Lottery Dreams Ch. 20: Piers' Story

Chapter 20: Piers' Story

Piers came from a very ordinary background. Or so he thought.

Spending most of his life at boarding schools, he was told his parents were abroad a great deal of the time. When he asked his father what they did, he was told they were on important work for the government.

Piers took this to mean the civil service or the military. So it came as a complete shock to find they did nothing of the sort. In fact, they were amongst the most powerful people in the world. Why this secret was never shared with him, was a mystery to Piers, but later he was to find out why.

His father worked for a merchant bank, moving money around the world for other people. So had his grandfather, but they all had one thing in common. They wanted that money for themselves, and in time they got it. Once they had learnt the tricks of the trade, they could find ways to move that money into accounts that only they controlled. With that, they found it easy to tell their employers that their profits were up or down. There were few restrictions in those days, and anyone with a clever turn of mind could fool the world.

The Morel family came from working-class stock, who had risen through the ranks by providing the landed gentry with clever Formen. The ones who actually cracked the whip for the bosses. As technology grew, the aristocracy found they had to rely on these people more and more. With a machine age dominating the 20th century, these quick whited, and cold-blooded predators were the ones who found they had inherited the earth.

The working class stayed down in the gutter, and the aristocracy found they were quickly joining them. But this new breed of people found they were in total control, and they knew it.

Piers's grandfather began life as a lowly clerk in a shipping agency. Tea boy and general dogs body at first, he studied with night classes and learnt the trade. With the second world war, things really took off. Called up, he quickly found himself a job in the stores and made sure he was in Aldershot when the bombs rained down on London. All through the Battle of Britain, he fought his own private war. Making sure all the materials of the army did not go to waste on the battlefield but went to turn some money over, in the civilian high streets. Blankets and boots at first, but in time, he found he could get access to food and petrol. And with that, his fortune was made.

Of course, others frowned on this black market activity, but they disappeared once they had their share. Also, he had to contend with rival gangs, but these could be defeated for a price, and Pier's grandfather found ways of defeating them. The price of a stray bomb was cheap, and many rival store depots were eliminated by freak raids, which were put down to the Luftwaffe.

But in the end, the man found he could only rise up so far. The people above him were even bigger crooks and no matter how much bribery and corruption he tried, he would never be allowed to make the really big money.

At the end of the war, Piers's grandfather found he was very rich, but wanted more. One thing he was certain of, was that his son would not grow up weak. He had seen many working-class families make money and spend it on their children's education. Only to see them turn out as lazy wasters, good for nothing but swindling drinks at the bar, or politicians.

No, his son would grow up hard, like him. He would learn the same lessons and be equipped to take on the world. Hungry for success, he would be launched into the world, and do even better than the old man.

Or that was the plan.

In fact, Piers's father grew up virtually insane. So hard on him, was the grandfather, that his offspring grew up hating the world.

Pier's father was sent to a tough boarding school. Not one at the posher end of the scale. Oh no! But one of the middle end, where he would be beaten into his senses. Here to learn the harsh lessons of the world. Once he left there, he would be armed with a thirst for power.

This was true enough, but by the time Piers got to really know him, he was virtually psychotic. No one would work for him, and although the family was very rich, they were trusted by no one, and in danger of losing it all.

One day the grandfather sat in his Rolls Royce and turned the Key. There was so little left of him after the bomb blast, that the coffin was filled mostly with bricks, as it was carried to the grave. As soon as the news was released everyone suspected foul play. The police knew it was a criminal act but had so many suspects, it was virtually impossible to question them all. In the end, the word came down from New Scotland Yard itself, and the case was to be dropped. For the benefit of the press, it was called a terrorist atrocity, but everyone in the trade knew the truth.

Piers found it out years later when he was lectured by the bank which employed him. They did not like his family and made no secret of it. The CEO of the bank admitted to his face, that they had played a hand in the murder, and helped cover it up, by appealing to the heads of the police force. The police wholeheartedly agreed as they had tried to get rid of the man for years.

Now, Piers wondered where this left him.

He confronted his father with it once he had left school. The schools had been harsh, but with a purpose. Piers came out of it very differently from the other two. He knew they were despised, and wanted to address the balance. He wanted to work inside that big money world, but as an equal, not as someone, feared for the gangster tactics he would bring down on his rivals. Piers got through school sane enough to realise this and grew up quickly. Not for him the petty revenge of his father, who made every old school reunion, a time of fear.

This had to stop. Certainly, he was grateful for the money his grandfather had made for them, but by now Piers realised there were other ways of making money. He saw a world which was not run by fear, but cleverly manipulated by money.

When he confronted his father over the whole issue at their house in Surrey, the truth came out.

Piers had been virtually starved of any emotion at school, to make him hard. Toughening up, was a process necessary for the world his father wanted him to inherit. His son was not going to be soft, and give away the family fortune. Piers was to carry on a tradition of being hungry for power and not caring who stood in his way.

This appalled Piers, who saw himself more in the role of a merchant prince.

His father met him in the study, with the French windows swung open to let in the summer air. But there was no cheerful spirit in the room that day. His mother had left years before, to live with her parents in Switzerland.

His father had asked the company accountants and lawyers to come over and explain a few things to the boy. Piers could see they were clearly afraid of the man, almost trembling when they told of how they had increased their fortune. They had to tell of drug smuggling; gun running; prostitution; bribery; buggary and general bankruptcy. There was no dirty trick the Morel family had not stooped to, to crush their rivals.

Piers grew pale.

Finally, the men could see how upset the boy was. But one man stood up to his father and told him straight. They would not stand for this anymore. The old grandfather had been murdered by his rivals and the present head of the family would go the same way if he was not careful.

After the man had exploded and threatened everyone in the room, he began to sack the lawyers, followed by the accountants. It reached such a point where one man pulled out a pistol and shot Pier's father dead in his chair.

When the smoke had drifted out across the lawn, Piers looked at the body of his father, then at the gunman. The man began shaking and sweating, and in panic, pointed the gun at his own mouth.

"There won't be any need for that Mr Durrant," said the boy calmly walking round the side of the desk. He took one look at the exit hole in the back of the chair. "I think you got him." With that, he turned to the other men. "We can sort this out amongst ourselves." He turned the body in its swivel chair, and caused it to fall, slumping onto the floor. The others were horrified, but not Piers. He calmly sat in the chair and seated himself behind the desk.

"What happens now?" asked the man, with the gun inches from his mouth, and seconds from his death.

"There are going to be some changes around here." Piers could still feel the warmth from the man's chair.

"Will you have me murdered too? Just like your father?"

"No. There won't be any need for that. We will do things differently. No more killings. Unless they are necessary, that is. But no one will live in fear of our family, as they did with my late father." Piers looked at the pale faces of the men before him. "Please put down the gun, and let's get down to business."

"What about him?" one of the lawyers pointed to the late Mr Morel laying on the study floor.

"What will the police make of it?" asked Piers.

"They will arrest Durrant here, for a start."

"We can't have that. I'll tell you what we'll do. Why not contact the same policemen who handled my grandfather's accident? Why can't we have a similar agreement?"

"Will you stand for that?" one of them asked.

"You will find that I do things very differently than those two monsters. However, I would ask for your respect?" Piers looked round the room.

"We have too much to lose by rocking the boat," said one of the accountants. "Our whole lives are tied up in this business. We don't intend to throw it away."

"Would you not see me as weak, once I slackened the reigns?" asked the boy.

"Once we signed up with your family, we realised we are in it until the finish. There's no going back now."

And so they all agreed.

The firm was run along the same lines as before, except their ties with organised crime were used less and less. This sparked a worldwide crackdown on the drug trade, for which the governments of the world were very grateful. In turn, they protected the Morel family and allowed it to carry on trading legitimately.

The life of Piers might have gone on like any other billionaire, if not for his chance meeting with Catrina.

They met at Newmarket races. It was a corporate affair, laid on by a firm Piers was doing business with. As a favour to its wealthier clients, the arms manufacturer, invited them all to its corporate box. Piers went along, more out of politeness than anything else. He stood with his friend Durrant, the son of the man who had shot his father. They had become close friends since the misunderstanding, and after a few boozy nights out around London, everyone could see this new boss was very different. As a final sign that he was not vindictive, Piers promoted the man's son as his assistant. Piers had a theory that the Roman approach was best. Always befriend the very people who tried to overthrow you. That way you came closer to your enemies. Not that he had any, and everyone involved in the business realised it was time to show their trust in the boy.

"Who is that girl?" asked Piers, gazing out across the sea of punters all watching the race.

"That is Catrina Bolenzia," replied Durrant. "Keep your paws off her old man. She is top-class. Way out of your league. Concentrate on the race, we've got a grand on this one."

"I can't think about money when she's around," said Piers.

"Jesus, you have got it bad," laughed Durrant, raising the binoculars to see the specks of the horses coming into the final length.

"Durrant, get me a meeting with her? I know you can do it. You know everyone?"

"You are just a bit of working-class rough to her. Forget it."

But of course, he could not forget it. And over the course of the next few days, he pulled all the strings his family firm would allow, in order to track down that girl.

"I tell you, I'll throw myself out that damned window if I can't go out with her." Piers paced the board room of the multi-national corporation and told his chief accountant of his troubles.

"Then, what use would you be to her?" The chief accountant was amused by the way the boy was going about this. Very different to his father, they had all grown fond of him since the shooting.

"But who is she?"

"She is the youngest daughter of Count Bolenzia. Their family go back to the Medicis. Roman aristocracy goes back further than even our Royal family. Get involved with them, and you truly have hold of the brass ring."

"They would not even let me through the door, would they?" said Piers, more calmly.

"They might, now you have proved that you can be trusted. You have made great strides with this firm, since your father's death. People don't forget things like that. I'm sure if I could have a word with the Count, you might get an invite to one of their house parties. That means you have to behave yourself mind." The man waved a finger at the boy. "No boozy nights. This isn't a drinking contest."

"I promise not to touch a drop," said Piers.

"That's hard to believe from what I've heard. Still, boys will be boys, and it all seems like harmless fun. So I'm going to ask some people at my club tonight."

From there on it was a whirlwind romance.

Catrina was only too grateful that her father would finally let her go out with someone he approved of. Although, approval by the Count was not easily won.

"You think you are just as good as us?" The Count met Piers in the sitting room of their London house. It was more like a throne room and designed to intimidate.

"No, of course not. My family only go back two generations. Of any wealth that is. Yours go back to the Middle ages."

"And beyond," said the Count, with a deliberate arrogance. He was trying to get a rise out of the boy but was failing miserably. "We lived like this when England was still a mud hut in the middle of nowhere."

"We learn fast," was all Piers could think of saying.

"Your grandfather cheated my family out of the land in Italy. Your father was nothing but a bully."

"They are dead and I'm alive. All I can do is say sorry, and try to show that I do business very differently than them. How can I prove it to you?" Piers looked at the older man across the room and could see the hardness in his eyes.

"Honour this family. Show us the respect we deserve, and then we might think about trust."

All this time, the Countesses had been sitting, quietly reading a newspaper. Finally, she could stand no more of her husband's probing questions and stepped in. "You will look after our little girl, won't you? Her sisters have had so many bad encounters with rouges and vagabonds. We were pleased to see someone turn up here in an ordinary car, and not a flashy sports car."

"I don't like sports cars Mrs Bolenzia," said Piers. "The security man told me they mark us out for terrorists. I have to use the company Rolls, as it's armoured, and they can always try and rescue me."

Piers did not know it, but that remark was the clincher. The Bolenzia were impressed with his cold-blooded assessment of life with money and power and knew he was the one for their daughter.

Life might have gone on as before, but Piers was always conscious of not giving these people the respect they needed. He sat for hours watching videotapes of all three Godfather films and took them as his bible. Night after night he watched them until the tape snapped and jammed the machine. Finally, when the stock market took a terrible turn for the worst, and it looked like all the old families might lose their wealth, Piers stepped in.

He secretly brought their debts.

The Bolenzia family and many of their friends had invested badly, then borrowed even more money to try and prop things up. Good money followed bad, and things looked bleak.

Finally, Piers travelled to their London house and gave them an assessment of their financial affairs. He took with him, his own chief accountant, as he thought this might add a little weight to the matter.

In the Count's office, they told him the truth. Piers now owned all their assets and the right to foreclose on everything, if they could not meet the repayments on the debt.

Piers stood there with the paperwork in his hands. Of course, it had to be backed up by computer records, but the physical presence of the documents let them know where they all stood.

"So there we have it!" said the Count, looking old and worried. "You have finally fulfilled your father's wish, and own us lock stock and barrel. What happens now?"

In a typically theatrical gesture, Piers walked over to the blazing log fire and threw the papers into the flames.

"Now do I have your respect?"