Sharks - Matt Rogers (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

are already fat enough.

The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer.

Slater kept staring at the balance, just sitting there, churning away in index funds, making him dollars hand over fist without interference. He hadn’t been the one to invest it. That was thanks to an advisor in Zurich — another tax haven with renowned bank secrecy laws. He’d gone there with good intentions — if he put any of the cash in visible accounts on home soil, his old employers would have found it and hunted him down in mere days.

But now he’d seen the other side of the coin.

The deceit. The predators. The invisible money that makes the day-to-day world look like child’s play in comparison.

Dylan Walcott had abused tax havens, and his grandfather before him.

Slater tabbed to another window of the browser. It was their day-to-day fund, comprising what was left over of his and King’s earnings from their time in Black Force, and a decent chunk of Violetta’s career earnings, too. Similarly hidden from the government, similarly invisible.

$3,520,603.00.

That was after the cool half a million to Lyla Barrow, and the hundred thousand to Wayne Portis.

And it was still more than they needed.

Slater had always been focused on what lay in front of him. The training, the operations, helping those in need. The amount of careful attention he paid to that area of his life couldn’t be transferred to places like his finances.

No, he told himself. That’s just an excuse you’re using to justify your own ignorance.

He had perhaps an hour to himself now, and that was all he needed to make a decision.

He picked up his phone, navigated to his long list of contacts, and found a number.

He called it.

His financial advisor answered in seconds, which made sense considering he earned a commission on Slater’s net worth. A percentage based commission. ‘Yes, Will?’

‘I want you to sell my entire portfolio and move the funds to my cash account.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You heard me.’

‘May I ask what prompted this decision?’

‘You may ask. I may answer. I choose not to.’

Silence.

The advisor, deep in thought.

‘Gabriel,’ Slater said. ‘I don’t pay you to question me.’

‘Sir, I think you need to understand the implications of what you’re asking. Is this a whimsical decision? The market is looking good, and I’ve projected an eight to ten million dollar increase in your assets over the next six months. If you were to leave the funds in a little longer and think it over for a while, I believe you’d reach a different decision.’

Slater didn’t respond.

Gabriel said, ‘Mr. Slater?’

He’s not getting it.

Make him get it.

Slater said, ‘You’re going to do exactly what I ask or I’m going to catch the next flight to Zurich and make you do it myself. Are we clear?’

More silence.

‘Sir,’ Gabriel said, his voice slightly shaky. ‘Are … are you under duress? Do you need me to contact the authorities?’

‘Quite the opposite,’ Slater said. ‘I’ve got a clear head for the first time in a while.’

Even more silence.

Slater said, ‘Sell everything at market price. Do it fast.’

Gabriel made to say something but cut himself off. Slater heard papers rustling, keys tapping, a mouse clicking away. After a beat there was total quiet. Slater knew the advisor was staring at the sum.

$425,010,580.17, right there on his screen.

‘I’m your advisor, so I’m going to advise you,’ Gabriel said. ‘You’re making a mistake.’

‘Gabriel.’ Slater raised his voice a touch.

That’s all it took.

‘Okay,’ Gabriel said. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘How long will it take?’

‘As quickly as possible, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘If I scatter it over the next couple of weeks, I think I could get you a better price than—’

‘I’m flying to you.’

‘No,’ Gabriel said. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll do it. It shouldn’t take more than twenty-four hours.’

‘Call me as soon as it’s done.’

‘May I ask—’

‘No,’ Slater said. ‘You may not.’

He hung up.

Pushed the chair back, closed the laptop, got up and walked away from the desk.

92

King noticed something was different right away.

Slater came outside, sat in the small circle, put his hands behind his head and smiled.

King drained the last of his beer and put the empty bottle on the outdoor table. They were all on the patio — him, Violetta, Alexis — looking out at the water. The sun crawled to its apex above them, and eventually it would go down and set as brilliantly as it did each evening. Across the ocean, mobsters’ corpses were scattered over Grand Bahama like dominoes. Some had escaped, some were probably gearing up for more, but the resistance wouldn’t be anything impressive. The four of them had ripped the core out of the racket. Most of the people inside it were opportunistic cowards. They’d high-tail it at the first sign of failure.

Dylan Walcott hadn’t.

Theodore Walcott hadn’t.

They’d bunkered down and accepted they were riding it to the end.

Which had come for them, as inevitable as the sun going down.

Settled by the buzz of three beers, King realised that was better than nothing. The Walcotts were a principled family. He gave them that much.

Alexis and Violetta noticed Slater’s demeanour, too.

Violetta said, ‘What’s up with you?’

Slater raised an eyebrow.

Alexis said, ‘You never smile for no reason.’

‘Maybe I’m just happy to be alive.’

‘I think that novelty wore off a long time ago,’ King said.

Slater smirked. Then he got serious. He leant forward, put his elbows on the table, let the sun hit his face, and squinted. ‘I’ve made a decision. One or more of you might not like it.’

Alexis said, ‘That being?’

‘I realised there’s four hundred million dollars sitting in my account not doing anything. I’ve decided to put it to use.’

King said, ‘I thought you already had it invested.’

‘I did.’

King mulled it over. He didn’t want to speak if he didn’t have anything to say. He thought over their time on Grand Bahama. He realised where Slater’s money lay, what it was doing, where he’d stolen it from.

He got it.

Alexis didn’t. ‘You’re going to buy an island like this for us? How nice.’

Violetta said, ‘It’d get old fast.’

Alexis said, ‘Would it?’

‘If your whole