Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘He should, but he won’t.’

‘I don’t understand those two,’ Ingrid said. ‘I mean, I know they’re brothers, but I can’t imagine two people more different. Their relationship seems much closer than most brothers’. It’s weird. It’s almost unnatural.’

‘It is unnatural,’ I said. ‘They’re both screwed up in their own ways, and the only people they can rely on are each other. It’s always been like that. I remember at school when someone started teasing Owen. He was an obvious target. I think they called him “The Incredible Hulk” or something. It was a nasty kid called Wheeler: you know, one of those bullies who maintains power over a group by ganging up on individual members.’

‘So Guy beat him up?’

‘Worse than that. Wheeler was away one weekend. Guy went up to the dormitory that night and explained to Wheeler’s cronies how Wheeler was manipulating them all, dividing them by bullying each one of them in turn. Guy was cool. People listened to Guy. When Wheeler came back to school, all his stuff was trashed and no one would talk to him. He left Broadhill the following term.’

‘So you’re saying Guy protects little brother?’

‘Always.’

Ingrid drank her coffee thoughtfully. ‘That’s as may be, but Owen has to go. We can’t let him ruin Ninetyminutes. If Guy can’t look at the problem objectively, we’ll go to Derek Silverman. We have no choice.’

‘You’re right.’ This wasn’t to do with my personal problems with Owen. He was threatening the very existence of the company. ‘Do we do it together?’

Ingrid nodded. ‘Together.’

We wanted to deal with Guy on the Ninetyminutes premises. This wasn’t personal, this was business, and we wanted to emphasize that. So as soon as we got back to the office I asked him if we could meet behind the closed doors of the boardroom.

Owen saw us go in.

I told him. As we had expected, Guy protested. ‘We can’t get rid of Owen! He’s one of the founders. He was the one who provided all the cash at the beginning. He came up with the technology for the site. He’s worked as hard as any of us. Without him, there wouldn’t be any Ninetyminutes now.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But with him there won’t be any Ninetyminutes in the future.’

‘Oh, come on!’

‘David’s right,’ said Ingrid. ‘This cock-up was entirely Owen’s fault. We may never recover from it. And it’s not an isolated incident. There will be more. One of them will finish us off.’

‘But he’s the most brilliant techie I know! He can run rings round those Dcomsult people.’

‘That’s exactly right,’ said Ingrid. ‘He does run rings round them. But the truth is, as we get bigger we’re going to have to rely on a team of people for the technology in this company, not just one. Owen doesn’t fit.’

‘I can tell him to get along better with the others,’ Guy said.

‘That won’t make any difference,’ I said. ‘You know Owen.’

‘What if I say no?’

‘We go to Derek Silverman,’ said Ingrid.

‘Behind my back?’

‘No. We’re speaking to you first,’ I said. ‘This isn’t just your firm any more, Guy. If it was, then you could keep Owen and that would be your right. But now there are a lot people with stakes in this company. For those people’s sake he has to go.’

‘Are you ganging up on me?’ Guy said. ‘You and your old buddy Henry Bufton-Tufton.’

‘No,’ said Ingrid. ‘It’s precisely because it’s your brother that it’s so hard for you to take action. That’s why we need to go to the chairman.’

Guy inhaled. ‘I’m CEO of this company and I take the decisions. Owen stays. He was here at the beginning and he’ll be here at the end. Whenever that is. Now, let’s get back to work.’

I went to Ingrid’s desk and called Derek Silverman’s secretary. I made an appointment to see him in two days’ time.

I got back to my flat in Notting Hill late, as usual, carrying a takeaway. I didn’t always eat takeaways; sometimes I warmed up something from M&S. Rarely anything more these days. I looked around the flat. It was clean in places; I paid a woman to come round once a week to make sure of that. But overall it was a mess. There was a pile of bills and junk mail to go through. The kitchen needed painting. The tap in the bathroom basin was dripping. The living-room window needed fixing. My taxes were late. I hadn’t called my parents for three weeks.

It hadn’t always been like this. Until Ninetyminutes I had lived quite an ordered existence. But no longer.

As I flopped down at my kitchen table and unwrapped my doner kebab I decided I’d worry about it all on Sunday. If I didn’t spend the whole day at the office.

The doorbell rang. I lived in a purpose-built block, so visitors usually had to announce themselves from the entryphone at the front of the building. Probably a neighbour then. Probably complaining about something I hadn’t done.

I opened the door.

It wasn’t a neighbour. It was Owen.

He barged past me into the living room, his bulk brushing me aside.

‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded.

‘I want to talk to you,’ he said. He was angry. The small dark eyes glimmered dangerously under his brows.

I was too tired to deal with him. ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

‘No.’ He advanced towards me. I stood my ground. I wasn’t going to be pushed around in my own flat.

He stopped inches in front of me. ‘You tried to get me fired today.’ He was so close, I could smell his breath. Mint covering something stale.

‘Yes.’ I was determined not to be intimidated.

‘Why?’

‘You’re a clever boy, Owen, but you don’t talk to people. That matters. It leads to screw-ups we can’t afford.’

Owen jabbed a finger into my chest. ‘It was that stupid piece-of-shit system that was the problem, not me.’

‘Your job was to make the piece-of-shit system work. It didn’t. You screwed up.’

‘I’m staying,’ Owen said.

‘We’ll see.’

‘You plan to go to Silverman about it?’

I didn’t flinch. ‘That’s right.’

‘You just changed your plans.’

‘I’ll do what I think is right.’

Owen backed off a foot or two. ‘Has this got anything to do with Dad’s death?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you keep on asking questions, don’t you? About Guy and about Dad.’

‘I don’t like being threatened.’

‘Oh, really?’ He grabbed hold of my collar and pinned me against the wall. He was strong enough that my feet barely touched the ground. His large fists clutching my collar squeezed into my neck, making it hard to breathe.

‘I’m telling you. No more dumb questions about how Dad died. If Guy really was your friend, you’d let it drop. And you should forget about Dominique too. That was all a long time ago. You understand me?’

I should have placated him, said yes, Owen, no, Owen, and let him go on his way. But I was tired, I’d had a bad day and I really didn’t like someone barging into my own flat and pushing me around, even if they were much bigger than me.

So I raised my knee sharply to Owen’s groin. His grip on my collar loosened and he bent down, his face contorting in pain. Having started, I had to finish it, so I hit him on the chin. He staggered back, stunned, and I punched him in the stomach. As he reeled, I grabbed hold of his sleeve and dragged him to the door.

‘Get out, Owen,’ I said. ‘And don’t come back here again.’

At first he let himself be pulled along. Then as I reached the door and opened it, he straightened up. He was angry. I had a problem.

I tried to hit him again, but my blow bounced off his shoulder and didn’t make good contact with his jaw. And then he was on me. He was big and he was strong and he was surprisingly fast. I struggled, but within a few seconds he had me pinned against the wall. He hit me hard in the stomach three times. All the air was knocked out of my diaphragm and somehow I couldn’t replace it. I slumped doubled up to the ground, gasping. Then he started kicking. Ribs, head, back. One thump on the skull must have been too hard because everything went dark.