Trail of Greed

He was about six feet tall and I guessed his age at around fifty-two or fifty-three. His face was starting to round out, the cheek bones no longer prominent and the begi

He was overweight – not yet dramatically, but on the way. But it was the mouth that bothered me. Set above a weak, slightly receding chin, his mouth was narrow, held in place by soft thickish lips. The overall first impression was of physical strength and relative good looks – a combination that, if not imbued by humility, tends to develop a liking for power. But that was only a first impression. I hoped that during the conference he would show more of the kind of man he was.

The master of ceremonies walked on to the stage, microphone in hand, beaming at everyone and proceeded to a

This was probably the culmination of a couple of months of earnest work by the man with the microphone and he was basking in the attention. I won’t describe him because he didn’t really have very much to him that made him stand out. He was just one of these guys that do this sort of thing and as far as I was concerned he could have his moment of glory.

He told us how delighted he was with such a large attendance for the fourth a

There were to be three presenters who would each speak for about half an hour and there would be twenty minutes of question time after each presentation, a

I was not in the least bit interested in the presentations on “Succession Pla

The elder contingent listened with attention to the discussion on Succession Pla

Needless to say, each discourse had been accompanied by a bloody Power Point presentation. The “Succession” man treated us to a plethora of family trees with arrows flying all over the place. There was even one which simulated a situation of two men who had formed a civil partnership and adopted two kids, one of which had produced two grandchildren!

The taxman’s contribution was a series of slides containing reams of words and numbers and percentages. He proceeded to read them to us, presumably on the basis that he thought we couldn’t read them ourselves.

In spite of the fact that he had a

We had a short break for coffee in the lobby. I knew nobody, apart from Pierre and Steven, so I stayed off on the side, observing the sheep networking. After a couple of minutes a lady nervously approached me and held out her hand.

“Good morning,” she said somewhat nervously. “Are you enjoying the conference?”

I smiled down at her. She looked about ten years older than me, in her mid-seventies perhaps and was wearing a powder blue suit, the jacket over a white blouse adorned with a pearl necklace. Nothing to indicate poverty or wealth. Just a nice person. Her hair was white and neatly kept. She was sporting a black patent leather handbag, clutching a brown foolscap envelope under her hand bag arm and trying not to spill the coffee in her other hand.

“Here, let me help you.” I took the cup from her, placed it on the table beside us and turned back to answer her question.

“To be honest, the first two presentations bored me rigid. I really just came to hear what Mr Purdy has to say.”

“Me too. I’m Alice Hetherington, by the way. I don’t know anybody else here so I hope you don’t mind me importuning you.”

“Not at all. My name is Bob Bruce.” “Originally Robert, I suppose,” she said with a smile. “How did you guess? What brings you here?” “Well . . .” she said hesitatingly, and looked intently at me. “I’m also very interested in what Mr Purdy has to say. You see, I’m a client of his and I’ve given over most of the money my late husband left me to AIM for them to manage. I’m not very good at financial things but I’m a bit concerned about what they are doing with it.”

My ante

“Mrs Hetherington – may I call you Alice? I’m basically here for the same reason as you. Not for myself, but for a friend who expressed exactly the same concerns to me. I promised him I’d come along here and listen to what they have to say and see if I could help him.”

“Are you, or were you, a financial person?” “To a degree. Let’s say I know more than my friend.” “And certainly more than me,” she went on. “The trouble is that I live up in Perthshire and I’m not exactly surrounded by smart financial management people. Our family lawyer knows a fair bit about conveyancing but that’s about it.”

“Where do you live?”

“Just outside Waterloo.” I knew the village which was just off the main road north to Pitlochry. I’d passed it many a time on trips north and always wondered how it got its name. It must be a village that was no older than the battle but I had often wondered who had named it and why? Perhaps the local squire had fought with Wellington and when he came back he renamed the farm cottages after the famous victory and it subsequently developed into a village. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place where you would find a lot of financial expertise.

“What do you mean when you say you’re concerned about what they’re doing with your money?”

“Well it’s not an awful lot, but it’s all I’ve got and I need the income to supplement my pension. It’s just not paying me as much as they said it would when I signed up.”

“And you’re thinking of moving it?” “I can’t yet because it’s tied up for five years and I’ve another three years to go.”

People were starting to move back into the auditorium. “Let’s go and see what they have to say and we’ll talk a little afterwards, if you’re not dashing off.”

“No, I’m not. See you afterwards then,” and she bustled off inside.