Similar Books
