Cometh the Hour (The Clifton Chronicles 6)
After Sebastian left the meeting at Wandsworth prison, he hurried back to the bank to find Rachel standing by his office door.
“Thirty-two customers want to speak to you personally, all of them urgently.”
“Who’s the top priority?”
“Jimmy Goldsmith.”
“But the bank’s never done any business with Mr. Goldsmith.”
“He’s a close friend of Mr. Bishara. They hang out at the Clermont Club.”
“Right, I’ll speak to him first.”
Rachel returned to her office and a few moments later S
eb’s phone buzzed.
“Mr. Goldsmith, this is Sebastian Clifton, returning your call.”
“I hear you visited Hakim in prison today. How is he?”
“He’s bearing up.”
“Like your shares.”
“So you’re the big player?”
“Let’s just say that I’m picking up any stock whenever it falls ten percent below its midpoint.”
“But why would you do that, Mr. Goldsmith? It could end up costing you a fortune.”
“For two reasons, Mr. Clifton. One, I’ve known Hakim since his university days and, like me, he despises people who deal in drugs.”
“And the second reason?”
“Let’s just say I owe him.”
“But you’re still taking one hell of a risk.”
“It’s a gamble, I admit. But when Hakim is proved innocent, and I have no doubt he will be, the bank’s shares will rebound, and when I sell them I’ll make a killing.”
“Mr. Goldsmith, I wonder if you could help me make another killing.”
Goldsmith listened carefully to Sebastian’s request. “When are you holding this emergency board meeting?” he asked.
“Tuesday morning, ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Sebastian spent the rest of the day trying to return all his calls. He felt like the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke. Would it suddenly burst and drown them all?
He listened to the same questions again and again, and attempted to reassure each customer that Hakim was not only innocent, but the bank was in safe hands. He was pleasantly surprised by how many people were standing firm and were happy to back the chairman. Seb had made two lists, one of them labeled “Foul-weather friends” and the other “Fair-weather friends.” By seven o’clock that night, the “foul” list far outstripped the “fair.”
Seb was just about to call it a day when the phone rang again. He thought about ignoring it and going home but reluctantly picked it up.
“It’s Lord Barrington on the line,” said Rachel. “Shall I put him through?”