Man in Armour Read online

  The accountants started desperately stabbing at their computers, not wanting to meet his eye.

  Barnaby said antagonistically, hands still in pockets, ‘I still don’t understand why we need to solve Oil Co’s bloody problem. It’s a piece of their debt going current. Not ours.’

  Charles smiled at Barnaby through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t worry. There’s always something like this. A last-minute speed bump. We’ll find a path through.’

  Charles re-read the red-lined draft market release. Grabbed a stray pen. Then wrote himself a post-it note. Why current? Why Emory? Stuck the post-it note to the release. Folded it. Put it in his jacket pocket.

  He looked up. ‘OK. Anything else anyone wants to mention? Before I go down to the Redbank room?’

  There was a flurry of uncomfortable rustling.

  Their Grey Grooved Host ventured, ‘You don’t want to talk it through? What you’re going to offer?’

  ‘No. It’ll be fine.’ Charles didn’t want witnesses to his sausage making.

  One of the junior lawyers dislodged himself from the group near the window and made his way over. ‘We’ve electronically searched two of the main documents. Haven’t found anything that would cause a covenant breach. And it doesn’t appear to be a condition precedent for the UK-based transaction. But we need to go through the documents properly and search some of the smaller agreements.’

  Charles nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So . . . should we keep looking?’

  ‘Yep.’ Charles stood up.

  Dismay filled the air. He was leaving them again.

  David made to go with him, but Charles shook his head. ‘I’ll be right on my own.’

  The Adam’s Apple had lingered near the door, so it was he who let Charles out.

  The noises from the GlobalBank room once the door clicked shut were savage.

  CHAPTER 2

  The blond-wood corridor was quiet, Charles’s footsteps muffled by the anodyne carpet. He passed six indistinguishable beige paintings before reaching the signing room and the lift. And a further six indistinguishable paintings before reaching the room to which the Oil Co team had retreated. He stood outside the door for a moment, listening. There were voices. But no shouting. No urgency. He knocked once, and when he entered, the room fell silent.

  This room smelled of sushi. And cologne; probably also Japanese. Most of the men still had their jackets on, fashionably foppish. Redbank was the best of British. Even the plebs relished hearing that Lord So-and-So’s son had made millions at Redbank in the City, or that some Eurotrash prince was working at Redbank as a graduate.

  ‘Hello, Charles,’ Richard said, coming over to him in the silence. Redbank’s London head of mergers and acquisitions was a slim fish. ‘What can you tell us?’

  Charles scanned the room, halting when he came to Oil Co’s chief executive. Emory was still flushed. Unable to meet Charles’s eye. In the three years they’d been bringing this deal to fruition, in their countless clandestine meetings, Emory had never looked embarrassed before. Emory got to his feet but didn’t venture forward.

  Richard was indicating Charles should sit at their conference room table, but instead he walked over to the window. Stood looking out. The edge of the horizon had lightened. It was almost 5 am; he was running out of time.

  ‘I understand you have a problem with your debt?’ Charles began.

  He could see their surprised faces reflected in the window. They hadn’t expected him to start there.

  ‘Oil Co has a small tranche out with the Bank of Japan,’ Richard said. ‘Against the Vasalo operation in Brazil. It’s up for renewal. We decided to transition it to Eurobank. It’s only two hundred.’

  Charles didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything.

  ‘Anyway, Eurobank took it to their risk committee today . . .’ Richard stopped and flicked his eyes at his watch. ‘Well, yesterday. And it turns out it wasn’t approved. Got delayed to their next committee – in a month. So that Bank of Japan two hundred goes current next week.’

  Charles kept looking out the window.

  Richard pressed on. ‘Where are your team at on using an Irish entity for a Mining Co bridge loan?’

  ‘Mining Co’s not providing a bridge loan,’ Charles said. ‘We’ve got enough regulatory problems as it is, without getting our arseholes searched on anti-trust.’

  One of the juniors at the back of the room threw his pencil on a table and stamped his foot.

  ‘Well,’ Richard said, rallying, ‘we can probably live with the pricing offset mechanism your team put forward—’

  Charles cut him off. ‘No, we’re not doing that either. Too much tax leakage.’

  There was a flicker of trepidation in Richard’s eye. ‘We need Mining Co to find a way—’

  ‘No,’ Charles said. ‘Oil Co needs to deliver clean entities. This is not our problem.’

  Emory came over to where Charles and Richard were talking. Bounced gently on the balls of his feet. But didn’t say anything.

  ‘Charles,’ Richard said, ‘we’re all in this together . . .’

  Charles turned to Emory. ‘Tell Oil Co’s directors to grow some balls. Current debt isn’t the end of the world.’

  All movement in the room stilled. Emory stopped bouncing.

  Richard spoke quietly, apprehensively. ‘The Bank of Japan debt going current triggers several of the upstream covenants.’ He met Charles’s eye. ‘It accelerates Oil Co’s senior debt structure. Oil Co wouldn’t be able to complete the deal.’

  ‘What?’ Charles’s mind reeled. If the Bank of Japan piece went current, every pound of Oil Co’s debt, in every other facility, owed to every other bank, became due for immediate repayment. This deal represented two years of his life. Winded, he struggled to draw a deep breath. ‘What the fuck, Richard! When did you work that out?’

  ‘We got a QC’s opinion a few hours ago,’ replied Richard, his face buckling.

  ‘Richard! Fuck!’

  ‘We didn’t realise—’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Charles threw out, ‘You should have told David immediately. Immediately.’

  No one said anything.

  ‘And, Emory, you should have told Barnaby.’

  Silence.

  ‘Richard, you gutless piece of shit, go and explain this to David and Barnaby. Now.’

  Richard confessed, ‘We should have been on top of—’

  ‘Go. Now.’

  Richard scurried out the door.

  ‘I want to see the advice,’ Charles barked.

  There was a neat set of printed copies on the far corner of the conference table. Each stamped Privileged. A gangly pinstriped youth warily ferried Charles a copy. Charles read it quickly. At least QCs were competent. They were smart. Got to the heart of the matter. Wrote in dot points.

  Charles looked up at the Oil Co chief executive. ‘Jesus, Emory. Why the fuck didn’t you get the Eurobank approval a month ago? Two months ago? Six months ago?’

  ‘Yes, that would have been—’

  ‘What a cock-up!’ Charles turned to the finance director of Oil Co. ‘Why wasn’t this on the transaction timetable, Derek?’

  The finance director shifted in his seat. ‘We didn’t—’

  Richard scampered back into the room, tailed by a heaving David and seething Barnaby.

  ‘Charles?’ David said, panting. ‘It can’t be right. This debt going current can’t accelerate the whole Oil Co structure.’

  ‘It would seem it does,’ growled Charles, waving the QC’s advice.

  The GlobalBank team poured down the corridor and into the Redbank room. David shoved Richard against the wall. Followed it up with spittle-drenched curses.

  Barnaby barrelled towards Emory, jabbing him in the chest. ‘How could you let this happen?’

  Charles watched. Didn’t say anything. Went back to looking outside. Struggled to think.

  The GlobalBank team roared its disbelief.

  Charles called for quiet only after Nigel punched a particularly tall, elegant Redbank analyst.

  The room divided itself. The livid, scornful Mining Co team. And the still fastidious Oil Co team, the tall analyst holding a monogrammed handkerchief to his nose.

  Charles spoke firmly. ‘Redbank needs to provide a loan to Oil Co.’

  There was a fraught hush.

  He looked around the room for clues. Spoke louder. ‘Why isn’t Redbank lending Oil Co the money?’

  Richard wouldn’t meet his eye. So Charles turned to the Oil Co chief executive. ‘Emory, Redbank has fucked this up. So why aren’t they fixing it for you?’

  Emory gestured to Richard. ‘Apparently they won’t. It’s a firm no.’

  ‘Why the fuck not?’ Charles exclaimed. ‘It’s the least they can do after missing something as big as this.’

  Richard finally faced Charles. ‘I spent a couple of hours earlier tonight trying to convince my Redbank risk committee. But they won’t approve it.’

  Charles threw up his hands.

  ‘That’s why there was a delay in telling your team,’ Richard said. ‘About the problem. I presumed Redbank would agree to do it. Would agree to fix it.’

  Charles turned to Emory. ‘Tell me you won’t be paying Redbank’s fees! That’s what their fee is for, to ensure cock-ups like this don’t happen. And if they do happen, your bankers are meant to fix them.’

  Charles turned back to the window. The sky was lightening. Despair pervaded the room.

  Redbank wouldn’t do it. Fuckers.

  It was tempting to let Mining Co bridge it after all, but while they might make it through today, the regulatory risk was overwhelming. The deal would sink within a week of the regulatory filings. And that pricing mechanism David had come up with was cute, but l
eaky. It’d be a bitch to document. And the market would hate it.

  He could fix this.

  He’d fixed every other bloody aspect of this transaction.

  What avenues were still open? Who could he exploit?

  The actual debt holders.

  Eurobank first.

  Then Bank of Japan, if Eurobank failed him.

  Charles’s adrenaline started to pump.

  He turned and asked Richard sharply, ‘Have you called Bert?’

  ‘Bert who?’

  ‘Bert Bannister, Eurobank’s head of industrials,’ Charles replied.

  Richard shook his head. ‘Someone from Bert’s team rang Peter,’ he said, gesturing towards the gangly pinstriped youth, ‘to say the approval had been bumped to next month.’

  Charles ignored Pinstriped Peter. ‘But you haven’t called him?’

  ‘Called Bert?’

  Charles kept his eyes fixed on Richard.

  ‘No!’

  Charles looked at his watch. ‘Well, let’s call him now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, Richard, now.’

  ‘What does calling Bert achieve?’

  Charles calmed his voice and enunciated each word. ‘If we can get Eurobank to approve the facility now, then Oil Co’s problem goes away.’

  Charles met Barnaby’s eye; Barnaby nodded. Then Emory’s; Emory nodded too.

  ‘It’s 5.05 am,’ Richard said.

  Charles walked to the door, through his febrile team, saying under his breath to David as he passed him, ‘Take our team back to the GlobalBank room.’

  Hand on the door, he asked, ‘Is there another room Richard and I can use to make the call to Bert?’

  Their Grey-Grooved Host stepped forward to lead the way.

  Charles walked along the beige corridor, trailed by a disconsolate Richard. A door next to the signing room was opened for them. A small room. A round wooden table. Four chairs. A mushroom phone. Some neatly arranged bottles of water. And a bowl of Polo mints. Charles pulled out his own phone as he sat down. Laid it on the table. Put it on speaker. Found Bert’s number and dialled it.

  Richard whispered, ‘This is not a good idea.’

  Charles ignored him. Waited for the phone to connect.

  ‘Bannister.’

  ‘Bert, apologies for calling so early. It’s Charles Edgeware. And I’m here with Richard Fletcher.’

  ‘Hi Bert,’ said Richard with false chirpiness.

  ‘Uh huh,’ Bert said. ‘Wait a minute.’

  Through the speaker came the sound of sheets stirring, then a gulp and swallow, a clearing of a throat. Then Bert said, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?’

  Richard shook his head, holding his hands up, abrogating responsibility. Charles would have to do it.

  ‘Richard’s client, Oil Co, had a loan up for approval at your risk committee today . . . I mean yesterday. Tuesday.’

  Charles paused, but Bert didn’t say anything. So Charles continued. ‘It didn’t make it to the front of the queue. It got delayed until next month.’

  Bert still didn’t say anything.

  ‘We’re working on a deal that’s reliant on that piece of credit. The deal’s due to be announced this morning.’

  There was still silence. But this time Charles left it hanging.

  Eventually Bert said, ‘So what do you want me to do about it? Presumably my guys knew the timing was critical?’

  Charles gestured to Richard, who frantically shook his head again.

  ‘No,’ Charles, said, throwing Richard under the bus. ‘Richard’s team only just worked that out.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Bert muttered. They could hear him push sheets aside, stand up, pad across a room, then a zipper, then a flicking of paper.

  They waited.

  Bert cleared his throat again, swallowed again, read aloud, ‘Two hundred? On Vasalo Corp?’

  Richard finally said something. ‘Yes, that’s it. Look, I’m sorry we didn’t let your side know it was time critical. We only got the QC’s opinion tonight. We should have dealt with it earlier. But now Mining Co is saying they won’t—’

  ‘Don’t cross me!’ Bert said.

  ‘Sorry,’ Richard said. ‘Of course. Sorry. I must be tired.’

  ‘Can you approve it, Bert?’ Charles asked. ‘Before the market opens this morning?’

  There was the sound of paper rustling before Bert said wearily, ‘It’s got hairs on it. Too many. I won’t be able to push it through out of cycle. If I had a week maybe, but not this morning. Not today.’

  ‘The transaction’s reliant on it, Bert,’ Richard said. He opened his mouth, looked like he was going to say more. Contorted his forehead. Drooped.

  Charles glared at Richard. That was it? That was all he was going to do? Ask nicely? Redbank produced fencers. Who daintily thrust their foils. Not fighters.

  ‘No, I can’t do it,’ Bert said.

  Charles grabbed his phone off the desk and took it off speaker. ‘Bert, wait.’ He took a deep breath, stood up and went to lean against the window. He and Bert knew each other. Had done innumerable deals together. Bert was a conservative risk guy. Charles was a deal guy. They rubbed well together. There had to be a zone of agreement. Charles flicked his hand at Richard, shooing him out of the conference room. He waited until the door had closed on Richard before saying slowly, ‘Bert, Richard’s fucked up.’ He paused, having someone to blame might help. Help Bert feel good about being able to fix it. ‘Oil Co’s chief executive, Emory Gerald, is furious. Richard’s going to get it in the neck. And my client’s furious too. With Oil Co. It’s been fucking amateur hour.’ Would Bert relish Eurobank being the white knight?

  Bert was silent.

  ‘This deal’s big, Bert. Very big.’ Could Bert guess the transaction? He would have heard Richard slip up and mention Mining Co. Surely Eurobank would like to build a relationship with Mining Co. ‘I think you’d want to support my client to get this transaction done.’ Mining Co would be a behemoth after acquiring Oil Co.

  Charles waited. Bert remained silent.

  Charles debased himself. Went and sat back at the table. Wheedled. ‘I know you could get the committee together again this morning. It’d just be a five-minute out-of-session meeting.’

  ‘Charles, we try not to do out-of-session meetings. We meet monthly. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Yes, but this is for a deal. You could say that the transactions popped overnight.’

  ‘No, Charles. I can’t.’ Frustration had crept into Bert’s voice, ‘Look, from what I can see in my paperwork, there are still outstanding items to be completed on the risk checklist.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Richard’s mistaken, it wasn’t on the slate for yesterday, it’s listed for next month.’

  ‘But your people told Redbank it was on the slate! They expected approval yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Charles.’

  ‘Well, why did Oil Co and Redbank get surprised when it wasn’t approved?’

  ‘Maybe they fucked up even more than you thought. All I can see is that the credit application isn’t final, and our internal risk checklist hasn’t been completed.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Bert. How are we meant to close transactions if you guys can’t even get your paperwork done in time!’

  ‘Don’t try and blame us for this. It’s not our fault that Oil Co didn’t get the approval they needed; we’ve been following the ordinary procedures.’

  ‘Well, your anally retentive ordinary procedure is fucking my deal.’

  ‘Charles . . .’

  Charles drew breath. Heard the warning. Clamped his lips together. Didn’t let his next words escape. Changed tack. Coaxed. ‘Don’t you want to be on the inside of this, Bert?’

  ‘On the inside? How can I possibly be characterised as on the inside of this deal if I’m only hearing about it now?’

  Charles didn’t say anything. He could see what was coming.

  ‘Charles? I’m not aware of any Mining Co transaction. Which must mean we’re not in the syndicate?’

  Charles stayed silent.

  ‘Right. So, we’re not in the main game but now you’re ringing me at 5 am and asking me to urgently approve some shitty little mining credit in Brazil with environmental clean-up issues!’

  Charles took a deep breath and offered an olive branch. ‘I can find room in the syndicate. Or perhaps you could lead the next tranche—’