Patel and Parker spotted Freddie as soon as he stepped onto the pavement. He hailed a cab from the rank right outside the hotel. Parker immediately took off in cautious pursuit. Following another vehicle through congested London streets is never easy, and even though Parker was something of an expert — and the apparently properly registered cab he was driving gave him not only a certain invisibility, but also access to bus lanes and other restricted areas — he was reassured by the knowledge that the tech boys would soon be tracking Freddie Fairbrother’s shiny new phone, if they weren’t already.
As it happened, tailing Freddie’s cab as it headed east along the Marylebone Road, with its bus and taxi lane, was relatively easy to begin with. But when they reached the City, the build-up of evening traffic in the narrower streets made Parker’s job far more difficult.
Ultimately the inevitable happened. Freddie’s cab slipped through traffic lights at a road junction, the lights changed, and Parker was forced to stop. He might well have risked jumping the lights, but a double decker bus was blocking his way.
‘Shit,’ said Parker.
‘Don’t worry, I think our man’s reaching his destination,’ said Patel. ‘Look what’s ahead.’
Parker did so. Less than half a mile or so in front, slightly off to the right, he could see a towering, distinctively angled shape, a building so tall it stood several storeys above the others in that part of the City.
‘Fort Fairbrother,’ said Patel, using the popular colloquial name for the head office of Fairbrother International. ‘And I’ll bet that’s where Freddie’s going. He’s dressed for the part, isn’t he?’
‘I guess so,’ said Parker, who took it as a personal insult when a mark escaped him, however close the probable destination.
Both men noticed that the next set of lights were changing to red.
‘I’m off,’ said Patel opening the door. ‘I reckon I can get there quicker on foot. Let Pearson know.’
And he took off at a run down the street.
Freddie was indeed heading for Fort Fairbrother. His advisor had been quite correct concerning the apparent extension of normal working hours. There were lights on throughout the building, and the front office remained open.
His arrival caused quite a stir. The news of Bella Fairbrother’s death had preceded him to the headquarters of his family’s business empire by only an hour or so. And by osmosis had leaked to most of the rest of the City soon after that, even though a public announcement of her death had yet to be made.
The shares of Fairbrother International threatened to fall to a whole new low.
Acting chairman Jimmy Martins, who had still been anxiously waiting for Bella to arrive for a meeting crucial to the future of the bank when he heard that she’d been killed, was locked away in his office with the company secretary, Ben Travis. Both men were already in shock, and more than anything else, although neither admitted it to the other, they were determining how to save their own skins. Should they jump ship? If so, that might hasten what now seemed to be the inevitable collapse of Fairbrother’s. But if they stayed on, would they be seen as continuing to be complicit in the undoubtedly dubious activities of their late boss, the company’s former chairman and chief executive officer Sir John Fairbrother.
Each had more or less come to the conclusion that the lesser of the evils confronting them would be to cut their losses and run, when the front-office receptionist called to say that Mr Freddie Fairbrother was in the lobby and was requesting to see Mr Martins as a matter of urgency.
An astonished Martins told her to send Freddie up at once.
‘What on earth can he want?’ asked Ben Travis, when Prentis told him who was about to join them. ‘I thought he was devoted to lotus eating on an Aussie beach.’
‘I have no idea,’ muttered Martins, whose peptic ulcer was playing up almost unbearably. Whatever the modern theory about ulcers, he was in little doubt that the burning gnawing sensation which engulfed his abdomen occurred most frequently and most extremely in direct relation to the degree of stress he was under.
‘You don’t think he’s come to claim his inheritance, do you?’ Travis continued. ‘If so, he’s damned well welcome to it, as far as I’m concerned anyway—’
He was interrupted by a brief tap on the chairman’s office door. In walked Freddie. He’d been a teenager when Martins had last seen him. Ben Travis, a newer Fairbrother’s executive, had clearly heard the stories but never actually met Freddie before.
Just as DC Patel had remarked to DC Parker, Jimmy Martin’s first impression was that, all of a sudden, Freddie at least looked the part of a banker.
Pleasantries and introductions between the three men were cursory. Martins did not move from behind his desk. Instead he sat back in his chair and waited for Freddie to explain the purpose of his visit.
Freddie looked totally at ease. He stepped forward, set down the brown briefcase on the acting chairman’s desk, and opened it.
‘My father’s will is in there,’ he announced.
His voice was firm and surprisingly authoritative, not entirely unlike his father’s, thought Martins.
‘The case also contains papers concerning the various trust funds and investments which will, as I am sure you know, release substantial funds into the bank, following my father’s death.’
Freddie paused. He smiled confidently at Martins and Travis.
It seemed crazy, thought Martins, but he almost looked as if he were milking the moment. Martins remembered then, Freddie had been a budding actor when he’d gone off the rails all those years ago.
‘And as you will see, my father left his shares in Fairbrother International, and indeed the whole of his estate, to be divided between my sister and me,’ Freddie continued. ‘With the news of my sister’s untimely death, which I am sure has already reached you, I am the sole beneficiary. In addition, it was my father’s wish, that subject to the approval of the board, my sister should take over as chair and CEO of Fairbrother’s International, because of her boardroom experience, with myself, the sole surviving male Fairbrother, as her deputy. So, again, following my sister’s death, I feel it incumbent on me to step forward and offer myself to the board to take over that role.’
Martins was amazed. Freddie Fairbrother might not be an entirely useless erstwhile hippy after all. But, in any case, it really didn’t matter whether he was or not.
He and Travis exchanged glances. Could this be the way out they had been seeking? It was not possible, surely, that Freddie Fairbrother would be capable of effectively running a major international company under any circumstances, let alone that he could have the expertise to steer the Fairbrother ship through extremely troubled waters.
However, did they care?
There surely could not be a better scapegoat, in a situation which was becoming increasingly more precarious, than Sir John Fairbrother’s only son.
At first, as he marched across the marbled lobby floor of Fairbrother Fort, Freddie felt curiously elated. It would seem that he had pulled it off. Well, so far anyway. Certainly Martins and Travis appeared to have accepted everything he’d said at face value. Ultimately, they had merely told him that they would study the will and the other papers and get back to him.
But that was a result, wasn’t it?
He’d been asked to perform a certain task, which could be instrumental in saving Fairbrother’s, and it would seem that he had been successful.
It was only when he stepped outside that he realised he had absolutely no idea what to do next. And if his bid to take over as chair and CEO of Fairbrother’s was successful, then he would be even more lost. How could he even begin to imagine that he could run the company? It was one thing being told that he was only ever going to be a puppet, but Freddie would need his strings pulled twenty-four-seven.