Dead if You Don’t

117

Monday 14 August

Kipp Brown sat at his office desk, his mind in turmoil. It was just past 10.40 a.m. He stared at the photographs of his family. And especially at Mungo.

God, he loved this kid so much. And yet he was causing him so much grief.

Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds’ worth of grief, to be precise.

Bob Carter, his Chief Operating Officer, had already sent him an email querying the transaction from the client account, checking to see if Kipp was aware of it, and that they weren’t victims of an online fraud over the weekend.

He was trying to think of what to reply, wary that emails were dangerous because of the trail they left that could never be erased. Sometime very soon he would have to go along to Carter’s office and give him an explanation.

But what?

What could he spin him that would extricate him from the very deep shit he was in?

There was no way he would even try to persuade Carter to help him cover up this loss. That could lead to a prison sentence for Carter and the end of his career. Kipp was going to have to take the blame, and the consequences, himself. The price he had paid to try to save his son’s life.

If it came to a prosecution, he could only hope for sympathy from the judge. But his own career would be finished.

Shit.

His mobile phone rang.

‘Kipp Brown,’ he answered, trying to sound brighter than he felt.

‘Kipp, it’s Edi.’

Edi Konstandin, his biggest client. They spoke around this time most mornings, with the Albanian wanting updates on the overnight stock market movements, or on Mondays, those influenced by any weekend events.

‘Hi, Edi, how are you?’

‘More to the point, how are you? You have your son, Mungo, back safely?’

‘I do.’

There was a brief silence before Konstandin spoke again. ‘I owe you an apology, Kipp.’

‘An apology?’

‘I need you to believe me, please, Kipp. I had no knowledge of your son’s kidnap, which was done by my crazy, reckless nephew, Jorgji Dervishi. Please believe me.’

‘Of course I believe you, Edi. You are a trusted friend.’

‘I think I have some nice news for you. Jorgji has gone away and will not be a problem ever again. But before he went, I made him pay the quarter of a million pounds he extorted from you, to me. I’ve arranged for it to be transferred to you this morning. My bank tells me it will arrive in your account before midday.’

Kipp could scarcely believe his ears. ‘That’s amazing, Edi. I–I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t need to say anything, Kipp. My mission in my declining years is to show that my countrymen — those over whom I have influence, at any rate — are decent people. I won’t tolerate anyone stepping out of line. Jorgji crossed that line. Now he has made restitution. I hope we are square?’

‘We are square!’ Kipp said, trying to play down the elation he felt. ‘Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever really thank you properly.’

‘I’ll tell you how,’ the old man said. ‘By just keeping doing what you are doing. Keep making me money, OK? Deal?’

Kipp grinned. ‘Deal,’ he said.