Chapter Sixty-Seven
Daniel
At first, I was on edge handling the transfers for Rupert Maynard. I was convinced the guilt showed every time Sheila, my secretary, entered the room. Briefly, I took to locking my office door – until Nic warned me that would only raise suspicion.
Stupidly, recklessly, under the influence of alcohol and coke, I’d agreed to something that could cost me everything, and now I had no idea how to back out.
I believed Nic when he said Rupert was powerful, the kind of man who could end a career with a snap of his fingers, and here I was laundering money through the company’s books.
What was I thinking? I should never have trusted Nic.
If I hadn’t gone to that bloody casino with him, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Still, who’s going to spot anything odd? I run the finance department for this company, I oversee the books. I make sure every figure adds up, that there are no red flags and no inconsistencies. I audit other people, it’s not the other way around.
Setting up the offshore accounts was easy enough. Nic handed me everything I needed. I told myself it was legit, even though I knew, deep down, the account names and IDs were fake. I promised myself it would be a one-time thing.
It wasn’t.
Months have passed, and the money continues to roll in.
But the casino has its claws in me now. Gambling has become a habit. I tell Jo I’m meeting clients, then head straight to the tables. The more I lose, the more desperate I become to win it back. Bet after bet, loss after loss. The only thing that lifts me is the coke.
I’m scared to look at our bank accounts now. I don’t want to see how much I’ve burned through. Every transaction I arrange for Rupert tightens the knot in my chest. I’ve started coming into the office on weekends to ensure everything is running smoothly.
And Jo has started to comment. Last week she said, ‘I don’t know why you have to work on a Sunday,’ in slightly sulky tones.
‘Because that’s how we pay for the bloody house,’ I snapped.
She went quiet then. And I felt like a bastard. She works just as hard as I do. Her salary is helping pay for the new place, too; or at least she thinks it is, but I’m gambling it all away behind her back.
So, here I am again on a Sunday. The intricacies of Rupert’s accounts have been gnawing at me since Friday, and I couldn’t face the thought of a disaster on Monday morning with the whole team around.
The caretaker lets me in with a grin. ‘Don’t you know Sunday’s a day of rest?’
‘No rest for the wicked,’ I say.
I rush to my office and fire up my computer. I try to move slowly and act normally, but my hands shake regardless. Relief floods through me when I see that everything has gone through cleanly. Then I check my own bank account. Ten grand. Sitting right there, as if by magic.
I lean back in my chair and exhale, enjoying a rare moment of calm.
Then my phone buzzes. I jump. It’s a message from Nev.
They’ve found a spring under the lounge floor. I’ve told Joanna. The best bet is an oak floor. With batons down first, it’ll lift everything above the moisture. I’ve got a good carpenter.
I transfer the money for the carpenter straight away and close the laptop. All that’s left now is for me to tell Rupert someone’s getting suspicious and that maybe it’s time he found someone else to do the transfers.
Surely that will work.
I’m just about to leave when my phone buzzes again.
It’s a message from Nic.
Rupert says, Good work. He’s invited us to dinner at the club tomorrow. See you at seven.
Shit.
I call Nic.
‘Hey, Danny boy. Good work.’
‘Listen, Nic, I can’t do tomorrow night. Jo’s on a day shift. I promised her we’d spend the evening together.’
Silence. I feel the tension in my shoulders. Then Nic says, with false cheer, ‘No problem. Let me run it by Rupert. I’m sure he’d love to meet Jo.’
No, no, no.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Call you back,’ he cuts in, and then hangs up.
I drag my hands through my hair, cursing under my breath. Stupid. Stupid. Everything is slipping out of my control. The phone rings. I expect it, but it still makes me jump.
‘Look, Nic—’
‘Danny. It’s Rupert. Can you believe it’s October? Beautiful weather. Nic tells me your wife is home tomorrow, is that right?’
‘Yeah, she’s on a day shift and—’
‘Perfect. Bring her along. I’d love to meet her. Seven still good? I can move it if she needs more time. Women and their getting ready, right?’ He laughs.
What the hell do I say?
‘Seven’s fine.’
‘Great. See you then.’
Click.
The last thing I want is for Jo to meet Rupert.
***
Daniel
I’m tense the whole evening, but Jo seems to be enjoying herself. While she’s playing roulette, I seek out Nic.
He obviously picks up on my stress; ‘It’s going well, man. Why are you freaking out?’
‘I don’t want Jo to guess anything.’
We’re in the loo, and I’m wound up and desperate for some coke. It’s the one thing that lifts me and gives me confidence. Fortunately, Nic pulls some from his pocket.
‘Where do you get this?’ I ask, then snort through a ten-pound note.
Nic laughs. ‘Let me introduce you to the club,’ he sings.
I swipe at my nose and follow Nic from the loo. He leads me to the back of the casino, where waitresses bustle behind the bar, prepping cocktails. Nic opens a door, and then we’re standing in a long corridor. He knocks on the second door and says, ‘It’s Nic.’
A huge tattooed guy opens the door. I swear the man’s head is touching the ceiling. I stare in awe and see his eyes narrow.
‘Who’s this?’
‘He’s alright. Rupert brought him. He’s cool.’
‘What do you need and how much?’
I look to Nic, realising I don’t have a clue.
Nic says simply, ‘He wants coke. He has the money.’
The door slams in our faces. I turn to leave.
‘He’ll be back,’ says Nic, confidently.
The door opens again.
‘A grand,’ the guy says.
I hand over part of my winnings, and the guy gives me a bag. ‘Nice doing business with you,’ he says before slamming the door shut again.
So this is it, the lifestyle I’ve envied from the outside: fine dining, whispered deals and money I didn’t earn. I push the coke deep into my pocket, and we wander back to the casino. I see the look on Jo’s face when she sees me, and a pang of guilt shoots through me.
‘Where have you been?’ she asks. ‘I was about to phone you.’
‘I’ve been trying to talk this lady into having a coffee, but she won’t have any of it,’ says Rupert.
‘It’s late, Danny,’ Jo says. ‘We should get home.’
I push my hand into my pocket and feel the cocaine. My adrenaline spikes. With this, I can cope.
We thank Rupert for his generosity, say goodnight and make our way to the exit.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Rupert says as we go, and it feels more like a threat than a statement.
Later, I learn that Rupert wants me to put even larger amounts through the books. His request is couched in terms that make one thing very clear: refusal isn’t an option.