Man in Armour Read online

  ‘Fuck you, Charles.’

  Charles felt that punch through his left pauldron. But had to explicitly ask one more time. ‘Can you get approval this morning?’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Charles heard the click of the phone disconnecting. Felt the final blow. Waited. Then hung up too. It wasn’t meant to end like that. He drew a tight breath.

  He hated Redbank. Fucking incompetent fops. If they had worked out in time that the Vasalo credit was critical, Eurobank could have been given a spot in the lucrative syndicate. Then Eurobank would have had an incentive to approve the Vasalo credit. Richard was an imbecile. So was Oil Co’s finance director.

  Charles didn’t blame Bert exactly. He rolled his bruised shoulder. They were meant to be friends. No, not friends. Co-conspirators. Were meant to help each other. Especially at times like these.

  He looked at his watch. 5.27 am. Charles stood up and went back to the window.

  No point going back to the Redbank room to rail at them for not completing the Eurobank risk application properly. Or for not including Eurobank in the syndicate. Bunch of fucking amateurs. They wouldn’t put themselves on the line. Let alone cross the line.

  All right. Bank of Japan. They still held the debt.

  Charles scrolled through the contacts on his phone. Found the number he was looking for. Took a deep breath and pressed ‘Dial’.

  Charles glanced at his watch. 5.36 am. Early afternoon in Japan.

  ‘Moshi moshi.’ Ken must still be annoyed with Charles if he was answering in Japanese.

  ‘Ken. How are you?’

  ‘Disappointed.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Charles knew better than to bite, but remained reluctant to involve the Bank of Japan on his HealthPlan deal.

  ‘So, are you ringing to say you’ve changed your position?’

  Charles paused. Wondered how to phrase it. The Japanese were so damn polite. But he was desperate. ‘It was nice to hear your perspective on what BoJ could do to help on the HealthPlan transaction.’ He tried to narrow his comment. ‘On the tax side.’

  ‘Yes. And?’

  ‘I thought about it on the flight home. We should discuss it further; it may be BoJ could create value.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that, Charles.’

  Charles paused again before saying, ‘But as it happens I am ringing about a different deal.’

  Ken was silent.

  Charles wondered whether Ken was interested or affronted. He waited too.

  Then Ken asked, ‘How is it that you’re imagining I can assist on this other deal?’

  Charles heaved a silent sigh of relief. Ken got it.

  ‘There is a piece of debt that you have rolling off. For Vasalo Corp. In Brazil.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I need it to be extended.’

  Ken didn’t say anything.

  ‘In the next hour.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you want to be crossed?’

  ‘I don’t know, Charles. Do you think I will mind being crossed?’

  Bank of Japan would be prevented from trading if they found out about the deal before it was announced to the market. Charles summoned a mental list of the major shareholders of Oil Co and Mining Co and rapidly ran through them; he didn’t think Bank of Japan was one. And then ran through the tradeable bond holders. He didn’t think Bank of Japan had any sizeable exposure there either. Or at least any exposure that was big enough to tempt them to illegally manoeuvre if they had the Mining Co and Oil Co transaction information. ‘I think you won’t mind. The deal is being announced before the London market opens. Which is,’ he glanced again at his watch, ‘in about four hours.’

  He waited.

  ‘You can cross me,’ Ken replied.

  ‘Mining Co is buying Oil Co. You have a piece of debt out to Vasalo, a subsidiary of Oil Co. It’s only two hundred million but it goes current next week. Eurobank was due to approve a new facility for Vasalo yesterday but didn’t. And Redbank worked out an hour or two ago that the Vasalo facility going current causes the rest of the Oil Co senior debt structure to accelerate.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes, it is unfortunate.’

  Ken waited.

  So Charles said, ‘Which is why I thought I would call you. To ask if it is possible for Bank of Japan to extend its existing Vasalo facility. Urgently.’

  ‘Charles, it would be a pleasure to assist you.’

  Charles waited for the ask.

  But instead Ken said, ‘I will assess our position on Vasalo and call you back within thirty minutes.’

  Charles felt heavy. He’d forgotten. Ken was Japanese. The ask would be detailed afterwards. But he couldn’t quibble. Not at this point.

  ‘Thank you, Ken.’

  ‘Do you know the terms Eurobank was proposing?’

  Charles had no idea. He walked to the door of the room he was in, yanked it open. Richard was propped against the wall, a beige installation. Charles walked past him, saying into the phone, ‘Give me a minute, Ken.’

  He put his phone on mute.

  Richard floated along behind him as Charles strode down the corridor and yanked open the door of the Oil Co and Redbank room. It was quiet.

  ‘I need the Eurobank term sheet,’ Charles said to the room in general.

  There was no response; they had atrophied.

  ‘I need a copy of the Eurobank term sheet!’ Charles yelled from the door. ‘Now!’

  Pinstriped Peter hastened over with a neat, labelled folder. Handed it to Charles. Charles walked to the nearest table, thrust the folder down, leaned over and started flicking. One-page summary at the front. Some sort of internal Redbank document. An internal Oil Co memo. Seventy-page draft Eurobank contract. Fifty-page Bank of Japan contract, signed and dated five years ago. He went back to the summary at the front. Scanned it. Redbank was hopeless. But perhaps Pinstriped Peter, despite appearances, was not. All the key terms were listed. With a comparison between the existing Bank of Japan terms and the proposed Eurobank terms.

  He looked up at Peter and closed the folder. ‘Thanks.’

  As Charles headed back for the door, Richard asked, ‘What are you—’

  ‘Richard,’ Charles barked, cutting him off. ‘Eurobank hadn’t even completed their credit checklist. Emory, you should fire this idiot.’

  There was stunned silence. Then indignant accusations as Charles stalked back into the corridor. Richard followed, bleating, until Charles re-entered the small room and slammed the door in his face.

  Charles sat at the table, opened the folder again, took himself off mute and started reading the terms to Ken.

  After Ken had noncommittally hung up, Charles sat back.

  He looked at his watch. 6.03 am.

  He debated going to see his own team. But what would he tell them? He’d made no progress. But he didn’t want David to seem out of the loop, to lose face with his team, so he SMSed: Eurobank hadn’t even completed its credit assessment. They are a no.

  David’s response was immediate: Fuck me. Redbank are incompetent fuckers.

  Charles replied: Trying BoJ.

  OK.

  Richard was probably still beigeing in the corridor. On his own. Mortified. Isolated. Hopefully he would give up and go back to the Redbank room, admit to Oil Co and his team that he was a gutless shit who had no idea what was going on.

  Charles positioned his chair to look at the sunrise. The natural light on his face might help keep him awake. He observed the slightly reddened sky. Then moved his foot so the sheen on his heel could catch the light. He could still feel the old ski stick stigmata injury that had been inflicted during his childhood. This pair of shoes had a narrow ribbon of slightly darker leather snaking around his ankle. The pattern on the ribbon was of dots and dashes. Morse code. They spelled out his initials. No one had ever noticed. They weren’t meant to.

  What would he do if Ken said no?

  Approach his own GlobalBank debt team? He could probably get Delaney to approve a two hundred million pound loan to Oil Co at short notice. But if Bert thought it had hairs – well, it probably did. And if the Vasalo debt went south, the fees GlobalBank made on the advisory and trading side of this Mining Co deal would be swamped by the loss on Oil Co’s Vasalo debt. The overall deal would go negative for GlobalBank. And with it Charles’s internal credibility. Not to mention his bonus.

  There was a knock on the door. Who the hell would be knocking? Charles ignored it.

  It came again. This time more tentatively.

  Then again.

  Charles yanked the door open, anger etched into his face.

  It was Richard.

  ‘Unless you’ve come to tell me you’ve found a solution to your client’s two hundred million pound problem, you can fuck off.’

  Richard put his shoulders back and raised his dejected eyes to Charles.

  Charles almost laughed. Was Richard planning to give him a fencing salute?

  ‘Charles, where are things at? Is Bert going to do it?’

  ‘Fuck off, you incompetent cunt,’ Charles said before shutting the door in his face. Again.

  He sat back down. A couple of minutes later his phone buzzed. An SMS from David: Richard is here. Asking what’s happening.

  Charles typed: I’ve already told that gutless wonder to fuck off.

  He assessed his shoulder wound from his encounter with Bert. Stretched it. Jiggled it. It was true Eurobank hadn’t been approached to be in the Mining Co merger syndicate. But Eurobank’s prices were shit these days. Especially for assets in countries with sovereign risk. Nevertheless, out of courtesy, Luke or Garvey at Eurobank should have been offered a slice to keep them sweet. But he was busy. Had a lot of balls in the air. He couldn’t think of everything. On every deal. Bloody Richard should have been all over it. And David too should probably have thought to approach them.

  David texted again: Tracy is here. Should she bring you your coffee?

  Charles felt absurdly pleased that Tracy was here. Yes.

  Her knock came only a minute later. She shimmied into the room. Rosy, glossy. An alien. Her smile was wry. ‘You must be exhausted.’

  He reached out his hand for the coffee. ‘Yep.’ He tried to match her smile. More than anyone, his assistant knew. Knew that he hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours in a bed over the past week. Knew that he was surely approaching breaking point.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  She was a paid sympathiser, but her smile was tender and he couldn’t resist the temptation to appreciate it. ‘No. But thank you.’

  As she turned to leave, he asked, ‘Actually, can you bring me my coat? And scarf? I’m freezing.’

  He wouldn’t, despite her obvious willingness, sleep with Tracy. He knew the pattern. The slavish secretary would start demanding time, attention, conversation; the devoted helpmeet would suddenly expect something more than a salary in return for her endless devotion. He’d seen sexual secretaries prevail; be installed as a new wife or mistress and retire triumphant from secretarial duties. He’d also seen plenty discarded, indulge in gossip, and need to find a new job. In either case the man would need to find a new secretary. Tracy was too good to lose.

  She delivered his coat. He wrapped and unwrapped his hands in his scarf.

  Ken was taking too long. It was past 6.30.

  What would happen if Ken said no? Would the deal survive a delay? Until Eurobank, or someone else, took on the Vasalo debt? A delay would give the dissenting directors of Oil Co the time to back out. Or to demand a higher price. It would give the shareholders of Mining Co, who would now inevitably get wind of the transaction, time to consider the risks. The time to pressure the Mining Co board to reduce their offer price. The time to demand more due diligence. His heart sank. Years of work. Years. Fucked up by the poncing fencers at Redbank. Playing at their pretend battles with button-tipped foils. Redbank would be embarrassed. Humiliated. And Richard would get the knife. But the Redbank brand would survive. It always did.

  His phone rang. It was Ken. He drew a deep adrenaline-charged breath. Answered politely, ‘Hello Ken. Thank you for calling me back.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to speak to you, Charles. However, your colleagues at Redbank are not in favour here.’

  ‘They’re not my colleagues.’

  ‘Nor are your colleagues at Oil Co viewed favourably.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘There has been unpleasantness during our discussions regarding their failed Vasalo mine.’

  Charles’s heart sank.

  ‘I’m sorry to say I have heard the words “arrogant” and “rude” used to describe Oil Co’s attitude.’

  Charles forced himself to reply. ‘I am disappointed to hear that, Ken. My team and the Mining Co team were unaware of that.’ Went on with bravado, ‘But I assure you that if you decide to extend the facility, you will be dealing with me. And my team. And Mining Co.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles.’

  There was silence. Perhaps Ken needed more; he’d been crossed anyway.

  ‘The chief executive of Oil Co, Emory Gerald, is leaving once the merger occurs. So is their finance director, Derek Anderson.’

  ‘Due to this?’

  Charles considered stretching the truth. But the deal was being announced in a few hours. Ken would work out that the redundancies of Emory and Derek had nothing to do with this. ‘No, because of their manifest other failings.’

  ‘That is important to know. Thank you for mentioning it, Charles.’

  The burden of this Bank of Japan relationship needed to fall to Barnaby post-transaction, not Charles. So Charles threw out a lure. ‘Mining Co’s chief executive, Barnaby Bell, is a decent executive. I think you would appreciate his rigour. Perhaps the three of us might have dinner together?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Ken replied. Then, in a different tone, ‘I explained to my colleagues that you were the one asking for the Vasalo extension. Our relationship with you is long, Charles. And we know you well. Makoto-Ito-san has indicated we should support you in this matter.’

  Charles’s heart soared. He leapt to his feet. Air-punched. What a brilliant coincidence he had been in Japan yesterday. And had not cancelled lunch with the tiresome Makoto-Ito-san. Thank Christ.

  ‘Makoto-Ito-san enjoyed the discussion you and he had over lunch yesterday. You seem to share his interest in enabling EduScope’s growth plans.’

  Fuck. That, not HealthPlan, was the price.

  Charles managed, ‘I too enjoyed the discussion with Makoto-Ito-san over lunch yesterday.’ He staggered back to his chair as the knife skidded along his gorget.

  ‘We are in a position to extend the Vasalo facility,’ Ken said.

  Charles was overwhelmed with nausea. Collapsed his head into his hands. Felt dizzy. He had to do this. For Mining Co. For David. For his team. EduScope was a problem for another day. He’d work out how to fix this new problem another day. He looked at his watch. 6.48 am. He didn’t have time for another solution. He placed his head back in his hands. Took a steadying breath. Raised his head, uncapped a bottle of water and gulped messily. It settled as painful shards of ice in his stomach. Into the pause Charles said neutrally, formally, ‘Thank you, Ken.’

  ‘Shall we go through the terms now?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Charles, pulling the Vasalo folder towards himself, digging out a pen to mark up the front-page summary. ‘Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you.’

  ‘Given you need it approved immediately, it will be on the basis of extending the existing contract.’

  ‘The one from 22 January 2010?’ Charles asked, looking at the summary before him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right,’ Charles replied, looking around for a paper napkin to wipe his mouth.

  Ken read out the new terms. Charles wrote them in blue next to the table on the first page. Each term was worse than it had been in the original Bank of Japan 2010 contract. And each term was materially worse than the deal Oil Co had wanted from Eurobank.

  It was a gouge. Charles did the mental maths. The terms Ken was articulating were about ten million dollars more expensive than the Eurobank terms. Spread over three years. A big gouge. A value-destructive gouge.

  Eventually Ken asked, ‘Is there anything else you need to clarify?’

  Charles wasn’t in a position to negotiate. ‘No.’

  ‘Shall we proceed then? We’ll need an hour or so to get the contract marked up and executed on our side. I can then send it through to you for execution on your side.’

  Charles ground his teeth. It would be 8 am before they had the BoJ draft, so he’d have no time to do anything other than agree with what they sent. ‘Thank you, Ken. Can you please send it to Derek, the finance director of Oil Co. He and Emory will be the ones to sign.’

  ‘No, Charles. I’ll be sending it to you.’

  Charles grimaced. Ugly. That would highlight that Bank of Japan refused to deal with Oil Co. Refused to deal with Redbank. And if the transaction was ever investigated there’d be a paper trail showing the advisor of the acquiring company arranging punitive debt for the acquired company at the eleventh hour. But that was part of the price.

  ‘Thank you, Ken.’

  ‘In the meantime perhaps your office can liaise with Makoto-Ito-san’s office to set up a time for you and he to meet again soon to discuss EduScope.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Ken.’

  He waited for Ken to hang up. Shivered. He couldn’t stop himself.

  He looked down at the figures on the one-page summary. Winced.

  No one would like them.

  Not Oil Co.

  Not Mining Co.

  But at least the deal would get done.

  He looked at his watch. 6.58 am. It’d be tight.

  What were the other issues of contention? He tried to remember. He felt in his jacket pocket for the draft press release. Glanced down at his post-it note. Ah yes, the announcement of Emory’s termination arrangements.

  He texted David. Come here now. Bring Barnaby.

  He heaved himself out of the chair and strode to the Redbank room. Didn’t knock, just walked in.