Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

“If Shifnal Farm had also been included in your report,” said Cedric, picking up a brochure from his desk.

“Shifnal Farm? Are you sure that’s one of my properties, and not Clifton’s?” said Sloane, nervously touching the knot of his tie.

“I’m absolutely certain it’s one of your properties, Sloane. What I can’t be sure about is whether it’s one of the bank’s.”

“What are you getting at?” said Sloane, suddenly on the defensive.

“When I called Ralph Vaughan, the senior partner of Savills, a few moments ago, he confirmed that you’d put in a bid of one point six million pounds for the property, with the bank acting as guarantor.”

Sloane shifted uneasily in his chair. “You’re quite right, chairman, but as the deal hasn’t finally been closed, you won’t have all the details until I send you next month’s report.”

“One of the details that will take some explaining is why the account is registered to a client in Zurich.”

“Ah, yes,” said Sloane. “Now I remember. You’re quite right, we were acting for a Swiss client who prefers anonymity, but the bank charges three percent commission on every deal we carry out for that particular customer.”

“And it didn’t take a great deal of research,” said Cedric, patting a pile of papers on the desk in front of him, “to discover that that particular client has conducted another six transactions during the past year, and made himself a handsome profit.”

“But isn’t that what my department is supposed to do?” protested Sloane. “Make profits for our clients, while at the same time earning the bank a handsome commission?”

“It is indeed,” said Cedric, trying to remain calm. “It’s just a pity the Swiss client’s account is in your name.”

“How can you possibly know that,” blurted out Sloane, “when client accounts in Switzerland are not named but numbered?”

“I didn’t. But you’ve just confirmed my worst fears, so your number is up.”

Sloane leapt from his chair. “I’ve made a twenty-three percent profit for the bank over the past ten months.”

“And if my calculations are correct,” came back Cedric, “you’ve made another forty-one percent for yourself during the

same period. And I have a feeling Shifnal Farm was going to be your biggest payday yet.”

Sloane collapsed back in his chair, a look of desperation on his face. “But…”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” continued Cedric, “but this is one deal you’re not going to pull off for your Swiss client, because I called Mr. Vaughan at Savills a few minutes ago and withdrew our bid for Shifnal Farm.”

“But we could have made a massive profit on that deal,” said Sloane, now staring defiantly at the chairman. “Possibly as much as a million pounds.”

“I don’t think you mean we,” said Cedric, “I think you mean you. Although it was the bank’s money you were putting up as collateral, not your own.”

“But you only know half the facts.”

“I can assure you, Sloane, that thanks to Mr. Swann, I know all the facts.”

Sloane rose slowly from his seat.

“You are a stupid old man,” he said, spitting out the words. “You’re out of touch, and you don’t begin to understand modern banking. The sooner you make way for a younger man, the better.”

“No doubt in time I will,” said Cedric, as he stood up to face his adversary, “but of one thing I’m certain, that young man is no longer going to be you.”

“You’ll live to regret this,” said Sloane, leaning across the desk and eyeballing the chairman.

“Don’t waste your time threatening me, Sloane. Far bigger men than you have tried and failed,” said Cedric, his voice rising with every word. “There’s only one thing left for you to do, and that’s make sure you’ve cleared your desk and are off the premises within thirty minutes, because if you’re not, I’ll personally put your belongings out on the pavement for every passerby to see.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” shouted Sloane, as he turned to leave.

“I don’t think so, unless you plan to spend the next few years in prison, because I can assure you, once this stupid old man has reported your behavior to the ethics committee of the Bank of England, you’ll never work in the City again.”

Sloane turned back, his face as white as a sheet and, like a gambler with only one chip left, spun the wheel for the last time. “But I could still make the bank a fortune, if you’ll only—”