Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

Kendric grinned. “That seems pretty plain, little boy. Go play somewhere else.”

“Come on,” Adrian entreated. His fists were clenched, face beaming hatred at his rival.

Kendric’s arm snaked protectively round Katerina, his hand squeezing her breast. “I do so detest these revolting peasants. Why don’t you and I go somewhere quieter? My yacht is anchored in the marina.”

Katerina’s face was flushed with triumph. She tossed her head. “Sounds good. Better than anything Mr Ten Centimetres here ever offered me.”

Kendric roared with laughter. There were snickers from the guests. Adrian paled, staring at Katerina in complete and abject incomprehension.

There was a voice inside Julia’s skull pleading at her to rush over and throw her arms round Adrian. He was too honest, too decent for this to be happening to him.

Somehow she managed to keep her feet in place, clinging magnetically to the black tiles.

Kendric and Katerina turned as one. Walking away. Adrian stared at their departing backs, his hands had fallen limply to his side.

“Katey,” he called after her.

She let out a playful squeal as Kendric pinched her rump, giggling. Never looking round.

“Katey!”

Julia closed damp eyes.

The music boomed again.

Julia waited for five days after the party before she sat in the chair at the head of the study table and called Kendric. The arrangements with Globecast had taken a while to finalize, but Uncle Horace had come through in the end, God bless him. And then there was her nerve to screw up.

When the phone’s flatscreen activated, Kendric was sitting on the aft deck of his yacht, the marina forming a bright enticing backdrop, slightly out of focus. The sight of him stiffened her own resolution. He was wearing a lemon-yellow silk shirt, open at the neck, looking supremely relaxed, impenetrably black glasses covering his eyes, just the right amount of stubble shading his chin, emphasizing masculinity. It was a calculated pose, she thought, intended to demonstrate the ease with which he moved through life, his authority and influence. The epitome of an international wheeler-dealer.

It was working, too, the effect seeping out through the screen to abrade her own confidence. She gripped the armrests on her chair against the impulse to smooth down her hair. Wishing she’d taken some time to straighten out her own appearance. Her blouse was nothing special, a hundred-and-fifty-pound Malkham, she’d already worn it a couple of times before. She should’ve worn a Chanel suit.

“Hermione was only saying the other day we don’t see enough of you, Julia,” Kendric said. “It’s such a pity. We’re having a party here on the Mirriam tomorrow night, nothing formal. Why don’t you come along? A lovely young girl like you ought to involve herself socially. Katerina tells me you don’t have many friends. That makes me so sad.”

Julia didn’t trust herself to speak for a moment. That little cow Kats had told him that! How he and that dyke Hermione must’ve laughed. God, what else had she told them?

“I’m afraid I’m a very busy person nowadays, Mr di Girolamo. I’m in industry, you see, not finance. It means I have to work for a living.”

“Julia, please. What is all this Mr di Girolamo? I am Kendric, your friend, your grandfather’s friend.”

“Bullshit. Grandpa tolerated you. I won’t. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re after.”

“After, Julia?”

“Ranasfani’s project. That’s what it was all about, right?”

He smiled a wounded smile. “So much of your late grandfather you have inherited. You are a straight talker. I respect that, Julia. It is a rare commodity. Pleasing in this world of deceit. So in return I too will be a straight talker. You have to tolerate me, or at least my family house. It’s in our contract. Unbreakable.” The smile hardened. “A profitable arrangement all round.”

“I’ve had my financial division draw up a buyout agreement, your house will be well compensated.”

“And you expected our house to agree to this? Julia, you are more naïve than I thought. Multi-billion Eurofranc contracts are not torn up because of schoolgirl temper tantrums.”

“You are the house’s representative in the consortium. Your family will accept your judgement in this matter.”

“And my judgement is no.”

“You won’t like the alternative.”

“Threats, Julia? Has it come to this? And with what will you threaten me?”

“A scandal.” She was disappointed by how hollow it sounded. A whole complex of doubts was rising. She’d banked so much on forcing Kendric to accept the buyout. Never even considered he would refuse. There was no way now she could mitigate failure.

Kendric chortled delightedly. “A scandal. In this world? In this day and age? Scandal is dependent on perspective, Julia. You smuggle three and a half million Eurofrancs’ worth of gear into Scotland every night. Isn’t that a scandal? Everyone knows I am a lovable rogue. Certainly your dear grandfather did. After all, Event Horizon bought all those templates from me.”

“The memox-crystal spoiler.”

“Ah yes, I heard your orbiting furnaces were producing a depressing amount of contaminated crystals. How unfortunate for you.”

“The rest of the consortium would be very upset to hear that you planned to steal Event Horizon’s assets, don’t you think? It might be difficult for the di Girolamo house to find partners after that.”

“Fantasy,” he said. But there was no smile any more.

She let go of the armrests and placed her hands on the table, pleased by how steady they were. “The onus is on proof, of course. Even if I could prove your involvement, the family would simply disown you, claim they weren’t involved, which they possibly weren’t. The house could survive your fall. What the house would not tolerate is for you to drag them down with you.”

“An admirable summary,” he mocked. “So where is this alleged proof?”

She played the terminal keys, squirting data over to the yacht’s gear cubes. “First understand I am not bluffing. See this? It’s Globecast’s Pan-Europe channel schedule for next Tuesday; the Investigator Chronicle documentary is going to be given over to you, Kendric. I’m going to make you a star. All the data my security people turned up on your crystal-spoiler operation was passed on to the programme’s researchers. We even found them a re-entry capsule to show, it wasbobbing about amongst Weslin’s wreckage. You know about those capsules, Kendric, they’re the sort Siebruk Orbital assembled up at Zanthus.”

“No, Julia, I do not know.”

“Wrong.” She called up her ace from the terminal’s memory, core. “Take a good look, Kendric. That’s a transfer order for eight million Eurofrancs to be paid into the account of the newly formed Siebruk Orbital company from your family house, eleven months ago. And, Kendric, it’s your authority code on the order. You own Siebruk Orbital. And the di Girolamo house funded it.” She requested the terminal to show the second transfer order. “Then five months later you went and repaid the money, without any interest. Money you recovered from selling the memox crystals. My money, Kendric. Did they know? Did you tell them you were borrowing family money to finance your own schemes?”

He was hunched over his terminal cube, studying the two transfer orders without a trace of humour left. “Where did you get these?” he demanded. A crow’s feet wrinkle indented the skin on either side of his mouth as his lips compressed.

“The Credit Corato bank, of course.”

“Impossible. They are forgeries.”

Julia felt the tension drain out of her. She leant back into the chair and grinned wickedly at the screen. “No forging involved. Accessing the bank’s records is the president’s prerogative. So is waiving client confidentiality, though I don’t intend to make it a habit.”