Wicked Game

By C. M. Albright

Time to trade for your life…

After the death of a close friend on 9/11, Al Denham is having second thoughts: while outwardly successful, he has a gnawing feeling that City life is no longer for him.

Meanwhile, not all is as it seems at Aden Partners. Al’s sparring partner Miles is drawn deeper into a world of ultra-rich oligarchs and shady deals, soon discovering that he’s trading for his life – in more ways than one.

Perfect for readers of Liar’s Poker and The Wolf of Wall Street, Wicked Game is a tale of staggering wealth, infidelity, ambition – and murder. It is the final, heartstopping instalment in the Shadow Banking trilogy, which also includes London Calling and Money for Nothing.

C. M. Albright is a pseudonym for a senior figure working in the City. He has been a trader in the financial markets for twenty-five years, living and working all around the world. He has had a ringside seat during a period of unparalleled economic and political turmoil and is perfectly placed to give an insider’s perspective on this glamorous, dangerous and yet enduringly mysterious world. He divides his time between homes in London and the Cotswolds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Canelo
• Release date: Sep 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781911420576

C. M. Albright

C. M. Albright is a pseudonym for a senior figure working in the City. He has been a trader in the financial markets for twenty-five years, living and working all around the world. He has had a ringside seat during a period of unparalleled economic and political turmoil and is perfectly placed to give an insider’s perspective on this glamorous, dangerous and yet enduringly mysterious world. He divides his time between homes in London and the Cotswolds.

Book preview

Copyright

Wicked Game

C.M. Albright

Canelo

Part One

Chapter One

Departure

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‘I take it George sent you,’ said Rob, looking up from the beer mat that he had been picking at nervously for the past five minutes. They were sitting in the corner of The Flask pub in Highgate. Imogen had never seen him like this, not in all the time she had known him.

‘She didn’t send me. She asked me if I thought it was a good idea me coming to have a chat with you. And I said yes. I need to try and understand what happened and why it happened. Just like she does. Now you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I guess I have no right to ask but I like to think that we’re friends ...’

‘It’s all right, Imo, I’ll tell you. You have a right to know and if there’s any way that you can convey to George that it was an – I don’t know – an aberration, it was insane, then please do. I can tell you what happened but I can’t explain why I did it. That I can’t do because I don’t really know that myself.’

Rob took a big drag on his cigarette and blew smoke against the oak-panelled wall. He went to speak, thought better of it, seemed to wince and then took a big gulp of his beer and began.

‘I don’t know how much George has told you but let me just give you my side of the story. I couldn’t get home. All the flights were fucked up, as you know. I was going to be at least two or three days in Singapore. I was all on my own. I was homesick.’

Rob shook his head as though it all sounded ridiculous then ground his cigarette out in the ashtray.

‘It sounds like I’m trying to justify what I did. I’m not. I’m just telling you it like it is.’

‘Just tell me what happened, Rob. Do you want another drink?’

‘No. It’s fine. I’ll have one in a minute. I was homesick like I said. All I wanted to do was get back to George. But I couldn’t. I’d heard about Fergal. It just did my head in. It just seemed so unfair. Of all the people. Fergal. He was so full of life. I thought of what he would have done in my situation, alone in Singapore. This sounds really nuts, right, and I don’t think that I even thought about it like this at the time but it was almost like I was acting out some sort of homage to Fergal, paying tribute to him in a way that I knew he would understand. I started drinking. There was nothing else to do. I ended up in a club – you know, one of those sorts of clubs.’ Rob rolled his eyes and rubbed his hand across the stubble on his face. ‘You’re not going to believe this but I didn’t intend to do anything. I just wanted to have a few more drinks, think about Fergal, and I just didn’t want to be on my own.’

Rob saw something in Imogen’s expression, some opinion or thought that she didn’t even know was there. But whatever it was, he took it to be disdain.

‘I know, I know, it’s pathetic. I was drunk but you have to believe me that at the time, all I wanted to do was just carry on drinking.’ Rob gave up holding Imogen’s gaze; his shame was too much to bear. ‘Anyway, I got talking to one of the girls. She gave me something, a pill. It was speed I think.’

‘She slipped it into your drink without you knowing?’

‘No, nothing like that. I took it of my own volition. It didn’t really do much other than make me want to drink even more. And my inhibitions and conscience went out of the window. This sounds crazy, I know, but it almost felt as though I was channelling Fergal in some way.’

Imogen worried that Rob was going to cry. There were tears in his eyes. Since she’d heard about Fergal, she’d done a lot of crying. She had thought she was all cried out but if Rob started now, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold it together. Part of her wanted to reassure him but part of her knew that what he was going to tell her was not going invoke any empathy at all. He picked another Marlboro out of the packet on the table, lit it and continued.

‘Mad really. I’ve never been unfaithful to George and there, in the space of an hour, I was unfaithful to her with two women. At the same time. I can’t even work out whether that makes it doubly reprehensible. I guess it does. It didn’t feel like anything at the time.’

‘Oh come on, Rob, you had a threesome. You were off your face. You wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t turned on.’

‘I guess I was turned on. But it was purely physical. You know how dog-like men can be at times. It didn’t mean anything.’

‘You’re kidding aren’t you? It means all this, it means you and George splitting up, you and me sitting here in a pub talking about it. It means everything.’

‘You know what I’m trying to say, Imo. What I’m trying to say is that it didn’t mean anything to me at the time. What happened last Tuesday in New York seemed to change everything. It was like the normal rules no longer applied.’

‘Until you woke up the following morning.’

‘Exactly. You have to believe me, Imo. I’ve never felt so bad about anything in my entire life. That’s why when I got back, I told George about it straight away.’

‘Only it wasn’t straight away, was it?’

‘It was a couple of hours. I didn’t feel as though I could tell her as soon as I got through the door.’

Imogen watched Rob. He wasn’t a bad man. She felt sorry for him. She couldn’t help but twist the knife a little out of loyalty to her sister but she hoped that once he’d done his penance, they could make things work. She knew that George didn’t want to split up with him. They were so right together. Imogen had been shocked by his infidelity. Not as much as her sister of course, but it had shaken her. Rob and George felt like a second set of parents in a way. Equally strong, unbreakable and resolute. Now that illusion had been shattered.

‘You told her, I guess that’s the main thing.’

‘And she kicked me out.’

‘Oh come on Rob, what do you expect? How would you have felt if George had come back from an overseas trip to tell you that she’d had a threesome with two men?’

Rob closed his eyes and shook his head. The point was made.

‘What am I going to do, Imo?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you think she’ll take me back?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You must have a hunch? You know her better than anyone.’

‘I don’t want to give you false hope, Rob. That wouldn’t be fair.’

‘Whatever happens, I’m getting out of this fucking business.’

‘Are you sure you aren’t just deflecting your own guilt onto your job?’

‘No. I’m not blaming it on the job. But what happened in Singapore was a car crash: the terrorist attacks, Fergal, my state of mind. They all came together and caught me at a vulnerable moment and I did something totally selfish and stupid. Now I can’t do anything about terrorism and I can’t bring Fergal back but I can do something about my state of mind and the reasons for it. I’ve come to a decision, whether George stays with me or not, I’m getting out.’

‘Did you say that to George?’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Pretty much the same as you, that I was being pathetic blaming it all on my career, that it wasn’t that that had made me screw those girls. It was so awful, Imogen, I can’t tell you.’

‘I presume you’re going on Sunday?’

‘Of course. You’ll be going with George I take it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I thought Le – sorry – Francois might come along.’

‘It’s all right, Rob, I know you guys called him ‘Le Coq’. You were right to. He is a cock.’

‘I take it things aren’t going well.’

‘It’s over. I’m glad. He just wanted to control me which is fine if you want to be controlled, I guess. I didn’t, and certainly not by him.’

‘When you speak to George, can you do me a favour?’ Imogen nodded and the tears returned to his eyes. ‘Can you tell her that I love her, I’ll always love her. And I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes.’ Rob stubbed out his cigarette. ‘It’s difficult talking about stuff like this without it sounding like some sort of cheesy film dialogue. But it’s important that she knows that what happened in Singapore was a moment of insanity. I want to spend the rest of my life with George; I want us to have children. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

Imogen reached out and put her hand on Rob’s. He seized it and gave it a squeeze.

‘Thanks Imogen.’

‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’

‘Bye.’

Imogen stood up and made her way out of the pub, slipping on her sunglasses as she stepped out into the autumn sunshine. She wasn’t looking forward to Sunday but she hoped that it would prove cathartic for George and Rob. And if nothing else, she would get to see Al.

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George and Imogen were delayed on their way from the airport to Christ’s Church Cathedral in Dublin, the venue for Fergal’s memorial service. When they arrived, the place was packed. Al and Krystina were sat near the front next to Rob who looked around as they entered – clearly having been on the look out for them – and gestured that he had saved them places. Imogen let Georgina go into the pew first so that she sat next to Rob. After a big hug from Al and an air kiss from Krystina, Imogen looked around to see who else she might know from Fergal’s past. Keith Peake and Rhys Griffiths were seated a couple of rows in front of them, along with Fergal’s ex, Denise. There was a smattering of the old Trenchart Colville guys including JJ Pietersen and some of the old team from the spot desk. When the minister welcomed them all and began the memorial service with a prayer, Imogen concentrated on what he said. She had ceased being a believer many years before. In this she was continuing a long tradition of atheism in her family. She listened to the minister, however, finding comfort in his gentle Dublin accent and words of hope. Today of all days, she would take whatever comfort she could get. Keith Peake was the first to stand up, make his way to the head of the congregation, and speak about Fergal. Despite his obvious nerves, he held it together well, recounting some choice anecdotes relating to Fergal’s extra-curricular behaviour. The congregation was relieved to be able to laugh for a few moments but the sombre mood returned when Keith’s voice broke as he said, ‘Farewell, Fergal. I love you, man.’

After some more prayers and a hymn – Soul of my Saviour – Patrick, Fergal’s younger brother, stood up to speak and as he did so, Imogen felt sure that she wasn’t the only member of the congregation who felt as though Fergal was there amongst them and the whole tragedy of his passing was just an elaborate prank. Patrick shared with his older brother the same loping gait, the same impossible-to-tame mass of ginger hair and the same sweet self-deprecating grin. His eulogy was funny and heartfelt and when he told the assembled mourners that sadly Fergal’s recipe for ‘scrambled egg and Baileys surprise’ would follow him to the grave, there was another opportunity for a moment of lightness, a moment’s reflection on the laughter that Fergal had brought them all. Patrick dedicated the poem, Death, by Fergal’s favourite poet W.B. Yeats to all the people who had died on 9/11, hijackers included.

Nor dread nor hope attend

A dying animal;

A man awaits his end

Dreading and hoping all;

Many times he died,

Many times rose again.

A great man in his pride

Confronting murderous men

Casts derision upon

Supersession of breath;

He knows death to the bone –

Man has created death.

As Patrick returned to his pew, providing a perfect visual facsimile of Fergal, Imogen could contain her emotions no longer and she began to weep. She wasn’t the only one. Those who were crying – Al included – greatly out-numbered those who weren’t.

At the end of the service, there was a palpable sense of relief and consoling hugs were the order of the day. As Fergal’s friends and family turned to one another, struggling to find the words