6 comments/ 10739 views/ 10 favorites Chasing a Story By: Cromagnonman I drove my rented car down the long drive that was flanked on either side by perfectly manicured lawns and perfectly groomed trees. Although it was autumn, I can't bring myself to call it fall, there was not one golden leaf lying at rest on the green grass. My mind imagined a Head Gardener seated in a watchtower with powerful binoculars held to his unblinking eyes as he scanned the grounds, ready to order an under-gardener into action; "Ramirez, a leaf has fallen in your sector, remove it immediately!" The under-gardener would run to his quad-bike and speed to the errant leaf, pick it up and sprint back, hoping that his presence wouldn't be noticed by the Master. I entered the mansion compound through an arched entrance to be confronted by its brick paved courtyard surrounded by a terribly English style building, courtesy of the original Fairchild's good fortune to own a railroad company at the beginning of the railroad boom, and the money to build a home appropriate to his new-found wealth. To the left of the entrance was a row of doors that was obviously the home for the family's cars. Straight ahead seemed to be a dormitory wing serviced by a single plain door, while to the right was a much more substantial entrance to the main wing. I drove up to this entrance and parked. I went over in my mind what I knew of this family before I opened my door and stepped out. The father of the current Fairchild had the great fortune to have been slightly less than law-abiding during the Prohibition era and expanded the fortune considerably, with the help of conveniently placed contributions to certain politicians' election funds. Favours were returned and his wealth consolidated. The current Fairchild head has profited and had set the current trend by exploiting his country's involvement in various wars and police actions around the globe. They all required provisioning in both weapons and food supplies. His factories employed workers who, with a little help from his financial contributions to a variety of officials, had arrived without the necessary paperwork to remain legally, thus binding them to low paid servitude for life, which given the lax health and safety procedures could be cut short at any time. Such trivial matters worried him not at all, his only concern was to maintain a healthy bottom line and lavish lifestyle. His son, Andrew Malden Fairchild IV, the reason for my visit, had taken some of his projected inheritance and invested it in IT stocks, dallied briefly in the Dot Com boom in its infancy, and got out before it went bust, making a huge profit in the process. He convinced his father's bank to invest in high risk mortgages and off-load them to other lenders at a modest profit, leaving those lenders with catastrophic losses. The bank then applied for, and gained, huge government bail-out funds to cover their book, but not real, losses and ended up profiting even more from the GFC. He seemed to have developed, at a young age, the necessary financial skills and flexibility of morals, to continue to grow the Fairchild financial portfolio. To AMF4, ethics was someone with a speech impediment speaking of a county in England. My Editor had chosen me to undertake the task of interviewing AMF4 for an article that would appear shortly on profiteering by US business interests in Iraq and Afghanistan. His impeccable reasoning being that I had been a War Correspondent on the frontline in both theatres, and had seen firsthand what was happening. Of course when I rang the man's P.A. to arrange the interview I had to have another reason, there was no way that he would talk to anyone about the billions his companies had made out of government contracts, especially as many of those contracts had been in default for some time, but still received payments. He had several indulgences, and I found one that I could use as a hook to gain an appointment with him. To all intents and purposes I was a writer with a motoring magazine wishing to interview him regarding his unique 'Vertical' collection of Bentley cars. He boasted of owning one each of the over sixty models produced by Bentley since its inception last century. This was typical of the man, everything he said and did was about proving that he was richer and more powerful than the next man. I was going to enjoy my encounter with the super ego of AMF4. But this would have to wait. I was met at the front door by the terribly English butler who ushered me to the library, where I was greeted by AMF3 and the news that "Andy has taken the yacht out for a shake-down cruise following its refurbishment, if you like I can arrange for you to be taken out to join him." I handed him my business card. "Why don't you get your son to ring me and arrange another appointment, one that he will keep? And you could also tell him that, as he will be copping a fair amount of negative press shortly, he might need me and my story to balance that out." I turned my back on him and found my own way out. I was not about to let him do this to me. He, in his own condescending way was telling me that he and his son were richer and more powerful than me, and would see me when it was convenient for them, regardless of my convenience. I hadn't even reached my hotel when my phone rang. It was AMF4, probably ringing from his yacht to ask me what the bit about the negative press was all about. He could wait until I was ready to talk to him. I was back in my hotel room, with a drink to keep me company, when I returned his call. "Mister Fairchild, Ben Walsh, I'm returning your call." "Who the hell do you think you are, threatening me like that?" "Did I threaten you? I'm sorry if you took it that way, but we did have an appointment this morning, and I've travelled halfway around the world to keep that appointment, only to find that you had better things to do. I'm entitled to be a tad pissed off that you couldn't even pick up the phone and reschedule." I was not going to bow down to him and his money, I knew better. "I apologise for my rudeness, but this morning was the only window of opportunity I had to take 'Fair Winds' out before we ship her across to Cowes for the yacht regatta. I guess I just got a little excited. Let me make it up to you, why don't you come out for dinner this evening, we can discuss things then." "No, I'm not able to do that, I have important meetings that will go on well into the evening and I don't think that you would appreciate it if I were to nod off in the middle of dinner, would you? Tomorrow's Sunday and I'll be tied up all day what with one thing or another, so why don't you call me on Monday morning and make another time to get together? I feel that I should warn you, if you fail to arrange an appointment, I will go with what I've got. At least I'm giving you the chance to tell your story." He held it together long enough to agree to this. He was definitely not used to being treated like this by anyone, let alone some hack journalist from Australia. They, he concluded, had no respect for wealth and power. In that he was right. My next drink was half consumed when the phone rang again. I answered it. "Mister Walsh?" "Yes." "My name is Naomi Fairchild. You were speaking just now to my brother." "True." I wasn't going to extend the hand of friendship until I knew what this was all about. "I wonder if I might come and see you, there's something that I need to discuss with you." "Naomi, are you ringing on his behalf?' "No, if he knew that I was talking to you, he'd kill me. No my brother and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, not the least of which is his arrogance. I understand that he had an appointment with you this morning." "You mean the one that he decided not to keep? Yes he did. It seems that he had a subsequent engagement that he couldn't cancel." "He didn't need to miss that appointment, what he needed was to treat you like shit, simply because he can." "I figured as much. What he doesn't realise is that I know a lot more about him than he thinks. I'm in a position to do him great harm if he's not nice to me." "Good, it couldn't happen to a nicer person." "You don't like him much do you?" "No, between him and Father my life is miserable." "Miserable enough to destroy them?" "If necessary, yes." She sounded hurt, more hurt than any person I've ever spoken to, and there have been many over the years. "Just what have they done to you that you stoop to their level and seek revenge?" "No depths that I could ever sink to would come close to some of the things that they have done. I once had a life and they destroyed that. I once had a future and they destroyed that without blinking an eye, because it didn't fit in with their plans for me. Plans that involved a physical merger between me and the ugliest, cruellest and most despicable man that I had ever met. He made my skin crawl just to be in the same room as him, and those two wanted me to go to bed with him, to marry him, and all so that they could get their greedy hands on more money. Mine would not have been the only life that would have been destroyed. I said no and they've made my life a living hell since then. When can you see me?" "How soon can you get here?" "Thirty seven and a half seconds." She must have been very sure of herself. Thirty seconds later I heard the ping of the elevator reaching my floor and seven and a half seconds after that I heard her knock on my door. A second after that I had the door open and she was inside my room. I had seen photos of her in the gossip mags while I was researching my article, but the cameras failed miserably in doing her justice. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't catwalk model gorgeous, she didn't have the looks that would get her a starring role in a Hollywood movie, but she did have the sort of looks that stopped conversations in a crowded room. For once in my life I was at a loss for words. My quick appraisal, that didn't go un-noticed, revealed her to be tall, around five nine or thereabouts, and she wouldn't have nudged the scales much past a hundred and ten pounds, she had honey coloured hair with lighter streaks, cut short around her face, her lips had a pale pink gloss, her skin flawless and only lightly made up. Her clothes were well made but not haute couture. She held her hand out to me. Her nails were cut shortish and well manicured. "Hi, I'm Naomi Fairchild." I took her hand and shook it. Her grasp was firm but her hands were soft. "H-h-h-i, I'm Ben, Ben Walsh. But then you know that already. Can I get you something? Coffee or something a little stronger?" "No, nothing." "Please, have a seat." I motioned to one of the chairs. She chose the sofa and sat down. "Come sit by me, I don't bite." She said, patting the sofa at her side. For some reason I sat where she wanted me. My training has taught me to not lose control of the situation, and I had become good at scene setting when it came to interviewing people, but she had wrested that control from me in a way that her brother would not have been capable of. "I heard Father when he contacted the slug, talking about your interview with him, something about his collection of Bentleys, but that isn't the real reason for the interview is it?" "What other reason could there be?" I was desperately trying to regain control. "You were just caressing his ego into letting you have an interview. As to why, where do I begin? Is it his arms trading, selling to both sides in Syria, or Afghanistan, or Egypt, or South Sudan? Is it his involvement in conflict diamonds? Is it his financial dealings around the world that are sending country after country to the brink of financial ruin?" "No, it is none of those, this is personal. He hurt a person very dear to me, and I want to hurt him just as hard. When I pitched the story to my Editor I used those things you mentioned to sell it to him, but that isn't the real or only reason. Apart from his hurting someone that I loved dearly, he is also destroying those close to himself. How much has he borrowed from you?" "How . . . . . how could you know about that?" I was now back in control. "The same way that I know that he no longer owns the Bentleys in his collection. Oh they're still on display in that building, but he has borrowed against them, all of them. That collection is worth many millions, but the loan shark has given him nowhere near what they are worth, and he hasn't got the capital to service the next loan repayment. His business judgement has been off for the last five years, and shows no sign of improving in the near future, at least not while those that he owes money to have their foot on his throat. He has even just about cleaned your father out, the family home is mortgaged to the hilt and your father's personal fortune is just about wiped out. This morning's little escapade was a mixture of not wanting to be confronted by some journalist who might just have gotten wind of his plight, and the buying of a little time, time he needs to try to escape from his predicament." "You have certainly done your research. "Oh, it wasn't my research. You see, the person that he hurt badly, the one that I loved, was an award winning investigative journalist working for one of the most respected current affairs programmes in Australia. The producers had received information from an officer in our army, recently returned from serving in Afghanistan, regarding certain inconsistencies in the allied supply chain. Things like ammunition that failed to fire, weapons that malfunctioned, even contaminated rations that was blamed on handling issues on the ground, but which our forces proved to have been from the source. When our brass sent a report on their findings to the US military they were told to back off. This officer decided to attack this from a different angle, hence the investigation. Somehow your brother managed to get a copy of the story before it went to air, and sacrificed one of his own to make it look as if she, my almost wife, had been trading sex for information. Their deaths were made to look like a murder/suicide, but I knew that it wasn't." "How did you know that?" "Because I knew exactly where she was supposed to be at all times, it was an arrangement that we had. We had been lovers and living together for a couple of years and were seriously considering marriage. We are, were, both journalists, and our schedules were fluid, so we needed to know where each other was at any time so that we could take every opportunity for together times. We exchanged agendas and itineraries on a daily basis and each had the other's downloaded onto their device of choice. That's how I knew that she not only didn't have a meeting with this guy, but had never met him, he was just some poor unfortunate lower level flunky who wouldn't be missed. Elena had just found out that she was pregnant , so we had decided the day before she disappeared, to move our plans forward and get married in a couple of weeks. We were both clearing our schedules to arrange time off for the occasion when it happened. At the same time your brother took out a court injunction preventing the report from going to air. Her producers' legal team were fighting it on the basis that he couldn't sue for libel if they were telling the truth, and could prove it." "I knew he was a bad bastard but didn't think that he could go that far." "He was getting desperate. If it had aired he would have been finished. Your government would have launched an enquiry into his dealings with the military, and there would have been heads rolling right along the supply chain into Military Procurements, and beyond. Because he no longer has the finances to apply the necessary pressure to circumvent any such enquiry, you can be sure that everyone involved would try to lay the blame entirely at his feet. I feel sorry for you, being a part of the family." "Don't feel sorry for me, just listen to me, and when I've finished you can decide if we should join forces to get the bastard before the world hears about it, because if we wait until after that, I'll get nothing. I came here today to offer my services and support, but it seems as if you are the one with all the details so, I'm offering to help you in any way possible, not just for me, but for my mother who has also suffered at their hands. The Fairchild women were there merely as glamorous support for their lifestyle, we are of no importance in the running of the show, until now that is. You see, I was sent to college to fill in time and try to meet the right young man that could benefit them, but when I told them that there was no way that I was going to fuck someone for them, they cooked up the deal with that ugly bastard that they were trying to force me to marry." "The first thing I want to know is, where is all the money? He's been making squillions and, while he has a lavish lifestyle and doesn't seem to have a gambling problem, the money just seems to be running through his fingers." "That's bothered me too. He's borrowed millions from me over the past couple of years and it doesn't look like I'll see any of it again. He's done the same to Mother and who know how much he owes Father, although I won't lose sleep if he loses everything. I'd hazard a guess that I won't see any of what's left when he eventually dies." "Does he have any expensive vices?" "Yes, her name is Monique and she costs him in the thousands every time he seeks her services." "I know about Monique and her brand of relaxation, but that would only account for a small amount of what he spends." "I would have included 'Fair Winds' as an indulgence, he has a full time crew looking after her. This trip to Cowes is, I think, the last for her. I get the impression that he's hoping for a good showing so that she'll command a higher price when he puts her on the market." "A final throw of the dice it would seem. I'd bet that the story will be that he has a new boat on the drawing boards that will be bigger and better." "You seem to know how he thinks." "When he goes sailing in her, he wouldn't happen to go to the Caribbean would he?" "Yes he does. Every three months or so he heads down there for a couple of weeks sailing and diving and generally having a good time." "I bet that's where the money goes as well." "What do you mean?" "If you want to shift large sums of money that you don't want any record of, the best way is in cash. To move it electronically leaves a cyber-trail that any competent investigator can follow. It's one thing to shelter it in a tax haven, it's another to hide it completely. He could even have it in a separate account under a different name that he and only he can access either in person, or electronically." "But he'd have to have some that can be accessed at short notice, wouldn't he?" "Yes, and that's his vulnerable point, all that we have to do is to get him to remotely access that money. I think I know how we can do that." "How?" "I can't tell you yet, I need to run it by a friend of mine first. I need to find some way to force him to access his account using his laptop or tablet, and I need to be able to plant a Wi-Fi modem into it that he doesn't know about, I know that you can get them that plug into the USB port, but I need one internally. How easy would it be for us to get hold of whatever he uses?" "I have a better idea. If I can get hold of his WAP key to his network, we can tap into either. He uses his laptop at home and the office and a tablet when he's away from both. Both have Wi-Fi connectivity, all we need is the key, and I think I know how to get it. Leave that part with me." I glanced at my watch. "Look, it's time for dinner, what say we put the nose-bag on?" "If that means that you're inviting me to have dinner with you, I say yes. But it will have to be room service, we can't risk being seen together." Chasing a Story "I never took you for a masochist, but if you say so, let's hit room service and see what they have for us." I walked over and picked up the menu card and was instantly un-inspired. "Is it that bad?" "The only thing not mediocre about this is the cost. Oh well, it's on expenses anyway so what the heck." I handed her the menu and watched her eyebrows arch up almost to her hairline. "I see what you mean. Do you think we can trust the lobster, after all at this price we'll be eating diamond studded solid gold." "I'm game if you are, what about wine?" "As this is something of a celebration of a new beginning, I say Champagne." "Champagne it is then, two bottles." "You aren't trying to get me drunk so that you can have your wicked way with me, are you?" "Would I do that to you?" "I hope so." She stood and kissed my un-reluctant lips. "Mmm, and here I was thinking that all men were bastards." "Not all of us, there are a few good ones left in this world." "And you're one of them, is that what you're telling me?" "I'm one of the best." "And modest with it." "Justifiably, yes." "You know, coming from you that sounds perfectly reasonable. Now if my brother had said that I'd have probably laughed in his face. He is definitely not one of the good guys." "How'd we get back to him? Here I was trying to take your mind off him." "You'll just have to try harder, sex might work." "No, you don't trap me that easily. In case you've forgotten, I'm not even a month through my year of mourning." "I have never met anyone quite like you. You're supposed to be serious but you're not. You're supposed to be helping me, or at least letting me help you, to wreak some horrible revenge on my brother, but you're carrying on as if this whole fiasco is some sort of joke." "Words I live by; the day that I lose my sense of humour is the day that I give up on life because it will have lost its meaning. There is no reason why a serious task such as this can't be fun at the same time." "I feel that I might just enjoy this, providing that nothing goes wrong, that is." "Now what could go wrong?" "Everything, haven't you forgotten that you've already been hurt by him?" "Now you spoiled the mood." I poured us each another glass of champagne. "Time to numb the brain for a while." "I'll drink to that." She clinked her glass against mine and then sculled the lot in one go. "Hit me again. If you intend to get plastered then I should keep you company." Sometime in the middle of the night we both crawled into my bed but we didn't make love, not until after the phone woke us in the morning. It was AMF4 wanting to meet with me at 11:00 on Monday. After due consultation with my non-existent secretary, that took a few seconds followed by a minute and a bit stalling time, I agreed to meet him at the family mansion. Monday morning followed a Sunday full of us, with no thought for what was happening outside the confines of my room. A cup of coffee to clear the cobwebs followed by a shower, and Naomi and I were locked in a passionate embrace that progressed to a satisfactory joining of body and soul before room service breakfast and down to the basement car park to pick up my car. I offered to drive her home but she declined. "It will be better if I sneak back home, that way if I'm caught they can't link it to you." "What will you say if you're asked where you have been all weekend?" "That I have been with a business associate going over plans for a new venture, one that I will want my father to put up the capital for. He'll panic and change the subject to avoid telling me that he can't afford to give me any money." "Have you done this before?" "Done what, made wonderful love with a great guy, or wanted funding for some stupid scheme?" "Both." "I've never done the first, but I'm open to a repeat experience, if that's what you're offering to provide. As for the other, I've tried it a couple of times, but he's talked me out of it. He told me to leave the making of money to the men of the family. What a joke." We parted with a kiss that confirmed her desire for more, and I prepared myself for my trip back to Long Island and AMF4. I checked that the battery of my mini-recorder was fully charged, that my IPad had my list of questions set out so that I could easily flick from one line of inquiry to the other. These questions included a complete list, along with a thumbnail on each, and photograph, of the Bentley models. I arrived a couple of minutes early to be met by the man himself at the front door. This intrigued me until I realised that the front gate was probably under CCTV coverage, giving him at least thirty seconds warning of my arrival. "I'm sorry about Saturday, but you know how it is, one can't always predict when something comes up that requires immediate attention. I just had to be sure that she was as ready as she could be for the races, and that the crew was fully up to speed. It's looking good for a successful campaign, I hope to be returning with the trophy." "I'm happy for you." I couldn't totally hide the sarcasm in my voice so I had to quickly cover my arse so as not to offend him, just yet. "I can understand your love of the sport, after all my own country has a heritage of success in that field." I was hinting at our success in wresting the Americas Cup from the sticky hands of the Newport Yacht Club that had held it for a million years. "Yes but we got it back pretty quickly." He said "But you only held on to it in the recent races with the help of one of us as Skipper." "We could talk yachting all day, but I understand that's not why you're here." He led me down the hallway to the library. In the background I could hear raised voices. "Pay no attention, my young sister has just come sneaking home after a night of debauchery and Father is not amused." He led me to a corner of the room with a couple of sumptuously deep leather armchairs. "Have a seat." He conspicuously consulted his large Bulgari watch, probably a knock-off I thought to myself, "Would you care for a coffee, or something stronger?" "Coffee would be fine, thank you." Coffee would be great given how much champagne I had consumed over the weekend, we certainly hadn't stopped at the two original bottles. He pushed a button on the table next to him and a uniformed servant came into the room. "Coffee for two thank you Rochester, and some of your scones with strawberry jelly and cream." "Very good Sir." He bowed slightly and left, closing the door quietly behind him. "Now you are interested in my collection of Bentleys, is this correct?" "Yes, I understand that you own one of every model ever produced." "I believe this to be correct, yes." "Which one is your favourite?" I was fishing here, checking to see how much he really knew about them, whether he loved them, or if he was someone who collected things for the sake of having them, but had no further interest in them. 'I first became interested in them when I saw an early James Bond movie and he was driving a blower Bentley. That led me to buying one of each of the early sporting Bentleys including one that had actually won at Le Mans. Since then I have grown to love the current Mulsanne." "But that's hardly a proper Bentley, is it?" "What do you mean?" "What I mean is that Bentley is now wholly owned by Volkswagen, it's no longer a British marque." "While Volkswagen might own the Bentley name and all of the badging, it is still produced at Crewe with all of the traditions of the Bentley heritage." "Point taken. Do you drive them at all, or do you just visit them from time to time and flick specks of dust from them?" "There are no dust specks on them, I employ a full time curator to look after them and to ensure that they are in perfect running order at all times. I did take the blower over to Goodwood for their Festival of Speed a couple of years ago and gave her a run around the track. I have to admit she was a bit of a handful, but then I'm not an experienced race car driver." "What I would like, and my readers demand it, is for my photographer to take a series of photos for the article. Do you think that could be arranged?" "Certainly, when would you like to do this?" "No time like the present. You set a time and I'll make sure that he's there." "I will need to be there, and I'm sure that my presence would add something to the photos. Unfortunately I'm tied up for the next couple of weeks, what with Cowes and all. If you'd like I can arrange it for as soon as I get back." "I was hoping to do it while I'm here, but I don't mind another trip back here, I quite enjoy New York, or at least parts of it." Rochester returned with a serving trolley on which was a highly polished silver coffee pot, creamer and bowl containing sugar cubes, as well as a plate with proper scones and pots of butter, cream and jam and what appeared to be Royal Albert cups and saucers. All terribly English. "Help yourself, this is all made from produce in our food processing plants, so it's perfectly safe." He chuckled. We helped ourselves and I had to admit that it was nice, the scones were still warm and the butter melted into them. The coffee was strong without being overpowering, I added a splash of milk and sipped it appreciatively. "I can only dream of this lifestyle, I'll never have the money for this kind of indulgence. Most of my coffee is take out in paper cups and tastes disgusting." "I have never had the need or opportunity to try that coffee and I hope that I never shall." I asked him a few questions about his yacht and his prospects at Cowes before taking my leave. He walked to my car with me and shook my hand, all very polite, and just as I was about to open the door to get into the car Naomi stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. "Oooh, I can't stand that man! How dare he suggest that I've been fucking some guy! I hate all men, especially him. You'd better not go back there for a while, he's upset about something, and I don't think it's just me." She looked at first, at her brother and then me. "Hey mister whoever you are, are you heading into town?" "If you mean New York, yes I am." "Can you take me with you, the old bastard has taken my keys so that I can't drive." "I don't. . . " "Look, if you're too much of a pussy then don't bother, I'll call for a cab." "All right then, I'll take you." She didn't wait for me to open the door for her, I was halfway around to the passenger's side when she pulled the door opened and plonked herself down in a huff. I walked back around to my side and climbed in. We were halfway down the drive when she burst out laughing. "What a performance, if that had been in a movie I would have won an Oscar." "You had me convinced, I hope that your father and brother were." "They couldn't care less about me. Now what happened with your interview?" "Not a lot. He's stalling like mad, he wouldn't let me see the cars until he gets back from Cowes, so I guess that I'll just have to stick around for a while. Now I wonder what I could do to while away the time." Her silent answer was to reach across and grab my cock. "Jeesus, are you like this with every man you meet?" "No. Don't tell me that you've lost interest already?" "No I haven't, it's just that . . . I'm still hurting from losing Elena. I may not be ready for this." "Look, I appreciate your situation and promise that I won't push the issue, but a little uncomplicated sex at this time might just be the cure that you're looking for." "I wasn't actually looking for a cure, or sex for that matter, but after the weekend's effort, maybe you're right, maybe I do need this, need you." "Goody. How long before we reach your hotel?" "Fifteen minutes, or thereabouts." "Do you think that you can do it in ten?" She squeezed him to emphasise her need. "I can but try." I almost made it and we almost made it to my room before she attacked me in the lift. I was glad that were alone, she literally dragged me down the hallway to my room and impatiently tapped her foot while I fumbled to get the card reader to operate the door lock. Sometime the next day a plan began to form in my head. I found myself at the office of the loan shark that held the marker on the Bentley's and led him to believe that when AMF4 failed to meet the loan repayments, as he would, I had a possible buyer for the collection in its entirety." "Are you telling me that if I foreclose you have a buyer for all of them?" "A potential buyer. The price will have to be right. The way that I see it, you have two choices, accept the offer when it's made, or put the cars up for auction. With that many Bentleys, I would hazard a guess that the rare early models could command a substantial price, but the later, less popular models would be pushing it to make an even modest reserve price. Your chance of getting even the outstanding loan amounts could be severely eroded." "I'll have to see the numbers before I can commit myself." "The next thing I wanted to bring up is that he, in his current financial position, will stall for as long as he can before you can force the sale. You could bring the matter to a head as soon as he is in default on the loan." "How can I do that?" "You can file for bankruptcy immediately he defaults. That will freeze his bank accounts and force him to agree to the sale." And force him, I thought to myself, to access his cash deposits to avoid bankruptcy, and in the process, so Naomi tells me, allow us access to the account. My next step was for us to go to Cowes. We checked into a hotel close to, but not on the harbour front, we were not about to make our presence known just yet. I had gone for a quick jog along the foreshore to loosen up my muscles after having been sitting down for hours each day and not getting much sleep each night. I was really enjoying the nights, but felt a little guilty about my promise to myself not to begin another relationship so soon after Elena's death. Each day, or night, the guilt receded until now it hardly bothered me at all. I stepped into our room to find Naomi and a bloke seated at the table staring at her laptop. "He's either supremely confident that no-one knows how to hack his computer, or he's a Luddite when it comes to IT." The man was saying. "He's using the hotel's Internet connection to access his banking details. He doesn't even have any protection, but then there's not a lot to protect. He's checking his normal balances and they aren't looking all that healthy. With what I've installed into your computer you'll be able to pick up any password he uses plus the account details of any account he has, especially any in the Caymans." "Thanks Pete, I owe you." Naomi told him. "Forget it, I enjoy shafting scumbags like him." "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?" I asked. "Hi Darling, this is Pete, a friend from college, he's come over to set up my computer to track Brother's transactions. We're confident that we can gain access to his hidden bank accounts. Pete this is THE man, the one that I was telling you about, the man that I'm going to marry as soon as he asks me." "Hi, pleased to meet you." Pete came around with his hand extended. I shook it. "This is getting weird." Turning to Naomi. "You surprise me, knowing computer geeks was not what I expected." "Why not? That's what I was studying at college, I wanted to study something as far removed from what was expected of me. To my father and brother I was just a dumb chick with no intelligence that they could manipulate for their own ends." "And you aren't. That much I had already worked out, but if I were to be asked I would have said that Business Admin or something similar would have been your course of choice. Having said that, I approve of what you have done and the friends that you have acquired along the way." "I'm the tech geek and Naomi's the logic geek, together we make a good team, but that's as far as it goes, I have no interest in her sexually." Pete said before going back to the screen. "His yacht is due to go out tomorrow for a trial run to check that everything is ready for the racing, I think that their return to harbour would be the best time to shake them up. The crew will be less than pleased when they find out he has no money and he will not only not be able to pay them, but their accommodation expenses." I picked up my phone, dialled a number and spoke to the person on the other end. "It's time to kick this pig." "What was that all about?" Naomi asked. "His loan on the Bentleys has just fallen due and he has made no payment. I've just told the loan shark to foreclose and file for bankruptcy. That will effectively freeze his funds so that he can't pay his crew or his expenses. There will be a lien placed on the yacht as she docks tomorrow afternoon, a very public fall from grace. Wouldn't you agree?" "Remind me to never upset you in any way." Naomi came over to me and kissed me just to make sure that I wasn't upset with her. I returned the kiss to tell her that she had nothing to worry about. "Hey guys, before you go off to your bedroom to do whatever you have planned, our friend has just accessed his offshore account, and it seems as if he's running a balance enquiry to see how much money he has. It looks like he does this on a daily basis just to gloat over how much he has, and believe me he has every reason to gloat." "Have you got his password and account number?" "Yep. It's all stored on your computer, all you have to do is access the information, and bingo you're in and can do whatever you want to his account. I presume that you're about to clean him out." "Totally." "Good. I'll set up a series of cut-outs for you so that you can move the money around the world a few times so that he won't be able to trace it back to you." "Hey, I've got a good idea. In case he decides that he needs to get back to the States to try to find out what's gone wrong, I think that we should cancel his return flight so that he has no way to get back. Actually, Pete, you're flying back tonight, how would you like a free flight?" "Sure thing." Naomi bent over her computer and found his return flight booking. She cancelled it and used the money to purchase a business class seat for Pete on a flight leaving the next day. "There, done. Enjoy your flight." She printed off his ticket and boarding pass. We found a small restaurant in a back street, one not likely to be frequented by AMF4, and had a pleasant meal. Pete went back to his hotel to pack for his return flight, and Naomi and I returned to our room, our bed, and our lovemaking. "I must say she does look good." I stood watching 'Fair Winds' clear the harbour for her trial run, her sails filling with the breeze and pushing her along at a good speed. "What say we wander down to her dock so that we can be on hand to witness the action?" "You really know how to kick a man while he's down, don't you?" "I worked for a guy once who told me that you should always kick a man while he's down because you might not get another chance." "More words to live by?" "No, but in this case I'm prepared to make an exception." As is often the case in this part of the world, the weather went from good to bad, and then to worse. AMF4's prospects similarly went from good, to bad, to worse. The strong winds damaged his rigging and 'Fair Winds' had to be towed back to her dock. He was in a foul mood, not unlike the weather, and when a court official went on board and presented him with papers, his mood assumed hurricane proportions. "What the fuck is this?" "It is a court order seizing this yacht because you have defaulted on one of your loan payments and your creditor has filed for bankruptcy. The court is now in possession of this yacht." Chasing a Story "This is fucking bullshit! Wait here while I access my bank records and have the money transferred to wherever you want it placed." He read the papers closely, especially where it told him where he needed to lodge the funds, and stormed ashore, heading for his hotel. He caught sight of Naomi. "You fucking bitch, I suppose that you're behind this!" He screamed at her. "No, the responsibility is entirely yours, if you'd paid your debts on time this would never have happened. His mood got even worse when he arrived back at his hotel to be met by the Manager. "Mister Fairchild, I'm afraid that you have been removed from your room. When we processed your credit card it was dishonoured. We have been told to take it from you and destroy it." "Just wait until I contact my bank, all of this can be sorted out in minutes." He stormed over to where his luggage had been stacked waiting for his return and grabbed his laptop. Finding a vacant table he fired it up and accessed his Caymans bank account. His mood nosedived even further. "What the fuck is this?" He stared at his account balance that now consisted entirely of zeroes. He took out his phone and dialled his father's number. "Sir, I have just accessed my bank accounts to find that I have been wiped out, I need money in a hurry, can you wire me a hundred thousand dollars immediately? What do you mean no?" The voice on the other end was loud enough for those at the next table to hear. "Because you arsehole, I have no money, you've wiped me out, I do not have one dollar to my name, and whose fault is that?" His crew walked into the hotel, each of them with angry scowls on their faces. "We have nowhere to stay, apparently your credit card has been dishonoured and the hotel has kicked us out. They told us that they had a waiting list a mile long of people looking for accommodation for the regatta. When we went to our banks, hoping to raise enough to pay for our rooms ourselves, we found that the money that was supposed to go into our accounts, money that you promised us, has not gone in because your bank has not paid it in. We have no money and nowhere to live, so what do we do now? Oh, and by the way, our return airline tickets have also been cancelled." "Just let me think for a minute will you? There was plenty of money in my account yesterday, more than enough to cover all the expenses of this trip and any contingency that the weather might throw up, but today it's all gone, every fucking dollar of it. Someone has tapped into my account and removed the money, but who could have done this?" It was time for my grand entrance. "Hi guys, is there a problem?" "You, what are you doing here?" "I came over for the yacht races, I'm not just a motoring writer, I cover other rich bastard's past-times." "Did you have anything to do with my money being taken from my account?" "What money? Oh, you mean the money that you've been stealing from friends and family over the years? Nah, I didn't touch it, but I did encourage others to act to retrieve it. The guy that you borrowed money from using your collection of Bentleys is, as we speak, negotiating their sale to recover the loan money that you've defaulted on. Your father is unhappy because he's just been told that he has to vacate the family mansion that your ancestor built all those years ago. Your sister's not happy either, she's looking at having to go to work to survive because you have no way of paying back the money that you've borrowed from her, money that she inherited from your grandfather's estate, and that was enough to allow her to live quite comfortably for the rest of her life. But more importantly this is about revenge, my revenge for the loss of the woman that I was going to marry the week after you had her killed. Does the name Elena Martin mean anything to you?" The colour drained from his face as the realisation took hold. "Should it?" He was trying to brazen it out. The others in the room were curious, a new name had been thrown into the ring. "She was an Australian investigative journalist who was doing a piece on you and your quest for money, not a very flattering piece as it turned out. You obtained a copy of that before it went to air and had her murdered in such a way as to suggest that she was using her sexuality to gain information from one of your staff. I have proof of your involvement in her death. You might not have actually killed her, but you were directly responsible for her death and will be charged with two counts of murder. The suggestion that she used sex to gain information from your staff member is also untrue and I have proof of that, she had never met the man. You also took out an injunction against the network stopping the broadcast of that programme. That injunction has been overturned on the basis that the network was able to prove conclusively that all of the information contained in the report was the truth. You cannot sue for libel if the information is the truth, so the murder was for nothing, the programme is scheduled to air in Australia tomorrow and has been syndicated world-wide and will air in the US next week." "How much do you want? I can give you millions." "You do not have millions to give. This is your problem, you have spent your life chasing money. But your problem is that your judgement has been driven by greed, not need. If you'd been satisfied with having your needs met this would never have happened. You have been brought up believing that you are invincible financially, but things haven't been going well for you since the GFC, easy money is harder to come by. Where once the banks and insurance companies were throwing money at you and people like you, there's now very little money to throw around. The quick buck now takes longer and you don't have the patience to wait, you have to have it now, and because of this slow-down in your finance stream you decided to syphon off as much money as you could get into an offshore account so that you'll have enough to ride out the storm in luxury. But even that wasn't enough, you borrowed money against your cars in the hope that things would pick up and you could redeem them, but that hasn't happened, so you're about to sell your yacht. You were hoping for a good showing in this regatta to push up the price rather than take what you could get as it was. Even that backfired on you because you now have repairs to carry out and no money to do them, so you'll have to sell at a loss. I'll bet that you haven't paid the boatyard that carried out the recent refurbishments. So you see mate, you're up shit creek without a paddle, and no-one that you can turn to, not even your father." "You bastard!" He launched himself across the room at me. He didn't make it, one of his crew grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. The hotel receptionist led a police Constable into the room and pointed to AMF4. "That's the man Constable, he just tried to attack this gentleman." He pointed to me. "Come with me sir." The Constable took his arm and went to lead him from the room. AMF4 tried to break free but to no avail. "Come quietly sir, or there may be further charges laid such as resisting arrest." He caught sight of Naomi as she walked into the room. "Have I missed anything?" "You fucking bitch, what are you doing here?" "Just making certain that you get what's coming to you." She walked over to me and kissed me. "How did it go Darling?" He struggled against the strong hands of the law. "I'll get you, you fucking bitch! I'll get the both of you! You can't do this to me!" It was then that the realisation set in, we had done it to him. "You can't do this to me, I'm your brother." He sobbed. "What happens now?" The yacht's skipper asked. We've got nowhere to stay, no way of getting home, and no money." "That's all been taken care of, your hotel bill has been paid, you can go back, the yacht is being repaired as we speak and will be ready to race tomorrow, if you're interested that is. And when this is over you will be paid and your airfares have already been settled. What do you say, can we go out and win this race?" "We can give it a bloody good shake. Sorry for the language." "Don't be, I didn't hear any fucking swearing." She smiled at him. "You might have a couple of new crew members if you need us." "Welcome aboard Ma'am, Sir." He shook both of our hands. "Be on the dock at seven in the morning, and you'd better get some sleep, it's going to be a busy day." "I don't know what you mean." Naomi said as she hugged me and kissed me. We both slept well, eventually. It wasn't so much that we had made mad passionate love non-stop for hours, it was only about half an hour, it was more that our minds were racing about the events of the day, and what would happen when we returned to New York. Naomi had spoken to her mother. Her father was taking the news badly and had locked himself in his study, refusing to admit anyone, including staff with his meals. "Everything is under control." Naomi told her. "Andy is in gaol here and, with no-one to post bail, he'll stay here until he appears before a Magistrate. He has called the Embassy to try and arrange to get home when he's released, but we don't know the outcome of that yet. Ben and I are going sailing tomorrow in 'Fair Winds' out to somewhere called Fastnet and back, it happens every two years and is something of a 'must do' for serious yachties." She paused for the expected question from her mother. "Ben is the man who had come out to interview Andy last Saturday, he and I are, sort of together. You'll love him Mother, he's so much not like my odious brother." Another pause. "We'll see you in a few days. We have some things to tie up here and we'll be busy in town for a couple of days so it will probably be a week before we can get out to be with you. 'Bye Mother." She finished the call. We both learned a lot about sailing over the next few days, firstly it's hard work, it can be cold and wet, and depending on the seas, can be as rough as guts. But I have to admit that it was fun. We were in a large fleet of yachts and finished somewhere in the middle of the pack, which, according to Rod, our skipper, was acceptable given the rush to get her ready for the start and the super-maxi status of most of the yachts that finished ahead of us. "So what was supposed to happen now?" I asked him. "The plan was to put her on the market and sell her so that we didn't have to ship her back home. I guess that it's up to you two to decide what we should do with her." "What do you think?" I asked Naomi. "I don't want to sell her, I had so much fun, but then finding the time to sail her is a problem, it cost money just to have her sitting somewhere doing nothing. I don't think that we have a lot of choice." "I have one suggestion." "And that is?" "We ship her to Australia and have her surveyed for charter work. In the southern winter we can base her in Queensland as a crewed or bare-boat charter out on the Barrier Reef, while in the southern summer we can offer coastal and harbour charters in and around Sydney. It will mean us living in Australia." "Are you saying that you want me to move to Sydney?" "If you want to live with me, yes that's exactly what I'm saying." "I will do it on one condition." "And that is?" "That we're married, and if you want that you'll have to ask me." There was a twinkle in her eyes. "Let me think this through, will you marry me?" She didn't say anything in answer to my question, she launched herself at me and just about knocked me off my feet with the force of her enthusiastic answer. "We have a lot to do before any of this happens." "Who cares? I just want to get the marriage out of the way." "Don't you want your mother to be there? I want my parents to be in attendance." "Oh alright, I'll let you delay proceedings until we can gather the clans together. Where are we going to have it?" "I thought at your place. I will draw the line at inviting your brother." "What about Father?" "We'll see what happens when we get back to New York." I broke the news to Mum, who answered in her usual 'call a spade a shovel' manner. "This is all a bit sudden isn't it? You haven't got the unfortunate girl pregnant have you?" "No Mum, she's not pregnant, and yes it is sudden. But when you meet her you'll understand." "Is she there with you now?" "Yes." "Put her on." It was an order that I could not disobey. "Hello Mrs Walsh." "Of course my son forgot to tell me your name." "Naomi, Naomi Fairchild." "No relation to the Fairchild that Ben has been obsessing about ever since Elena was murdered?" "Unfortunately yes, he's my brother, but apart from our name and parentage there is nothing in common between us, as Ben has found out. It should be on the news services by now, but my brother has been arrested and charged with a whole range of offenses and that is just the start of it. We are finishing up our work in retrieving the money that he has stolen from a lot of people and liquidating his assets to pay off what he owes. When we've finished we want you and Ben's father to fly to New York for the wedding, we'll organise it for you. As soon as we can organise it we'll contact you and get you over there." "You sound like a very sensible young woman Naomi, just what my son needs. You do what you have to do and we'll be ready to jump on the first plane. Now can I speak with Ben?" Naomi handed me the phone. "She sounds like a nice girl, now you do the right thing by her or you'll have me to answer to." "Yes Mum." I sounded just like a school kid in trouble with the headmaster of his school. It turned out to be a hectic couple of weeks. We arrived back in town to be greeted by devastating news. The loss of face was too much for Naomi's father, and he had taken his own life. Her mother was calm about the whole episode and I got the impression that she had seen it coming for some time. We paid out the mortgage and the title to the property was placed in her name. We redeemed the Bentleys before the intended fire sale saw them sold for a fraction of their worth. I began to arrange for them to be spread around several classic car auctions around the world, concentrating on the UK where they would fetch the highest price. It would take some months for them to be sold. 'Fair Winds' was on her way to Sydney and we were looking forward to sailing her again. A honeymoon trip from Sydney up to the Hawkesbury and sailing around Pittwater, Cowan Creek, and providing we can squeeze her under the Hawkesbury River bridges, to Berowra Waters and up to Wisemans Ferry. If not we'd just moor her somewhere and find something else to occupy our time. It took all of two weeks before I made the call to Mum and Dad to come over. Naomi and I met them at international arrivals at the airport. They smiled their way across the concourse towards us. "So this is Naomi." Mum said as she hugged her. "I'm impressed." Dad said to me as he waited his turn to be greeted by her. "I don't see why you should be, he's handsome enough to attract even the most discerning female. I've seen Elena on a DVD he has and she was gorgeous, better looking than me." "Don't put yourself down my dear." Dad hurried to say. "You are every bit as good looking as she was." Mum took charge when we arrived at our car. "George, you can ride up front with Ben, I want to get to know Naomi, we have a lot of girl talk to get through." She commandeered the back seat and dragged Naomi in with her. "Now my dear, tell me how you two met and how it was that you fell for him." "I met him when he came out to the house to interview my brother. . . " "You mean the one that's in the shit up to his neck." "Mum, a little decorum please, this is your future daughter you're speaking to." "She'll just have to learn that I can be quite blunt at times. If she can't handle that, then you've got problems." "Yeah, the one that's in shit up to his miserable fucking neck. Is that blunt enough for you?" "You and I are going to get on fine." For the rest of the journey there was a lot of mumbling and laughing coming from the back seat while I concentrated on driving and Dad sat in the passenger's seat with his usual long-suffering expression. I turned off the road into the driveway of Naomi's family mansion. "My, this must take some looking after." Mum commented. "Yes, there's an army of gardeners at work all the time." "It's lucky that you've plenty of money then." I got the impression that Mum already knew about the financial problems the family has faced of late, she was watching for Naomi's reaction. "We came very close to having nothing. If it wasn't for my Darling future husband, I would have been on the streets and sleeping in subways or something. He rescued Mother and I from abject poverty. But that's not the only reason that I'm in love with him and can't wait for the wedding." "You don't mean to tell me that you've been waiting for the wedding." "Mum." "No we haven't, I had to check him out in that department, and I have to say that I am very satisfied." "Here we are." I stopped outside the main entrance. "And not before time." Dad commented. "She does go on, doesn't she?" A couple of household staff came out and were instructed to take the baggage up to the guest bedroom. Naomi's mother came out the door. "Mother, this is Ben's mother and father, George and Elizabeth Walsh. And this is my mother Margaret Fairchild." "G'day, Maggie, pleased to meet you." Mum hugged her. "Pleased to meet you too Elizabeth." "You can call me Liz." Dad shook Margaret's hand. "I'm afraid you can't shorten George. It's good to meet you Margaret." "I think you can call me Maggie as well." This was all new stuff for her, this lack of formality, but that was Mum and Dad and their philosophy on life, they were George and Liz to everyone regardless of status or wealth. We quickly brought them up to speed on what was going on in the Fairchild household, from AMF4's incarceration to AMF3's suicide and the financial dramas that both had precipitated. The State Department had applied for AMF4's extradition from the UK to stand trial on a range of charges from fraud to first degree murder. The murder charge was plea bargained down to an accessory before the fact charge on the basis that he confessed and gave up the perp, as they say. This betrayal would ensure that any sentence that he served would be hard time. I smiled every time I thought of him bending down to pick up the soap. The wedding plans were fast approaching fruition and this caused some dramas at Naomi's bachelorette party. One of her bridesmaids commented on how uncouth my mother was and Naomi leapt to her defence. "How can you support that woman, she has no class?" "That woman is about to become my mother, and as for her lack of class, I'd rather spend time with her than all of you stuck up bitches, she is the genuine article, there is no pretence, no snobbery, in fact the lot of you can get the fuck out of here. I don't want you at my wedding." "You're drunk Naomi. Just calm down and think about what you have just said. You have more class in your little finger that that woman has in her whole body. How can you defend her, she's so . . . . common." "Just because she doesn't put on airs and graces doesn't mean she has no class, she can be as snooty as you or anyone else if she wants, she doesn't want to, and do you know why? It's because she considers everyone from, how did she put it, the garbo (garbage collector) to the Prime Minister, deserves to be treated alike, and I have come to see that she could be right. If you want to be respected, you must respect others. If you can't handle that, then good-bye. And if you think that I'm saying that because I feel sorry for her because she's poor, at this point in time she has more money than my family, and probably yours, she just doesn't flaunt it." Chasing a Story Sonya was the first to apologise, followed by Felicity and Brianna, and soon all was back on track. A pavilion appeared on the back lawn of the Fairchild property, caterers scurried back and forth between the kitchen and the pavilion. Rows of white plastic chairs also appeared on the lawn with a red carpet down the middle, and white bows hanging from the aisle chairs. At the front, a flower bedecked dais with a floral arch waited for the wedding party. The celebrant paced back and forth rehearsing his lines as the guests, all fifty of them, filed in and took their seats. My side of the seating was populated by a few close friends and my work colleagues, along with the overflow from Naomi's side. I stood with by Best Man and Groomsman, waiting for my bride to make her appearance. A string quartet burst into Mendelsohn's Wedding March and she appeared. My god she's gorgeous. She looked at me as she approached and smiled at me. My father had stepped in to offer his arm to her and give her away, and he looked so proud of his participation in this. As he passed her to me he lent towards me and whispered, "She's all yours now, don't fuck it up." We smiled at each other and I became serious as the celebrant began the ceremony. The reception went relatively smoothly until Dad got up to make a speech. He suddenly became as Aussie as a Vegemite sandwich. "G'day, I must say that this is some shindig you've bunged on here for me lad Ben and his blushing bride Naomi. I've only known her for a short time, but struth she's a bonzer sheila. I reckon they make a great couple don't you? Liz and I expected Maggie to be some snooty bitch who wouldn't give us common folk the time of day, but let me tell ya, she's the grouse, couldn't ask for a nicer person. But seriously now, I know that a lot of you wouldn't understand what I've just said, but it was all good. Everything is perfect, the wedding ceremony was great. Naomi looked even better than I expected, this reception is great, the food is awesome, and as for Naomi and her mum, Liz and I couldn't ask for nicer people. Now enjoy, the tap gets turned off in one hour, after that you have to cough up for any booze. Just kidding, get stuck in and enjoy yourselves." He sat down to loud applause. I don't know whether it was the thought of free booze that brought this on. The reception took on a particularly Aussie flavour after we had departed for the first night of our honeymoon. I don't know whether it was their Aussie charm or the alcohol but my Best Man Scott, and Groomsman Lliam, were seen, to use the vernacular, going the grope with Felicity and Brianna. You know what I mean, playing hide the sausage, getting friendly, what the hell, they were spotted fucking behind some bushes. Naomi and I had checked into a hotel for the night, so we climbed into one of AMF4's Bentleys, a Mulsanne complete with chauffeur, borrowed from the collection, for the drive into the city. I remember little of the journey and it seemed to have taken only minutes before the Bentley eased to a halt outside our hotel and the doorman opened the door to welcome us. We had a wonderful night of lovemaking before flying back to Sydney the next morning for the next part, a cruise in 'Fair Winds' up to the Hawkesbury. The next month saw major changes. Andrew Malden Fairchild IV was found guilty of conspiring to procure the murder of Elena Martin and James Proctor, for which he was sentenced to 20 years on both counts. He was also found, in a separate trial, guilty of numerous counts of fraud and embezzlement, for which he was sentenced to a further fifteen years, to be served after he completed his other sentence. The judge declined to excuse himself from the case, even though he was one of many people who'd been a victim of AMF4's many get rich superfast schemes and had lost a lot of money. He claimed that it would be difficult, almost impossible, to find any member of the judiciary who hadn't lost money. The house was sold, the notoriety from the trial seemed to have boosted the price, it fetched more than the realtor's estimate, and Maggie moved to Sydney, 'to be close to Naomi, as I have no close relatives left', and bought a harbourside apartment just up the road from Mum and Dad. She might as well have saved her money and moved in with them, the amount of time she spends with them. As for Naomi and me. I resigned from my job, and we run the yacht charter business on a part-time basis. We are looking forward to an increase in our immediate family, a daughter, due in six months. Just goes to show what can happen when you go chasing a story.