Chasing a Story

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."