LOST AND FOUND (Part 2 & Last)

 LOST AND FOUND  (Part 2 & Last)

by Richard Banks           
            

         “Come and have a drink,” he says, “you look as though you need one.”

         He sits me down in a corner of the bar and over a whisky mac expresses his regrets over my unfortunate predicament. “You see there’s been a misunderstanding over your apartment and car. We thought you said that you owned them when you don’t which means that your capital assets don’t cover what you owe us.”

         “I need time.”

         “Yes, that’s what I thought, so here’s what we do. You pay us back over one year. That’s twelve monthly payments of £50,000.”

         “But...”

         “That’s the deal, pal. It’s the only one on the table. Don’t get me wrong, I did all that I could, but final decisions don’t rest with me. Believe me it could have been worse.”

         There’s an awkward silence.

         “Let’s look on the bright side,” he says lowering his voice. “You’re an accountant, you have client accounts, twenty of them if I’m not mistaken, surplus funds you invest in short term bonds. Pay us with that. It’s not your money but whose going to miss it? You keep the books, and if any one wants money out you transfer it from another account. Once you’ve paid us you could be all square in eighteen months. Everyone’s happy and no one the wiser.” Tom finishes his drink and leaves me to reflect on the feasibility of his proposition. 

         Of course, it’s not as easy as he makes out but as accountants go I’m a good one, in fact, more than good, and if anyone can do it it’s me. So, two days later I phone good, old Tom and tell him to expect the first instalment by the end of the month. I have a suggestion that he promises to consider: my professional services free for one year in lieu of the final payment. As an indication of my usefulness I tell him about this two year bond paying 4% interest twice a year. It’s an unlisted company,” I say, “but it’s risk free; the CEO has family connections that won’t see him fail.”

         Tom says he will get back to me and when he does we have a deal although it’s not quite the deal I was hoping for. However, it’s better than nothing and I also get to see Tom for regular progress meetings which gives me access to someone who could be more than useful to me. But mainly it’s up to me and if I mess up I’ll either be battered beyond repair or banged up for fraud.  And so I set to, working eighteen hours a day and pushing creative accountancy to a whole new level. Three weeks later I make the first payment and then a stroke of luck: one of my clients retires and heads off on a six month trip around the world. While he’s out playing so am I, and from now on his account is the first one I dip into. The next month I lose a client but gain two giving me additional room for manoeuvre. For the first time I’m beginning to feel in control and with nine payments made and only three to go I’m thinking that nothing’s going to get in my way. Then someone does, and it’s me. I’m out at dinner with a client. It’s his invite so I’m expecting him to pick-up at least half the bill but, after fumbling through his pockets he declares that his wallet must be in his other suit. He’s full of apologies. Next time he says it will all be on him. But next time is not what I’m concerned about and when I try and pay with my debit card the payment’s rejected for lack of funds.

         The next day a client pays an overdue bill and I’m solvent again but it’s too late, people are talking. “Never trust a hard-up accountant,” they say, “if he can’t take care of his own affairs, how can he be trusted with yours.” It’s a good point which is not lost on my biggest client who, without notice, sends in an auditor. The whole house of cards is about to fall but before it does I’m hot footing it away from Denton and everyone I’m in hock to. 

         Where I go is a secret I’m not telling you, only that it’s far, far away and doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the UK. I’m a new man, with a new name who will soon have a new face. Only one person is going to find me and as I sip beer at a beachside bar I see him walking along the promenade, suitcase in hand. He looks tired but when he sees me his face lights up and his walk quickens to a trot. He wants to run the last few yards, to embrace and kiss, but that’s not legal here so I motion him to slow down and not make a scene. When we’re close enough to touch it’s a firm handshake and the bonhomie of two regular guys who are pleased, but only pleased, to see each other. I buy him a beer. He gulps it down anxious to go inside to where we can be alone.

         “Is this ours?” Tom asks, glancing across the road at the Hotel M……

         I confirm that it is. “I’ve booked you into the room next to mine. Unpack, have a shower. I’ll be up soon.”

         When I am, we can be ourselves and after the passion of our reunion is exhausted we lie motionless on the bed wishing that the afternoon could last forever, at least that’s what I’m thinking.

         “Do we have the money?” asks Tom.

         “Of course we have the money.”

         “And it can’t be traced?”

         “No,” I assure him, “it’s been three times around the world, it’s lost to everyone but us.”

         “You nearly got me killed,” he says.

         I point out that if he hadn’t told Sunrise than the bond was his idea rather than mine they would only be looking for me rather than him. “Anyway”, I say, “they are looking for me, remember I’m three payments short of what I owe them. What’s more I’m also wanted by the law. But none of that matters because no one’s going to find us.”

         Tom seems reassured and his conversation returns to the money. “So how much did we make?”

         “Three mil.”

         “Pounds?”

         “Yes.”

         “And the interest payments that Sunrise received from your phoney bond came from the lump sum they paid to buy it.”

         This is not a question. He smiles remembering the first time I told him this, the unscripted business of our second progress meeting. 

         “Happy?” I ask.

         He says that he is and that I’m one heck of a devious bastard. By devious he means clever, but the best is yet to come. The town we are in has a casino which already has fifty grand of my hard earned cash. However, as the expression goes, if you can’t beat them join them which is why I have bought the business lock, stock and barrel. From now on all the money I lose on the tables will be mine and if that’s not devious I don’t know what is. Happy days are here again and this time they’re here for good!

The End.

 

 Copyright Richard Banks