Trust: Betrayed by Cristiane Serruya

foundation, nor does Ashford individually. He always makes donations to others,” Edward explained. “From the research I asked the legal department to do, Ashford prefers to concentrate on his business and leave charity to those he thinks are more apt.”
    Zahira flanked Sophia and showed her a chapter in the plan. “Look here, Mrs. L., he always makes donations to foundations that protect children. All over the world. Since the donation is so large, he would like to have a say in how it is allocated. He is proposing it be shared, with a portion for India and China, where Ashford Steel has branches, and the rest we would decide. It’s beautifully designed to fit both his and our goals.” Zahira’s dark brown eyes were twinkling.
    “A lawyer from Ashford Steel, Mr. Ronald Carter, called us yesterday, after you left, asking for a meeting,” Edward was excited. “It’s fantastic, Sophia.”
    Zahira finished the explanation, “Mr. Carter brought this in personally this morning and gave us a lengthy explanation.”
    “Mmm,” Sophia raised her brows as she read the paragraph Zahira had indicated with her finger. “This idea is a beauty. Imagine if we could help all those poor baby girls left to die in China... But what I still don’t get is: why us?”
    Edward sighed deeply, impatient, “Why? Why not, Sophia? Ashford clearly likes you. You have a foundation that allows this kind of maneuver. He makes contributions every year. He, intelligently, combined business with pleasure. Why not?”
    “Mrs. L., the plan has provisions for...” Zahira leafed through the document and pointed to another paragraph, “a ten year plan. It’s a long-term commitment. He is directing all his contributions to your foundation. All he asks for is investments in India and China.”
    “Well then,” she raised her eyes to Edward, “since you both approve...”
    “We do,” said both at the same time.
    Chelsea, Royal Hospital Road. Gordon Ramsay.
     
    1.35 p.m.
    “Alistair Connor.” Tavish was flabbergasted. “You’re a genius.”
    Alistair smiled smugly at his brother. “The facts were there for everyone to see, Tavish Uilleam, but that’s what makes the difference between a successful businessman and everyone else. Never fear, be bold. I have been investing in that young group of artists for fifteen years. It was pure chance, but when they started having problems keeping up with the mortgage payments for their gallery, The Blue Dot, I took matters into my hands and proposed a partnership, investing more to keep it afloat. Art has always been an obsession of mine. I decided to sponsor all of their,” he made quotes in the air, “insane ideas. Malcolm and Berkley called me a lunatic and didn’t agree with the investment. At that time, they were the majority shareholders at the bank. I was new, starting my career at the bank, thanks to our father’s money.” He shrugged. “I made a deal. I’d make a huge investment in the gallery and be its CFO, if they sold me a percentage of the business and the property. I put in my personal money.” And Alistair’s smile grew larger, “And yours, too.”
    “You did what? You never told me.” Tavish shook his head slowly. He didn’t like the way Alistair sometimes treated him as if he were still a little boy, but he had given carte blanche to his brother to do whatever investments he thought interesting, while he was in Iraq and Afghanistan. “But didn’t you think it was too risky?”
    “A wonderful house in Chelsea? A historic building? Never. This was clear from the get-go. It has increased tenfold in value, Tavish. And as for the investment,” he smirked. “How do you think both of us ended up owning bigger shares of the bank than Malcolm and Berkley?” Alistair shrugged. “I determined a stop-loss, of course. They are brilliant, just disorganized. They have a great eye for discovering new artists. All I had to do was create a business plan for them to follow, organize