at the letter long after he had finished reading it. The letter’s instructions where clear and unambiguous, yet he hesitated. He had heard the name Ernest Sanderson for the first time a matter of weeks ago. He had never met the man, knew next to nothing about him, but was expected to trust him. His innate curiosity had needed satisfying, he had signed an innocuous disclaimer and now was legally bound to do heaven knows what.
He could give everything back to Thrasher and walk away. It would be unlikely that Thrasher could sue him with any hope of success as he hadn’t seen anything and had received nothing. He could keep all the material and determine what he should do once he had read the background information that he was being given. He could trust Thrasher, ignoring the advice he had been given by Ernest Sanderson and see where that led him. It appeared that Mr Thrasher had been disingenuous. Purporting to be a close confidant of Ernest in an attempt to discover the contents of the bequest was at best stretching the truth. Looking up from the letter, he stared at Gerald Thrasher weighing up his options. Thrasher’s face appeared calm and impassive; the small tic at the corner of his left eye belied that impression.
Looking around the room, he spotted an electric crosscut shredder next to a bank of filing cabinets. He walked over to the shredder, turned it on and fed the letter in. Decision made. For better or worse, he was Ernest Sanderson’s man.
“What are you doing?” Thrasher yelled as he catapulted from behind his desk and crossed the room at a run. His left eye was twitching so rapidly, it appeared to be out of control blinking. Grabbing at the disappearing piece of paper, he tried to pull it out, but only succeeded in ripping off a small blank corner as the rest disappeared into the shredder. William walked back to the desk, picked up the large padded envelope and moved towards the door.
“I have left a cheque on your desk that I understand will settle your account in full. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. Good afternoon.”
Stunned, Gerald Thrasher said the first thing that came into his head. He had to keep Bacchus here, in his office until he had time to think and to call Felicity.
“That was a legal document. You can’t destroy legal documents. That constituted part of the estate of Ernest Sanderson.” Thrashers voice had risen to a shriek as he screamed the final two words. His hair was dishevelled and he had flecks of saliva on his chin. His tic was completely out of control, the whole of the left hand side of his face was in spasm. Astounded, William stood rooted to the spot staring at the unhinged solicitor screeching about a piece of paper. William said,
“The letter was private correspondence. As the addressee, whether I keep it, shred it, or publish it is entirely my decision. Thank you once again for your help. I’ll see myself out.”
As William walked through the secretary’s office and out into the corridor, the last thing he heard was a heavy object smash against the door and a primal scream,
“This is the beginning, not the end Bacchus. The beginning!”
Chapter 6
Felicity dialled a number into an untraceable mobile phone from memory. When she had completed the call the sim card would be destroyed and the phone would be wiped clean and dropped down a drain. She had learned from her grandfather that lack of forethought was unforgivable. Where security was concerned he had always been meticulous and, as a result, stayed alive and out of prison.
The man who answered the phone on its second ring said,
“Wait.”
The sounds of distant conversation could be heard as the man finished whatever business he was transacting. The voices faded and all
He could give everything back to Thrasher and walk away. It would be unlikely that Thrasher could sue him with any hope of success as he hadn’t seen anything and had received nothing. He could keep all the material and determine what he should do once he had read the background information that he was being given. He could trust Thrasher, ignoring the advice he had been given by Ernest Sanderson and see where that led him. It appeared that Mr Thrasher had been disingenuous. Purporting to be a close confidant of Ernest in an attempt to discover the contents of the bequest was at best stretching the truth. Looking up from the letter, he stared at Gerald Thrasher weighing up his options. Thrasher’s face appeared calm and impassive; the small tic at the corner of his left eye belied that impression.
Looking around the room, he spotted an electric crosscut shredder next to a bank of filing cabinets. He walked over to the shredder, turned it on and fed the letter in. Decision made. For better or worse, he was Ernest Sanderson’s man.
“What are you doing?” Thrasher yelled as he catapulted from behind his desk and crossed the room at a run. His left eye was twitching so rapidly, it appeared to be out of control blinking. Grabbing at the disappearing piece of paper, he tried to pull it out, but only succeeded in ripping off a small blank corner as the rest disappeared into the shredder. William walked back to the desk, picked up the large padded envelope and moved towards the door.
“I have left a cheque on your desk that I understand will settle your account in full. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. Good afternoon.”
Stunned, Gerald Thrasher said the first thing that came into his head. He had to keep Bacchus here, in his office until he had time to think and to call Felicity.
“That was a legal document. You can’t destroy legal documents. That constituted part of the estate of Ernest Sanderson.” Thrashers voice had risen to a shriek as he screamed the final two words. His hair was dishevelled and he had flecks of saliva on his chin. His tic was completely out of control, the whole of the left hand side of his face was in spasm. Astounded, William stood rooted to the spot staring at the unhinged solicitor screeching about a piece of paper. William said,
“The letter was private correspondence. As the addressee, whether I keep it, shred it, or publish it is entirely my decision. Thank you once again for your help. I’ll see myself out.”
As William walked through the secretary’s office and out into the corridor, the last thing he heard was a heavy object smash against the door and a primal scream,
“This is the beginning, not the end Bacchus. The beginning!”
Chapter 6
Felicity dialled a number into an untraceable mobile phone from memory. When she had completed the call the sim card would be destroyed and the phone would be wiped clean and dropped down a drain. She had learned from her grandfather that lack of forethought was unforgivable. Where security was concerned he had always been meticulous and, as a result, stayed alive and out of prison.
The man who answered the phone on its second ring said,
“Wait.”
The sounds of distant conversation could be heard as the man finished whatever business he was transacting. The voices faded and all
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