The Ethical Banker
The Ethical Banker
By Richard Black
Copyright 2012 Richard Black
All Rights Reserved
This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity with real people or events is coincidental
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“Only when the tide goes down, do we get to know who’s been swimming naked,” Warren Buffet
THE ETHICAL BANKER
A Novella
The revolving doors at the grand entrance of The Ritz spun open and in entered David Solomon Kenyon.
His confidence, his swagger and cool were all gone.
Like an eighty year old man (and he was only fifty six), he slowly walked across the foyer and went straight to the dining area, avoiding eye contact with any of the diners.
A waiter met him and took him straight to a discreet table in a quiet corner that was always reserved for him. He loved that table for two simple reasons:
It kept him sheltered from prying eyes and it faced the entrance, so he could see whoever entered and whoever was dining without himself being seen.
He wasn't even a spy but years in Banking and International Finance had taught him to be distrustful, secretive and discreet.
As soon as he had seated, the waiter greeted him and started some small talk about the weather before going to the main subject.
“Sir, should I bring you the usual one?” he asked.
“Please do, and I need it rather very cold, thank you,” he responded and then pulled The Financial Times from his briefcase and started reading while the waiter went to fetch the “ usual one.”
The usual one was actually one of the finest champagnes served at The Ritz.
It was a Louis Roeder Crystal Champagne and it went for around £400 a bottle.
A bottle was always kept chilled for him during working days, after all, the bank was only a ten minutes’ walk away and he hardly missed lunch unless he was out of town.
Together with lunch, his bill always came up to between £700 to £4000 depending on the company he had or how many bottles of “the usual one” were consumed. Not that it mattered, his bank picked up the bill as his lunches were described as “working lunches.”
His company varied widely: sometimes it was younger glamorous women- probably mistresses or top end escorts, and at other times it was professional looking men, probably bankers or clients. The lunches mostly lasted three hours and on Fridays would eat into the late afternoon.
The Louis Roeder crystal champagne arrived in a few minutes and the waiter expertly and discreetly opened it without even a slight popping sound heard.
Donald Solomon Kenyon loved his champagne opened discreetly without drawing any kind of attention. Since the Financial Recession of 2008, he knew the anger and resentment felt towards bankers. The last thing he wanted was people turning their heads towards the popping sound and seeing him having champagne with lunch at a time when money was getting so tight, people were losing jobs and mortgages and The Prime Minister was telling people “ to tighten their belts.” He didn't want to appear indifferent to the suffering of others although he didn't like the way all the blame had been shifted on to the bankers.
A glass was poured for him and after two sips, he went back to the Financial Times. He had a look at the financial markets, stocks and bonds then flipped back to the front page and read about the Governor's speech.
The previous night at a high profile dinner, the Governor of The Bank Of England had hinted on the need for QE2 (Quantitative Easing 2) to kick start the recovery after QE1 had failed a couple of months ago. He drained the contents of his glass and the waiter who was watching from a distance moved in quick and refilled his glass. “Thanks,” he said and flipped to page two where there was a story about the increase in Corporation tax and the Chancellor's attack on “City bonuses.” All the news was distressing and besides, he had enough of his own troubles.
Donald Solomon Kenyon, or DSK as he was known by colleagues was the President of Global Capital Bank, the world's fourth largest bank that was “too big to fail” and had been bailed out by the British government at the wake of the 2008 Financial recession.
At the moment, he was overwhelmed by a personal scandal. Only a few people knew about it, thanks to the super injunction but even then, he was afraid it would soon end up in the mainstream media together with the legal baggage that would come with it. He just couldn't think straight.
He put his newspaper aside and glanced at his watch; 13 05 hours. His lawyer was five minutes late which was rare, maybe it was the afternoon traffic.
Glancing towards the foyer, he saw him talking on his mobile and when their eyes met, he smiled and waved.
He then came up and joined DSK at the table.
“Sorry I am late. Was on the phone with the judge trying to tie up some loose ends,” Neil said.
“It's fine buddy, just have a glass of champagne. It's a nice one, this,” he said pointing a finger at his glass.
Neil Edwards was a radical lawyer. Cunning, brash and ruthless, he deployed unbelievable tactics in the courtroom. He played hard ball with prosecutors, influenced judges and intimidated the jury. Once, he hoodwinked a prosecutor and made him look a fool in front of a fully packed courtroom and there was rumour around town that he was being investigated for malpractice and The Law Society Of England was most likely going to withdraw his license.
The waiter brought a second glass and poured a drink for the new diner.
He immediately lifted the glass to his mouth and took a sip, then went straight to business without wasting time on small talk.
“The gagging order has some loop holes,” Neil informed his client.
“Already, the internet is awash with the details of the story, only they haven't mentioned your name but every detail is there.”
DSK put his glass on the table, felt his heart start to beat faster and waited for the lawyer to suggest another plan.
“But you said the injunction would stop anyone from reporting or commenting on the matter,” he said in an accusatory tone when he realised Neil was deep in thought.
“And I am sure you will agree it has worked for the last two weeks. The injunction basically can prevent newspapers, TV, radio or any individual from reporting the issue but doesn't cover the internet and that's why the rumour is circulating on twitter and those right wing anti-capitalist blogs.”
“What should we do?”
“ Let's wait and see. The injunction was to help us buy time. Our last card is to pay off the woman and kill off the whole thing. Problem is, the woman knows she's sitting on tabloid gold dust. She's going to play us against the highest bidder. To buy her silence, you are going to pay her more than what the tabloids are willing to put on the table for her story.”
They ordered lunch and ate in silence with DSK barely touching his meal.
When their business lunch was over, DSK told Neil to get in touch with the woman.
“Make her an offer, half a million pounds on the table. I am flying to New York tonight and will be back in three days. Keep me updated,” DSK said as they left The Ritz.
Neil rushed back to his office for an afternoon appointment with a former footballer's wife who was in the middle of a very nasty and highly publicised divorce.
DSK rushed bac
k to the bank to make final touches and proof read the speech that he was going to give at a banker's dinner on Wall Street the next day.
The speech, entitled “Morality In Banking” was intended to extinguish the flames of anger that had risen against bankers since the global financial meltdown. People had lost their homes and jobs, businesses had gone bust, foreclosure signposts had appeared on almost every street and people were uncertain of the future. The “Morality In Banking” speech had been highly publicised as a way of showing that bankers also cared about society and were working around the clock to restore confidence and a stronger banking system that was immune to the pitfalls of capitalism.
In fact , a spokesman for Global Capital had claimed only a week ago that “Bankers were doing God's work .”
At 4.20 pm, at The House Of Commons, Jackson Collingdale, a controversial Tory MP nicknamed “ Rebel MP” by the tabloids took to the floor and took everyone by surprise.
“Mr speaker,” he began, “ Global Capital Bank is once again bringing us an unnecessary headache.” We have had enough from them already: their sub-prime mortgages, their controversial accounting techniques to hide toxic debts, telephone number salaries and bonuses to fat cat executives while they slash low level staffing jobs, their casino style banking tools and fancy financial instruments that they hardly know how to use,”
Laughter in the house!
“Yes,