Alan stared blankly at his computer screen. The market report was finished and could now be sent to his full roster of clients. But did he want to send them this? The pampered GFS clients paid for, and expected, real insight, even prescience – information they could use to keep one step ahead of the herd; information that would enrich them. Today they were going to get a cut-and-paste job lifted from various free online sources and financial magazines. It was the best he could do. God he hated this job! He had real work to do! Where the hell was Warner!? No emails, texts or calls – Was she still fuming over Alan’s “performance” this morning? Get over it Warner!
Alan sent his report and leaned back in his chair. He still felt somewhat liverish but at least this was the home straight now. Or so he hoped; there had been several false-dawns this morning. Hangovers! They always looked like such fun.
‘Never again!’ he said to himself, rubbing some crust from his eyes. He departed his office and decided to check up on Tilly; maybe she’d like to join him for lunch. Assuming he could handle lunch himself.
Before he reached the admin section he decided to drop in on Jim Fairclough who had finally moved into Bruce’s office and was busy rearranging the office furniture when Alan knocked on his door.
‘Alan!’ declared Fairclough enthusiastically, ‘come in! come in!’
This guy was so different from the taciturn and distant Bruce, but Alan still didn’t like him.
‘I’m glad you’ve popped in. I was just about to grab lunch. Fancy joining me!?’
‘Sounds great! Thanks!’
Fairclough and Alan departed GFS and strode out into the sunlit park at the heart of Finsbury Circus.
‘Ever thought of taking up bowls, Alan?’ remarked Fairclough, indicating the bowling green now recently restored to the centre.
‘I’ve never given it any thought’, replied Alan, truthfully, ‘this place has been a Crossrail building site for as long as I’ve been here.’
‘Ah yes, glad I missed all that! It’ll soon be back to its former glory. Though it is lacking something, mature foliage, perhaps.’
‘Whiffs a bit,’ noted Alan, screwing up his face.
‘Yeah, there must be a sewer outlet around here. I think this heat is fermenting something down there. Let’s get out of here, I know a great sandwich and sushi bar.’
‘Chances are it’s the one I usually go to. Where did you work before, Jim?’
‘Just over there: Tower 42 they call it now, but it’s still the NatWest Tower to me.’
It turned out that it was the same sushi bar. And quite probable that both Alan and Fairclough had frequented it in the past at the same time. Fairclough explained how he’d run a similar outfit to GFS but from within a merchant bank. He’d been laid off six months earlier and was notified of the GFS vacancy via a recruitment agency.
‘That was remarkably fast, though, Jim. When did they interview you!?’
‘There was no interview. I was just informed by the agency on Monday evening. They needed a manager to run GFS and if I could start on Tuesday morning they’d take me! … So I said: “yes, thank you, thank you very much!”’
Alan listened as Jim then unburdened himself of all the typical stresses associated with starting a new job. It wasn’t particularly interesting, but Alan was becoming curious about the actual recruitment itself. He knew so little about GFS, he realized. The police had pointed out, to his great surprise, that GFS was not a subsidiary of anything; so the ‘division supervisor’, and Mr. Harman for that matter, didn’t work for a real corporate entity. Maybe they were just “thawed out” when needed. It explained why the supervisor could not be identified.
Alan had never paid much attention to the internal structure of his company but he had always assumed that above him was Bruce and above Bruce were the Sponsors. But the Sponsors had merely used GFS; they never formally owned it. So who did?
Jim started talking about purely financial matters and Alan decided to change the subject:
‘Jim, this is going to sound strange, but after I gave my police statement yesterday, they pulled me in for further questioning.’
‘I’m sure it’s just routine, Alan. The deaths occurred all over London. Ghastly business!’
‘No, it’s not that, it concerns the division supervisor, one of the deceased, along with Bruce Claxton.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, are you under the impression that we – GFS – are part of a division, or are a subsidiary of another company?’
‘I’m still trying to get my feet under the table. To be honest I am more interested in the work you do, Alan. You’ve built up quite a client list! I wanted to talk to you about–’
‘Sorry to cut you off, Jim, but the police had serious questions concerning Global Finance Sponsorship’s ownership and structure.’
Jim looked perplexed: ‘How long have you worked for GFS, Alan?’
‘Yep, long enough to know these things, but, I don’t. I just kept my head down. My only superior was Bruce Claxton.’
‘And this division supervisor…’
‘Yes, – a man who advised Bruce but who has eluded identification. He has no employment record, nothing! You can see there is an issue here, can’t you?’
In his eagerness to avoid any money-talk Alan had possibly just opened a can of worms with all this. But the questions existed anyway, and the police wanted the answers. If he had access to the psynet he could clear this up in no time, but for all he knew that had gone now.
‘Hmm,’ said Fairclough, finishing off his lunch, ‘I think we should clarify all this when we get back, don’t you? I’m sure admin can put us straight.’
They won’t know who the division supervisor was, thought Alan, but this could be interesting, nonetheless.
‘Yes, Jim. What harm could it do to find out, eh!?’
Alan and Fairclough returned to GFS after lunch and headed straight to the administration section to seek answers. Alan was happy to let his boss take the lead while he flirted with Tilly. Fairclough quickly came up with the answer:
‘Sponsor Holdings,’ he declared, reading from a file.
‘Who owns that?’ asked Alan.
No one knew offhand but a quick check online gave the answer. It shocked Jim Fairclough almost as much as it did Alan.
‘Helen Warner!’
***