Page 16 of Billionaire Corruption

“I know you can’t talk about the investigation, but I want you to know, I’m not a bad guy,” he said earnestly.

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t know what you’ve found, and I’m not trying to get any information out of you, but I want you to know that I’m not crooked.”

He was so earnest, so believable.

“Why?” I asked. “Why does it matter what I think?”

He seemed to think about the question for a while. He ran a hand through his hair, which fell in charmingly disorganized waves from his face. He was such a handsome man, even when he was stressed, or perhaps, especially then.

“It matters, ok, it does,” he said, his jaw set. “I don’t know why.”

I looked around, as if any of my colleagues would be in a place like this.

“You’ll need to get good lawyers,” I warned him.

His face darkened. “I don’t know why. Why this is happening now!”

He sat back, exasperated, looking away.

“You know, being CEO, it is slightly different to what I thought it would be.”

He looked at me. “It was what I was working towards, of course, and being in charge of a huge multinational like this, it was a dream come true. But there is so much going on, you don’t know, it’s more than I thought.”

His voice was a bit strained.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “The way the organization is set up, means the board has a lot of involvement in operations, more than in other companies. On some deals, they have to sign off first before we go ahead.”

“You’re not in charge?”

“I am, I am, but…” he shook his head, unwilling to go into details.

I took a deep breath, “Are you saying you’re not responsible for the shell companies in the Caymans?” I knew I was talking about work and that I shouldn’t be, but I couldn’t help it.

He looked upset.

“Our operations in South America have been run by Daniel Calderwood for the past five years. He was already there when I joined Ladden, ok? I had nothing to do with the setting up of those accounts.”

I didn’t know if I could believe him.

I wanted to.

“Let’s not talk about work anymore,” I suddenly said, putting my hand on his.

It was a bold move, and I knew I was sending him a signal, but I didn’t care anymore. The wine had given me courage and I didn’t want to think straight anymore.

I was done thinking straight.

I think Paul felt the same.

“I want to show you something,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the booth.

I went with him, giggling.

I let him pull me out of the pub and into a taxi, I heard him give an address to the cab driver and when the car stopped in front of a luxury apartment building, we got out.

---