in order, but Clayton just smiled and nodded.
‘I would assume from the instructions you gave us yesterday,’ he continued, looking up his notes so as to preempt any challenge, ‘that you will not be wishing to retain your father’s account number, but rather’ – he opened two new files and passed them over to Clayton – ‘to have two new accounts established as of now.’
He means my grandfather’s account number, thought Clayton, but remained silent in deference to his Second Rule of Banking:
If you are told something you do not know, keep quiet, pretend you know and carry on listening
.
He nodded at Ackermann and turned his attention to the files. They were standard account-opening forms, though very different from those presented by American banks: fewer questions, more instructions.
Clayton took out his pen and started signing. The current account, in US dollars as requested. He signed four times and Alicona nodded approvingly. It made things simpler, dealing with a fellow banker. Tom then turned to the deposit account, and added another four signatures.
‘You stated yesterday,’ Ackermann read from his notes again, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice, ‘that you would be requiring 10 per cent right away. Are we to put this into your new current account, perhaps?’
‘If you could give me the exact balance as of today, Mr Ackermann?’ Tom hoped no nervousness showed in
his
voice.
‘Forty-two million, eight hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars,’ replied the Swiss banker punctiliously. ‘Plus accrued interest, of course, which will be credited …’ – he looked at the calendar on the desk – ‘tomorrow, in fact. That will be $124,909 for the current month.’
Clayton’s left arm started shaking involuntarily and he quickly feigned a pain in his left knee, dropping the rogue arm towards it and rubbing it to hide the tremor. ‘An old sports injury,’ he said with an apologetic smile. ‘Troubles me sometimes in winter.’
He too was used to big figures. Forty million, four hundred million. They were amounts he discussed regularly in the course of his job. Stay calm, Thomas, he told himself. Think: other people’s money, telephone numbers, just another deal.
‘About 10 per cent, yes. To be precise’ – he paused to take the speculative sheet from his case while Alicona made notes – ‘I would like you to transfer five million dollars to the order of Taurus AG, care of my bank in London.’ He passed the account details to Alicona. ‘There is to be no reference to the source of this transfer.’ Then, turning to Ackermann: ‘That leaves thirty-seven point eight-two-six.’ The figures rolled off his tongue easily now. ‘What is your best rate for thirty-seven million dollars, ninety days?’
‘In view of your family’s long association with the United Credit Bank, Mr Clayton, I am authorized to offer four and one quarter. Fiduciary deposits, of course.’
‘Thank you, that is acceptable,’ replied Clayton with a smile, knowing that was well above anything his own bank would offer. ‘Please give the transaction tomorrow’s value date. You can add the one-twenty-five interest to the remaining eight-two-six …’ – he paused briefly to make the mental calculation – ‘… making that a total of $950,909 to go into my current account.’
Alicona nodded agreement, looking up from his calculator.
‘Tomorrow, then,’ said Tom, to end the matter. ‘I shall expect to see five million dollars in the London account.’
‘Naturally,’ replied Ackermann, hugely pleased with himself.
They agreed that interest would be credited to Tom’s current account, that statements would be sent to his home address in London and that his wife would be given power of attorney over both accounts – Tom took the forms for her to sign – so that she could access them without formality in the event that Tom Clayton should be unavailable.
As he stood to leave, Tom’s legs
‘I would assume from the instructions you gave us yesterday,’ he continued, looking up his notes so as to preempt any challenge, ‘that you will not be wishing to retain your father’s account number, but rather’ – he opened two new files and passed them over to Clayton – ‘to have two new accounts established as of now.’
He means my grandfather’s account number, thought Clayton, but remained silent in deference to his Second Rule of Banking:
If you are told something you do not know, keep quiet, pretend you know and carry on listening
.
He nodded at Ackermann and turned his attention to the files. They were standard account-opening forms, though very different from those presented by American banks: fewer questions, more instructions.
Clayton took out his pen and started signing. The current account, in US dollars as requested. He signed four times and Alicona nodded approvingly. It made things simpler, dealing with a fellow banker. Tom then turned to the deposit account, and added another four signatures.
‘You stated yesterday,’ Ackermann read from his notes again, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice, ‘that you would be requiring 10 per cent right away. Are we to put this into your new current account, perhaps?’
‘If you could give me the exact balance as of today, Mr Ackermann?’ Tom hoped no nervousness showed in
his
voice.
‘Forty-two million, eight hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars,’ replied the Swiss banker punctiliously. ‘Plus accrued interest, of course, which will be credited …’ – he looked at the calendar on the desk – ‘tomorrow, in fact. That will be $124,909 for the current month.’
Clayton’s left arm started shaking involuntarily and he quickly feigned a pain in his left knee, dropping the rogue arm towards it and rubbing it to hide the tremor. ‘An old sports injury,’ he said with an apologetic smile. ‘Troubles me sometimes in winter.’
He too was used to big figures. Forty million, four hundred million. They were amounts he discussed regularly in the course of his job. Stay calm, Thomas, he told himself. Think: other people’s money, telephone numbers, just another deal.
‘About 10 per cent, yes. To be precise’ – he paused to take the speculative sheet from his case while Alicona made notes – ‘I would like you to transfer five million dollars to the order of Taurus AG, care of my bank in London.’ He passed the account details to Alicona. ‘There is to be no reference to the source of this transfer.’ Then, turning to Ackermann: ‘That leaves thirty-seven point eight-two-six.’ The figures rolled off his tongue easily now. ‘What is your best rate for thirty-seven million dollars, ninety days?’
‘In view of your family’s long association with the United Credit Bank, Mr Clayton, I am authorized to offer four and one quarter. Fiduciary deposits, of course.’
‘Thank you, that is acceptable,’ replied Clayton with a smile, knowing that was well above anything his own bank would offer. ‘Please give the transaction tomorrow’s value date. You can add the one-twenty-five interest to the remaining eight-two-six …’ – he paused briefly to make the mental calculation – ‘… making that a total of $950,909 to go into my current account.’
Alicona nodded agreement, looking up from his calculator.
‘Tomorrow, then,’ said Tom, to end the matter. ‘I shall expect to see five million dollars in the London account.’
‘Naturally,’ replied Ackermann, hugely pleased with himself.
They agreed that interest would be credited to Tom’s current account, that statements would be sent to his home address in London and that his wife would be given power of attorney over both accounts – Tom took the forms for her to sign – so that she could access them without formality in the event that Tom Clayton should be unavailable.
As he stood to leave, Tom’s legs
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