UniteDead Kingdom. Stuart Irving Irving
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demeanour of Alan Sugar and the humility of Donald Trump. The only reason he kept Zan in such a high profile role was Zan's other-worldly ability to handle vast trade sizes; his ability to bet with the bank’s capital and not even blink. But not anymore. Ed's impatience with even the slightest mistake made it likely that a cluster-fuck like this wasn't going to be a smooth ride.
The room was deathly quiet whilst they stared each other down. Zan felt some composure returning. He sensed very quiet breathing a couple of metres behind him. Then silence continued, it crept up past a minute, but easily felt like an hour. Zan tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.
Has someone died? he wondered. It definitely feels like a death! Of what, my career? Clever boy! This may as well be its funeral. Zan groaned. No-one could mock him quite as expertly as himself. Perhaps Ed was about to put that to the test.
“OK, Zan, try not to look so … bug-eyed and strange. Relax. So … I’m glad you've decided to join us away from your desk, thanks for that, we have a few little items to discuss. Some little fucking bullet points on the agenda for today, as it were. First things first, I’m going to attempt to make this as pleasant as possible for you so I can find out what went wrong. Although, side note, don't mistake my pleasant demeanour for approval. And do understand I'm your friend for as long as you tell me the truth. In fact, your happiness and livelihood will depend very much on your answer to my next question. So think extremely carefully before answering. Extremely carefully.”
He paused.
“Are you in cahoots with anyone over these losses?”
“… uh, absolutely not, sir.”
“Are you lying to me? It's relatively easy for me to find out if you are.”
“Definitely not sir, I just took the—”
“Stop, no explanations are needed right now. That will come soon, but not yet. Again, I want you to listen to me very carefully.”
“OK, sir.”
“So … let me make things crystal clear for you, ass-clown. This is the single worst day of the company’s history, Zan. I don't think you fully comprehend, or CAN fully comprehend, the gravity of what you've done today. Let me put it in perspective for you since it’s one of the many things people have lost these days - a sense of perspective. After all, giant fuck-off numbers don't really give this pickle we're in any justice. You young hot-shots are prone to forget this firm existed long before you started to ply your so-called trade. So here goes …
“We were founded by my great-great-GREAT-grand-father in 1883 with just one aim - to make healthy, consistent profits for our customers, investors, the founder and his family. We were different as a lender from the beginning, taking bold, but heavily considered bets. We bankrolled the war effort in 1914 - providing more capital to the UK government than the famous Rothschilds. We lent money to industries on their knees in the depths of The Great Depression, often in the face of total ridicule from our peers. But in the process, getting this country back on its feet and miraculously - according to some but not to us - turning a profit.
“This building you’re in … this venerable landmark that you drag your sorry ass to every day - suffered a direct hit from the German Luftwaffe in 1943, killing all but a dozen staff. We still opened for business the next day. The next FUCKING DAY, Zan. Some called us mercenaries, but we financed and bankrolled this great nation in its darkest days. Decades later we made profits in the Black Monday of ’87, the credit crunch of ’08 and the incineration of Argentina and The Great Panic of ’24. One by one, our peers crumbled to dust as we grew to be the most prestigious, respected firm in this City. This firm isn't just steeped in history. Time and time again this firm has fucking MADE it.
“But this, Zan, mmm this …” His voice trailed away and he looked out the window. “This mess you have created is … juvenile. This isn't a grown man's mistake. This is a child let loose on his father's antique Ferrari with a FUCKING CLAW HAMMER. What you have done, fucko … what you have done,” he cleared his throat and flared his nostrils, “is to take something my family have lovingly built for one and a half centuries and fucking GANG-RAPED it! But apparently you did this ALL by yourself, like some sort of wizard!”
He reached forward until Zan could see the veins in his temples throb and smell the coffee on his breath, “But you are not a wizard are you Mr. McMaster?” Silence. “That’s right, I thought so. You are in fact just a dirty. Reckless. Amoral. Shit-hawk. And you will pay, you will FUCKING pay! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”
Zan looked down at his shoes; Ed was now red-faced, towering over him, shaking with rage and spitting venom. Zan feared that the slightest provocation could escalate into violence. Years of physical atrophy whilst spearheading the bank would ordinarily make that contest reasonably one-sided in Zan's favour. But he recalled a magazine article about the recently deceased former martial star, Jean-Claude Van Damme. Van Damme had said something along the lines of, 'he could take any man on in a fight, except one he had wronged.' And here it was. Zan had wronged this man; gross sociopathic bully or not.
I can’t even say Ed’s response was melodramatic. I have destroyed something noble; something forged by decades of intelligence and cunning. Something meaningful. He felt nauseous again and lifted his heavy head so he could be face to face with Ed.
“I've just started with this interview, Zan.” Ed said. “This is as pleasant as it gets for you from here on in. Let's look it at it another way…” He paused and looked down to check the scrolling read-out hovering millimetres above the left sleeve of his suit. It was the firm-wide profit and loss number, refreshing every second.
“Two hundred and forty-one billion pounds underwater, Zan. How are you going to swim out of that one you snivelling piece of shit?”
“But it was …”
“SHUT UP!!” Ed screamed, his face inches away from Zan’s, his roar splitting the air and rattling his eardrums.
“… ugh” Zan groaned.
“As I said, I will ask and you will answer, but that doesn’t include rhetorical questions. Now, who are you in cahoots with? Or are you claiming there’s such a thing as a solo-gang-rape?”
“No. What … no one, sir, I promise. Swear to God.”
“I'M GOD IN THIS FUCKING BANK!” Ed screamed then smirked momentarily. “How did you override the risk limits? We have the best operational risk system in this fucking city. Who are you working with? WHO ARE YOU FUCKING WORKING WITH?!”
Zan paused to consider his options. He rapidly sifted through a number of alternative risky actions, ready to take the least unpalatable one. It can't get much worse than this, surely? he thought. He’d taken a humongous hit, he was about to get fired and his boss was accusing him of industrial espionage. I’ve had better days. He breathed in deeply. None that it really matters in the grand scheme of things - who's going to care in a hundred years?
He sat up in the chair and became more mindful of his surroundings to see a way out. His decade-long trader’s training was coming back. Battling the financial markets every day imbued him with needle sharp focus in the midst of most dramas, all so he could choose the best possible trade to make.
He noticed Ed, almost imperceptibly, nod a single time. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ed's chief of security and personal minder shift slowly forward until he was just a metre to his right. The cold grip of fear started clutching Zan’s heart. He may well have brought down London's most prestigious investment bank, but this was the first sign of mortal danger. He felt blood pumping in his chest and a jagged, visceral fear for his safety.
Was he going to be physically harmed for creating this mess? Surely Ed can't be—
In that instant he felt big hard calloused fingers grab him round the throat, but from behind! Another one of Ed's thugs had been behind him all along and was now pressing hard on his windpipe. After just a couple of seconds of this Zan felt tears sting his eyes and pressure build as he tried to breathe. Panic started to engulf him and he battled to stay