Chapter 8
Although I was by no means sure of the protocol with whistleblowing, I did half expect to receive a phone call whilst I was in Glasgow, acknowledging my accusations and treating them with the utmost importance. After all, investigations needed to be carried out and heads would roll or so I thought.
When I arrived at work on the Monday not a word was spoken. Managers who usually muttered a greeting kept their heads down pretending to be engaged by a devilishly important stationary cupboard whilst I knew something was awry when even Katrina failed to acknowledge me. She was many things but at least she welcomed you in the morning, regardless of how false it was.
Waiting in my inbox was a calendar invite from a HR executive for a meeting that same hour. Katrina had been invited, so too her boss and her boss’s boss and three other people who I’d never even heard of before but after a quick inspection of the intranet, it seemed the bigwigs from Legal, Human Resources and Compliance would all be attending.
They were taking my accusations rather seriously I perceived and consequentially the nerves started to kick in. When I sent the email I knew I would be asked to justify it to some extent but I never expected the Spanish inquisition; maybe a couple of conversations with one or two people asking for an explanation of the situation but I presumed once the cat was out of the bag the bigwigs would take over and move me aside, investigate without me, after all I wasn’t needed to prove what had gone on, it was plain for all to see.
Months later I would realise I was supposed to be accompanied by a witness of my choice, someone impartial who would be able to provide a truthful account of what went on that day but even though it was a mandatory requirement, there was no mention of this in the initial email from HR or when I walked through the door of the meeting room on my lonesome. I wasn’t to know at the time though and I guess I still believed in truth and honour and all that noble stuff so I settled into the hot seat with my back perspiring and seven sets of eyes piercing through my skull, apprehensive about the grilling I was soon to receive but never once doubting that the right action would eventually be taken and I would be deemed a pioneer for my willingness to speak up.
“Hello Terence, thank you for joining us today,” said the Head of HR, although he never had the courtesy to introduce himself. He reminded me of the cartoon character Penfold, due to his rotund face, round black glasses and thinning hair. “We want to talk to you about a very serious matter which has recently come to our attention,” Penfold continued.
I was well aware of the serious matter, I thought, after all I had been the one to bring it to their attention but his tone seemed very formal and rather defensive for my liking.
“Well, yes I know it’s serious but I thought it was the right thing to do,” I told him.
“The right thing to do you say?” Penfold replied.
“Yes...don’t you think so?” I asked anxious as hell, moisture oozing down my spine, determined to follow through with what I had started.
“No Terence, I don’t.” He paused. “I don’t think that sending three thousand two hundred and fifty two personal emails and being the recipient of three thousand and ninety nine in the past year is the right thing to do.”
“I...” I was a bit taken aback to the say the least. How many emails? What did emails have to do with anything? “I’m not sure I follow,” I said, completely stumped.
“Terence, during the hours which you have been employed by Clays Bank, instead of carrying out such duties that are in your contract, you have actively been using this time to socialise via email. From what we have compiled you have sent three thousand two hundred and fifty two personal emails to a variety of addresses and have received three thousand and ninety nine personal correspondence in return. We take this matter very seriously.”
“Are we not here to discuss the email I sent last week?” I asked; dumbfounded.
“Well, I guess there is an email from last week,” Penfold said, sharp as a tack, “but it would take me quite some time to pick it out amongst all the others.”
“You know what I mean,” I said, becoming angry with the direction he was heading, “the email about the violations, about breaking FCA rules. You know the email I am referring to.”
“Terence, we are aware of that email which will be dealt with as a separate matter but for now we are here to discuss the breach of your contract.”
“The breach of my contract?” I replied, agitated.
“Yes. Your contract states that emails should only be used for correspondence regarding work matters. Now, we understand the majority of employees will, from time to time, use their company email account for personal reasons, which is understandable, I admit to doing it myself, but what we cannot tolerate is someone using it to the magnitude that you have.”
To be fair, he had a point. I did use my email quite extensively but, in my defence, it was never at the expense of my work. Still, I and the other seven people in the room knew this was nothing to do with my email activity. I had obviously ruffled feathers with my whistleblowing and instead of the company being responsible for the actions of a select few, they had chosen instead to put the fire out by extinguishing me.
“I didn’t know I had sent that many. I mean, yes I admit to sending personal emails, but never knew it that sort of quantity and never once did I do it at the expense of my work. Even you know that Katrina, you’ve always said what a good worker I am,” I said turning to her for confirmation and looking for support. Katrina uttered nothing; she just stared at Penfold expecting him to answer. He had clearly been given the role of ring leader.
“Regardless of what you thought Terence or what has been said about you in the past, you did indeed send the number of emails specified. The question is now what are we to do with you?”
Penfold had one of those tremendously annoying personalities; very patronising, rather quite dull but intellectual as hell, to the point where he was uncomfortable to be around. He knew where this was heading as did I; he was merely building to a crescendo, covering his bases as he did so before he would drop his much planned bombshell. The room was littered with top management because they wanted to try and eradicate the knowledge I had. You don’t get six members of Clays Bank upper echelons and a HR executive at a disciplinary meeting unless they’re scared about something.
I kept my mouth firmly closed, in fear of incriminating myself further.
“Not only are the emails both vast and time consuming but the content of them would unfortunately open the company up to accusations of bullying and malpractice,” Penfold continued, cleaning his glasses in the process before squeezing them back onto his oversized head, the light catching his bald spot as he did so.
“Maybe it would become clearer to all involved if I read a few of the emails out and then we can all understand what it is we are dealing with here and give you a chance to explain yourself,” he continued.
Unfortunately, there were a number of emails he could have read which would have had me squirming in my seat. I mean, let’s be honest here, when I emailed my friends it wasn’t to discuss the current state of the economy. A lot of what I typed out I wasn’t proud of. I’m sure there were even a few on the topic of my bowel movements.
“This is from an email sent some time ago Terence, dated 3rd January 2013 where you and a friend called Stephen Stone emailed for sixty-nine minutes and thirty-four emails. I will read an extract word for word:
Stephen: What was your Christmas like mate? The usual Turkey? Are there any birds in the office you’d like to stuff?
Terence: It wasn’t bad thanks Stevo. I ended up being sick cos of too many pigs-in-blankets. There’s only me and Katrina in today unfortunately but she’s a whale of biblical proportions so I wouldn’t even touch her with yours.
Stephen: I like the bigger ones me. They’re always so much more...eager to please. Send her my way; she can have some of my special Christmas sauce.
 
; I do apologise for this Katrina, I know it’s hard to take,” Penfold declared, turning to Katrina who, in turn, did her best to look horrified by an email they had all clearly seen before. Just for affect, Penfold dipped into his pocket and pulled out his snotty hanky, passing it to Katrina to wipe away her fake tears. Katrina, realising she’d just been handed his dry snot bombs, momentarily deviated from character, dangling the tissue like a dead rat before tentatively and somewhat pathetically blowing into it. When she eventually pulled the purple hanky from her face I took great satisfaction in seeing one of Penfold’s recent bombs resting on the top left portion of her lip, hanging by her moustache.
There was a communal look of horror from those around the table. Katrina’s boss turned away with a hand clasped to her mouth, the HR assistant dropped her pen in her cup of tea but Penfold, not wanting to put a stop to the private lynching, reclaimed his hanky without a flicker of embarrassment or disgust and continued with the persecution.
“I will read another extract shall I?” He asked, not waiting for an answer. It must have been one of those rhetroclical questions or whatever they’re called. “This one is a little more recent and is a conversation with a family member by all accounts.” He spoke clearly and precisely, emphasising certain words for added impact.
Ben: Yo bro, what you saying to it? I’m just reading about M&P and their latest earnings. What do you reckon? Heard anything about them at work? Should I invest?
Terence: Oh yeah, I hear an absolute bucket load of information down here in admin. Takeovers galore and what not. You’ve got a million to invest right? BUY BUY BUY”
Penfold removed his glasses once again and then spoke as he inspected the damage his large cranium had done to them.
“You have signed an Insider Dealing policy have you not Terence?” he asked, not looking up.
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly, wondering if he had the audacity to go down such a route.
“Well then, you should be fully aware that we, as a bank with an investment arm, cannot divulge information which is not freely available to the general public and can also not offer investment advice without approval to do so.”
“Yes I know but that’s not what I was doing. You can clearly tell I was joking around.”
“Really? That’s strange because not long after you divulged the takeover information on M&P they were in fact taken over and the share price went up.”
“I know that but I didn’t have any inside information, you know full well I didn’t. Where would I get that kind of knowledge from? I work in admin; I don’t have dealings with investment managers or insight into takeovers. I was messing around in the email.”
“Well, the FCA might see it differently I’m afraid, considering Clays Bank acted as an advisor in the takeover. If they read this email, which we are obliged to show them, and investigated equity transactions by your brother, both you and the company could be in a lot of trouble.”
I was getting annoyed. It was one thing to have me up on excessive email charges but to be accused of insider dealing when I didn’t have the first clue about takeovers was downright devious. They knew I didn’t have inside knowledge and were trying to paint me out to be someone I was not just because I had blown a whistle within the firm on a matter the FCA would be interested in. Whilst all this was happening Katrina still sat there with the bloody big bogey dangling from her lip.
“You’ve manipulated that conversation to make it look like I was giving some kind of secret information to my brother. He probably didn’t even buy the shares but even if he did it would have been nothing to do with me. Yeah, okay, with regards to excessive use of emails I sent a few more than I should have but lots of people do. If you discipline me you’ll have to go down the route of disciplining everyone. We all know what this is really about,” I said trying to be as calm as possible but feeling the frustration burn inside.
“We could go down the route of disciplining everyone but we would need to make an example of the person we found guilty first and who better to make an example of than someone who might also be incriminated in insider dealing allegations,” interrupted the severely skinny head of legal, who also failed to introduce himself but decided to get in his two pennies worth.
“So what are you saying here? Are you trying to sack me? Is that what this is? I’ll tell you now; if that is what you’re trying to do I will fight this tooth and nail. I’ll have an unfair dismissal case open quicker than Katrina can take that bogey off her lip,” I said, caring less and less of what they thought of me, which is why I acknowledged one of the white elephants in the room.
Katrina didn’t catch on at first. I think she thought it was some kind of metaphor but eventually and tentatively put a hand to her lip, realising soon enough that there was a hardened bugga sitting on it. It gave her a fright that’s for sure and she recoiled in horror, nearly falling from her chair, before flicking the snot bomb in the direction of the HR executive who batted it away with her notepad. Needless to say the embarrassment was just too much for Katrina and she left after incoherent mumblings.
“Unfair dismissal cases are expensive Terence,” the legal beagle began in a slow and deep voice. “You need to be absolutely – and I would underline that word – absolutely sure you have a strong enough case to fight them. If you don’t and you lose, well the costs could be catastrophic because not only do you have to pay your own fees but also that of the winning side. It really is a dangerous road to go down.”
“No one has answered my question yet? Am I being fired?” I bellowed. I was scared I’d admit. The thought of being jobless was terrifying enough but trying to fight the company with no money whatsoever was a petrifying prospect. I didn’t know a great deal about the law so although I knew the whole whistleblowing situation was fiercely unfair and underhand on their part I might not have had a case to fight considering I hadn’t been a saint on the emails. The insider dealing claims were a sham and probably there to frighten me but the email accusations were relatively true and it was in my contract not to send them for social use, so I was unsure where I stood legally on that one. With that in mind, would I be prepared to fight them on it?
“You’ve put us in a tricky situation Terence. We like you. Your manager has spoken highly of you in the past but you’ve obviously broken the rules and were we to dig further what else would we find with regards to your conduct? There is the very real potential that not only have you put yourself at risk but also the company and your fellow employees.”
Penfold was turning it on thick. The drones around him just sat there like mute pieces on a chess board waiting for their King to make his move. It became clear to me that my email, the one which mattered the most, had seriously worried them and they’d most probably spent the whole weekend hatching a plot to get rid of what they deemed the problem. I knew I had a case for both Clays Bank breaking FCA rules and for unfair dismissal but could I prove it and did I have the funds to back myself if it came to that? My biggest mistake of all was not having the sense to take someone in that room with me. Not doing that meant it was my word against seven others, including Clays top personnel. I could have kicked myself for being so irresponsible but I never went into the room believing I would have to fight for my job; I went in expecting to answer questions which, in the long run, may have helped save dozens more. On that day, I was bullied and cajoled into doing something I didn’t need to do but I never knew it at the time.
“My colleagues and I have already discussed what the best course of action to take is and bearing in mind the severity of the matter we really have no choice but to let you go. However,” he quickly followed before I could tear the room apart, “we do acknowledge your good performance over the years…which is why we would like to give you a severance package. Although there is no need to be so generous, we believe, due to the difficult employment conditions and Clays good reputation in caring for staff, that six month’s salary a
nd an early leaving bonus of six more will suffice for your redundancy package.”
When Penfold finished he stared straight into my eyes, looking for a reaction. I gave him my best poker face but only because I was trying to do the sums in my head.
Effectively, they were attempting to pay for my silence with £18,000 tax free. Now, it’s true to say what they were offering was morally repugnant. I had every right to bat away their ‘offer’ and challenge them in court, causing costly reputational damage to the company. We all knew they were guilty of a severe misdemeanour and their way out of it was to try and bribe me. However, on the other hand, a year’s salary, tax free, is music to anyone’s ears and almost impossible to come-by unless you’re an overpaid, under-worked footballer or you’re being bribed, like I was.
I had made plenty of rash and daft decisions in my life but although I knew the moral thing to do was finish what I had started, the sensible question I had to ask myself was could I afford to give up the offer? Could I afford to take a large corporation on with the knowledge I had, bearing in mind there was no one to offer me advice in that room at that very moment in time?
The legal begal could see I was in a quandary; that I was mulling over how to tackle the situation so he stepped in to try and influence my decision.
“Terence, think carefully about this because it’s a one-time offer. Unfortunately, you no longer have a job here but you can go away comfortable in the knowledge that your next year is paid for,” he said, conniving as hell.
He never exactly said it was a bribe but he didn’t need to. If they were letting me go for disciplinary reasons they were by no means obliged to give me a year’s salary. Heck, they could have sacked me and given me nothing.
If I was on the outside looking in I would have hoped the person in my shoes had the courage to throw the money in their face and stand up for what was right but I was on the inside making the decisions, on my own, and it seemed a whole different story from that position, especially when I could accept the offer, walk away and not worry about them or the company ever again.
“When exactly do I lose my job?” I asked. I didn’t need to ask why they were offering me the money, we all knew why, but I did need to know the time frames I was working with.
“You no longer have a job from the minute you walk out this door,” Penfold informed me.
“And what do you want from me in return for my redundancy?” I asked.
Penfold and the legal beagle exchanged looks before the latter leaned to one side and fetched a piece of paper from his pristine leather briefcase.
“We want you to sign this agreement Terence. You have been privy to quite a bit of...sensitive information here at Clays and we would like a confidentiality agreement stating that you will not, under any circumstances, discuss what you have seen or been a part of here. I’m sure you will have no reason to, but if you did break the agreement, you would be liable for any costs we might face as a consequence. By signing it, the money will be in your account at the next payday, as stipulated in the contract,” the legal beagle succinctly informed me.
I was torn between right and wrong, between sanity and insanity. I could be a pioneer and tear into the heart of all things unjust with the modern world or I could take care of number one, accept that I had been psychologically defeated by the people sat around the table and walk off into the abyss, never to be heard of in the corridors of Clays Bank again but £18,000 richer and a year to figure out what to do with my life.
Looking back it’s easy to know what I should have done. When I was five, a day before my birthday I found my football shaped cake and decided to eat a third of it. Of course, by the time I was six, had woken up with red raw arse cheeks and no presents to play with, I realised it had been the wrong decision to make but sometimes it’s hard to think straight when a carrot is dangled in front of you.
Shamefully and regretfully I signed the contract. As I felt the tension around the table disperse I knew then, and I know now, that I had let myself down but I felt pushed into a corner, intimidated as hell and let my head overrule my heart. On the plus side I would soon have £18,000 entered into my previously overdrawn bank account which, due to the tax break, was an immediate pay rise of roughly twenty per cent. Maybe I could have bartered for more but I didn’t want to admit I was accepting blackmail; I almost tried to convince myself this was a legitimate redundancy package. Besides, the fat cats illegally getting fatter were no longer my concern. I was free of the cheating and free of the lies and as long as my conscience would hold out, I didn’t need to worry about Clays Bank anymore.
Sometimes in life, the scuzz buckets win. It’s just the way of the world. It’s not nice and it’s certainly not fair but it’s the truth and you just have to deal with it and move on.