Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

When Seb stepped out of the lift on the executive floor, he walked slowly down the corridor toward Cedric’s old office. He recognized no one, and no one recognized him, but then he knew Sloane hadn’t wasted any time in purging Farthings of all Cedric’s lieutenants.

He didn’t have to knock on Sloane’s door because it swung open when he was a couple of paces away.

“Good to see you, Seb,” said Sloane. “It’s been too long,” he added before he ushered him into his office, but didn’t risk offering to shake his hand.

The first thing that struck Seb as he entered the chairman’s office was that there was no sign of Cedric. No acknowledgement of his thirty years’ stewardship of the bank. No portrait, no photograph, no plaque to remind the next generation of his achievements. Sloane had not only replaced him, but had airbrushed him out of existence, like a Soviet politician who’d fallen from favor.

“Have a seat,” said Sloane, as if he was addressing one of the bank’s junior clerks.

Seb took a closer look at his adversary. He’d put on a few pounds since they’d last met, but it was cleverly masked by a well-tailored double-breasted suit. One thing that hadn’t changed was the insincere smile of a man most people in the City were reluctant to do business with.

Sloane took his seat behind the chairman’s desk and didn’t waste any more time with banalities.

“Seb, someone as bright as you will already have worked out why I wanted to see you.”

“I assumed you were going to offer me a place on the board of Farthings.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” The false laugh followed, to accompany the insincere smile. “However, it’s been clear for some time that you’ve been buying the bank’s stock on the open market, and you now only need another twenty-two thousand shares to cross the threshold that would allow you to automatically take a place on the board, or to nominate someone else to represent you.”

“Be assured, I’ll be representing myself.”

“Which is why I wanted to talk to you. It’s no secret that we didn’t get on well when you worked under me—”

“Which is why I resigned.”

“It’s also why I feel it would be inappropriate for you to be involved in the day-to-day running of the bank.”

“I have absolutely no interest in the day-to-day running of the bank. I assume you have capable staff to carry out that job. That was never my intention.”

“Then what is your intention?” demanded Sloane, barely able to hide his irritation.

“To play a role in ensuring that this bank returns to the high standards it enjoyed under your predecessor, and to be sure that the shareholders are kept informed of what goes on in their name.” Seb decided to roll a small hand grenade across the table and see if it exploded when it reached the other side. “Because it’s clear to me, after reading the minutes of past board meetings, that you are not telling stockholders the whole story.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Sloane, a little too quickly.

“I think you know all too well what I mean.”

“Perhaps we can make a deal. After all, you always were a brilliant dealer.”

From bully to flatterer with hardly a moment’s pause in between. Maurice Swann would have cast Sloane as Richard III, and he could have played it without a script.

“What sort of deal do you have in mind?” asked Seb.

“Over the past five years you must have paid an average of around two pounds ten shillings per share. I’m prepared to double that, and offer you five pounds a share, which I’m sure you’ll agree is generous.”

Far too generous, thought Seb. Three pounds should have been his opening bid, and four his closing. Why was Sloane so keen to keep him off the board?

“More than generous,” Seb replied. “But I still intend to take my place on the board. You see, with me it’s personal.”

“Then I shall have to make an official complaint to the Bank of England, pointing out that you have no interest in supporting the bank’s long-term aims.”

“Frankly, I’m only interested in finding out what Farthings’ long-term aims are. Which is why I visited the Bank of England last week and had a long chat with Mr. Craig, the chief compliance officer. He was kind enough to check the bank’s statutes, and has confirmed in writing that as long as I have a stockholding of six percent, I’m entitled to a place on the board. But do by all means give him a call.”

If Sloane had been a dragon, flames would have been belching out of his nostrils. “And if I were to offer you ten pounds a share?”

Sloane was clearly out of control, so Seb decided to lob a second grenade. “Then I’d begin to think the rumors were true.”

“What rumors?” demanded Sloane.