Silent Money Read online

  He was proud of his restraint. Sent all the right signals.

  * * *

  Their next meeting was as stallholders at a Second Chance jumble sale. Michael hadn’t had the time to keep involved with them when setting up the money-laundering operation, but now that he was leaving the bank he wanted to get connected again. After making sure Mary wasn’t going to be there, he invited Charlotte to help out. The charity had proved beneficial once before in meeting Kenny McGowan, and he was forming some ideas how it could be useful again in future.

  Charlotte had never been to a jumble sale, much less been involved with one, and she seemed to love it.

  ‘So, how do we know how much to sell things for?’ she asked as they set up trestle tables and sorted out the jumble.

  ‘Use your best judgement,’ Michael replied. ‘For example, that table, two pounds. Maybe thirty pence each for this pile of LPs. And expect to haggle. Everyone wants to get a bargain.’

  He’d chosen to go to the sale to show his caring side, and it turned out to be perfect. Charlotte glanced through the LPs and pulled out the O’Jays, Van McCoy and Gloria Gaynor.

  ‘Can I buy these for myself?’ she asked. ‘Or is that against the rules?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Michael replied. ‘That’ll be ninety new pence please.’ He looked at the O’Jays’ Backstabbers album. ‘Never heard of them. Any good?’

  ‘Disco. The best. One night at Tiffany’s and you’ll be hooked.’ Michael shook his head and laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion of him grooving on the dance floor.

  Charlotte plunged into negotiations about the cost of things she hadn’t got a clue about with effortless self-confidence, and wandered around during quieter moments to chat to some of the Second Chance volunteers like she was Princess Anne on a royal visit. Michael had seen her as no more than a passport into a world he always thought he would be excluded from, but to his surprise he found himself liking her. A lot.

  They cleared everything up around five o’clock, the sale raising the princely sum of £117.28 for the charity, and headed to the snug bar at Sloans in the city centre, a cosy, hidden-away little extension to a traditional salt-of-the-earth Glasgow pub. The crowded, claustrophobic nook heightened the chemistry of the moment. Charlotte downed her Moscow Mule in seconds, and when Michael stood up and silently took her hand, she gave him a look of complicity, aching with desire.

  They were back at Michael’s flat twenty minutes later, straight into the bedroom the moment the door was closed. Michael slid his hand up her thigh, gasping when he found she was wearing nothing under her halter-neck minidress, then remembering the enigmatic look she had given him when she returned from the ladies just after they arrived at Sloans. His hand found her already-moist sex; his fingers slipped inside her. Charlotte started pulling at his zipper and Michael was momentarily startled by her intensity. His trousers were around his knees when he thrust inside her, still fully clothed, neither of them wanting to wait a second more than was necessary. She took and met each thrust, then matched each with hers. For the first time in his life, Michael found himself lost in an ecstasy of soaring, agonising perfection. He felt his strength increasing, the heat of the passion rising. There was no gravity any longer. It was like he was floating on air.

  Charlotte leapt on top of him, straddling his body, putting her arms on either side, pressing her palms into the mattress to steady herself. Then she sat up, swept her dress over her head and unclipped her bra, leaving herself naked except for her knee-length leather boots. With an expression of determined concentration, she pushed her hands onto his shoulder blades, her body strong, her breasts like smooth stone. She was the one in charge now, uncontrolled, set free; a wild freedom, like horses galloping along a moonlit beach. After two more thrusts, she collapsed, went limp, then toughened and readied herself again. Her eyes were glassy, indistinct, like they had filled with smoke.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she yelled, the words sounding incongruous in her cut-glass aristocratic accent. ‘Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me.’

  Michael pinched her nipples, gently at first, then harder and harder.

  ‘I’m coming,’ she cried. ‘I’m coming; I’m— u … u … uh.’ Her body jerked and shuddered to silence her, as Michael also lost control. He gasped in wonder, without restraint, as he released himself inside her. When he finished, he pulled back a little and caught her look, a sly grin that signalled the winding down of her ardour.

  ‘Why, Mr Mitchell,’ Charlotte said, her eyes sparkling. ‘I don’t believe I ever thanked you properly before now, for being so kind as to arrange that overdraft for me.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Michael replied, as he pulled out from inside her. ‘I can assure you.’

  Charlotte burst out laughing and Michael joined in, giggling like a schoolboy, not recognising the person she had turned him into. Then, slowly, the old Michael returned.

  Mary. He needed her. He needed her father to keep him informed of developments in the Fraud Squad. To give that up would be irresponsible, illogical, irrational. This had to be a one-off. He couldn’t take the risk that Mary would find out about Charlotte, that all his scheming would have been in vain.

  Charlotte had started nibbling at his earlobe, and he found himself responding.

  Michael had been driven to succeed all his life, never doing anything that would get in the way of achieving his goals. Perhaps it was time to enjoy life for a change.

  chapter nine

  Friday afternoon, Michael said goodbye to his life as a bank employee. The moment he had dreamt of, ever since that first meeting with Ron.

  ‘And I hope we haven’t seen the last of you, Michael,’ Mason said, as he concluded his farewell speech. ‘Be sure to consider Royal Clydeside as a worthy repository for your business millions.’ He glanced around, inviting the rest of the assembled group to join his sarcastic chuckle and received a few nervous, sycophantic laughs in response.

  Michael joined in to show he got the joke. The ritual would soon be over, and he was glad he’d declined the offer from some of his colleagues for a night out on the town as a more informal way to say goodbye. This life would soon be in the past, and he wanted his new one to start as quickly as possible. Every second spent as the someone he used to be would have felt like forever.

  The weekend was spent tidying up loose ends and preparing for the future. He ended the relationship with Mary over a Gibson Street curry, Michael breaking the news to her with an impressive display of regret that he felt the age gap between them too wide, and that with his new business he wouldn’t have the time to give her the attention she deserved. She was devastated, and Michael felt a pang of guilt that he had treated her so badly. Just because the world had been unfair to him, that was no excuse to be unfair to someone who had done him no wrong. He had been cynical enough, however, to have spent the last few visits to the family home wangling an invitation to join her father’s Round Table organisation, but grateful for Mary’s sake that she didn’t make the connection when he ended the relationship a few days after his application for membership was accepted.

  He gave Audrey a similar story. She could still be useful, although perhaps less willing to volunteer the bank’s secrets on money-laundering detection to someone now on the outside. Starting his own business was his big opportunity, Michael told her. He’d be working all hours, with next to no free time. A vague promise to meet up if he was ever in Edinburgh, but no invite to see him when she was in Glasgow. He headed back to Glasgow as soon as he could. To spend the rest of the weekend with Charlotte: the future.

  Michael revelled in the free time he now had, no longer having to work nine to five at the bank. He was meticulous in the detail of moving the money through the transit accounts and back to their customers – there was no one else he trusted to deal with the minutiae of the operation. But that still left plenty of time to plan ahead, to start severing Alba Transport’s
ties to Royal Clydeside by switching to another bank so he could take over the running from Ron. And best of all, to use the stockpile of cash he was accumulating to reinvent himself as a man of means, taste and refinement, well-connected in Scottish society.

  He finally became the person he had always wanted to be. His suits became sharper; he had a box at Scottish Opera; went to opening nights of Kelvingrove art exhibitions; was seen at every black-tie charity event. And Charlotte provided the contacts to help him build the foundation of his new social life. There were weekend canters at the Renfrew stables where he was learning to ride, shooting lessons in Bearsden to prepare him for the stalking season. And Charlotte was not the only recipient of his affection; he acquired a pair of Dobermann Pinschers whom he whimsically called Lucifer and Satan, full of puppy mischief but silenced into instant obedience whenever he commanded it.

  Then there was the design and decoration of the new house he’d started renting – a vast Charles Church detached house on the outskirts of Glasgow. Michael developed a passion for contemporary art and frequented auction houses looking for the perfect pieces to fill the walls of his home. He started collecting antique swords and pistols for his hallway; revelled in the delights of opera on his few nights alone with a state-of-the-art Linn turntable; and indulged his love of cooking, carried over from his days of austerity, in a bespoke Poggenpohl kitchen.

  The humiliations of his rejections for promotion and his harsh, unloving upbringing seemed a lifetime away. Five years playing by the rules with Royal Clydeside, and all he had achieved was the modest status of an assistant bank manager. Six months playing by his own rules and he was rich beyond his wildest dreams.

  His new-found success made meeting with Charlotte’s family easier. Charlotte insisted that Michael accompany her to a christening, meeting her extended family for the first time. He would have preferred a little longer to ensure his transformation was complete in case she had to endure any backlash that she was getting involved with someone too plebeian for their tastes, but the event was a big success. His well-practised charm went down well with the dowager aunts, and his oleaginous flattery towards the family patriarchs led to him being invited to join the Aldford menfolk for cigars and brandy afterwards.

  Michael listened attentively as the discussion turned to the financial markets and the turmoil being caused by the industrial unrest sweeping the nation.

  ‘This Heath chap was supposed to face up to the unions,’ grunted Charles Aldford, the family grandee, ‘but all he seems to do is sail about on his yacht while the rubbish piles up in the streets. I don’t think he’s got the bottom to put a bit of stick about, bring them to their senses.’

  ‘We never should have had a grammar-school boy leading the party,’ agreed someone Charlotte had introduced to Michael as Uncle Clarence. ‘The miners are holding us to ransom. Did you see that notice in today’s paper? SOS. Switch Off Something. Electric heating banned in places of entertainment and one can only heat a single room in one’s own home. Hundred pound fine if you ignore it. We’re heading for the dark ages.’

  ‘Well, I for one am not taking any chances,’ said Charles. ‘I told my broker to sell all my stocks and shares, every man jack of them. I’m putting everything into gold bars until all this nonsense is over. Times like these, you want something you can rely on.’

  ‘We’ve got a financial chap here,’ replied Clarence, giving Michael a nod. ‘Where would you be putting your money, young man?’

  Michael seized his chance. ‘Well, sir,’ he said, looking straight at Charles, ‘I can’t fault you for your decisiveness. These are difficult times and the markets agree with you. But you’ll be selling your shares at rock bottom and buying gold at a record high. That might give you peace of mind in the short term, but this miners’ strike must come to an end eventually, even if it takes another general election to do it. Then the markets will recover. Now’s the time to buy, not sell.’

  ‘By Jove! Michael, isn’t it?’ Charles replied. ‘Well, well. That’s what my broker told me. Tosh, I said to him. Maybe I was hasty. You should listen to this chap, Clarence, if the younger Aldfords are to have anything left of their trust.’ The room erupted in laughter.

  Charlotte gave Michael the feedback the next day. ‘You went down well. I’m proud of you. Congratulations.’

  Michael looked relieved. ‘It was a surprise to me, I don’t mind saying. I expected to be put in my place.’

  ‘You look like a responsible, smartly-dressed grown up. You run your own business and work in finance. I thought that was a white lie I should tell. Better than saying I’m dating my ex-bank manager.’

  ‘I think I know more about what’s smart, money-wise, than the people in your family who make the financial decisions. They don’t seem clued into the real world.’ Michael paused for a second. ‘You should get someone to run a slide rule over your trust fund. I worry that Uncle Clarence might not be investing it wisely.’

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t let me get involved in all that,’ said Charlotte airily. ‘Vulgar to talk about money.’

  Vulgar, thought Michael. That was why none of them seemed to care. A thought for a new business idea was growing in his mind.

  * * *

  Michael looked on with satisfaction as the fitters installed the plush new office furniture he’d ordered. When he had opened the office a few weeks earlier, it was a basic operation. He and Ron had a room each, Michael’s dominated by a large safe where they kept cash after it arrived from their clients and before Ron despatched it. By the entrance, there was a third desk where Mildred, the receptionist and secretary, sat. Mildred’s husband was two years into a ten-year stretch for armed robbery, and Ron had vouched for her as an old-school gangster’s wife who would see nothing and say nothing about what was going on.

  The set-up was simple. Michael worked in the office during the day; operating, developing and refining the laundering techniques. Ron would turn up mid-afternoon, and the two of them would go through what money was going where. Ron would prepare the envelopes and lock them into his briefcase, which he padlocked to his wrist. Then he would leave to do the rounds, paying the money into their various bank accounts. Michael had never thought there was any point in making the office look fancy; no one would ever see it.

  Now that was going to change. A black leather Eames chair sat behind a seven-foot Drexel cherry-wood desk in his office. There were simpler G-Plan desks and chairs for Ron and Mildred. A Bauhaus sofa was installed along one wall underneath a giant Allen Jones painting. Blue-glazed ceramic lamps on matching side tables completed the look. A fully-stocked drinks cabinet was in the corner, every bottle unopened. The office would not have looked out of place in a Madison Avenue advertising agency.

  Ron looked completely nonplussed when he came in for the afternoon meeting.

  ‘What the fuck, Michael?’ he said, as he looked around. ‘Sorry, Mildred.’

  Mildred nodded her forgiveness.

  ‘I said I was going to do the place up,’ Michael replied. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’ve gone insane. All this stuff better be coming out of your pocket. What the hell is going on?’

  They went into his office and Michael closed the door.

  ‘We’re going to get more involved in international banking and some fairly complex financial instruments as the business keeps growing. I need an office that looks the part – I’ll be dealing with Swiss banks and trading in stocks and bonds. Looking like an entrepreneur has been okay till now, but the stuff I’m going to be getting into is too sophisticated for your typical Glasgow businessman. There’s going to be a second business alongside Alba Transport. Mitchell and Partners. An upmarket financial consultancy, giving investment advice to a select few high-profile clients. With all the window dressing to make it look like a big concern, but only one or two clients so it doesn’t eat up my time.’

  �
�Isn’t that risky, being so visible?’ Ron looked concerned. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be drawing too much attention to ourselves.’

  ‘The more respectable we look, the less likely we are to be asked questions,’ Michael replied. ‘Charlotte moves in these circles. I’ve seen how her trust fund’s being managed, and it’s obvious people who’ve never had to worry about money haven’t got a clue how to make it work for them. I’m going to see if I can get some of her family to open a few doors for me, get a couple of clients as a cover for what we’re doing the rest of the time.’

  ‘Financial services to the criminal classes and the landed gentry.’ Ron shook his head. ‘No one can accuse you of half-measures, Michael. Talk about hiding in plain sight. When’s all this going to happen?’

  ‘Now. And I’ll tell you why. Look at this.’

  Michael showed Ron the system he had designed, set up to show thirty people paying money into over a hundred different bank accounts. ‘This is where we need to go next. We need an army of little people to run around opening accounts for us. We need to have a wider variety of signatures and addresses on new bank accounts.’

  Ron peered at the first foolscap page of the document, everything written out, waiting for the first numbers to be added in. The blank neutrality of his expression showed he had no clue what it meant, but he gave a short nod to signal that, whatever it was, it looked impressive.

  ‘And who exactly are our little helpers? And how do we keep them from screwing up everything we’ve got going on?’

  ‘I do some work with a charity, Second Chance. As the name suggests, it gives people some support to do something better with their lives.’ Michael caught Ron’s look, obviously never having thought of Michael as a do-gooding charity type. ‘Ron, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. It was all part of the image I had when I worked at the bank. I know a lot of people coming to Second Chance who could be trusted to help us, with the right motivation.’