Dom.
However, I don’t take them.
I just sit back and let Rob get more and more frustrated and lose more and more ground while Nigel puts forth more and more ‘evidence’ to support his claim that it was all an honest clerical mistake. No matter what Rob says or does, Nigel is impossible to faze. He is as cool as someone on a deckchair on the Titanic the day before the disaster, who had a helicopter ride off the ship that evening. Smooth. Confident. Secure. Unshakeable.
Watching Nigel in action isn’t like watching a cheetah kill. There’s no dazzling speed, claws, teeth, clouds of disturbed dust, or flying fur. It’s more like watching a python wrapped around a goat. Every time the goat exhales, the python squeezes tighter until the last breath is gone. At which point the python, at its own leisure, swallows the goat whole.
As we leave the restaurant I pretend to be disappointed with the outcome even though I’m actually feeling very satisfied. It is rare that someone gets the better of Rob, and he’s such a jumped-up, pompous ass that the pathetic side of me quite secretly enjoys seeing him brought down a peg.
In the car he fumes impotently. ‘I hate these oily bastards. I’d love to investigate his accountancy firm. I’m sure there are more than a few skeletons rattling in there.’
Wisely, I say nothing.
As soon as I’m out of Rob’s sight, I text Dom.
You might want to give your accountant a huge bonus this Christmas. X
I chat for a bit with the receptionist. She tells me her dog swallowed her ring so she has to dig through its poo with a stick. I make the appropriate noises of sympathy mixed with revulsion. When I leave her I take the lift upstairs and go straight to my desk.
I sit down and pull up the Integrated Compliance Environment (ICE) desktop interface. I bring up the original search request I made for Lady Marmalade. Scanning through the form, I notice that, under ‘Reason for Request and Any Additional Information’, I’ve input all his brothers as additional associated persons that I wanted researched. Even BJ’s name is there.
Leaning back, I gaze at the entry.
Every name on the list means something to me now. They’re real people. They live, they breathe, they have hopes and dreams, they love their families, and they hurt when I go after them. I remember how emotionlessly I had compiled the list. How proud I used to be of the impressive responsibility I had, to make a decision on whether to challenge a declared tax return, and at what level that challenge should be made. How powerful it used to make me feel.
I was a different person then.
My mobile pings. I pick it up and look at it.
Want to celebrate with me?
I type back:
Obviously.
The answering ping is immediate.
Pick you up at 6. Wear a bikini under your clothes. Or don’t.
Still smiling, I click out of the form and pull up the ICE Feedback Form. I complete it and click ‘Send Form’. There. Case closed.
I sit for a while with my hands in my lap and then I open a fresh Word document and begin to type into it.
We drive out to his country house, which takes us about two hours. We turn off a main road and drive for another couple of minutes on a much narrower country lane before we come upon a rather nondescript steel gate, which he opens with the touch of a button on his key fob.
We then travel through about a mile of woods, which Dom tells me he has turned into a bee, bird and deer sanctuary. And as we drive slowly through, I start to see colorful birds everywhere.
‘Oh my God,’ I cry with delight, when Dom points out two sweet little deer hidden among the trees They do not scamper away, even at the monstrous sound of the V8 engine, but they gaze back at us, their large, moist eyes totally unafraid.
‘Are they tame enough to be petted?’ I ask, turning my head to stare at them.
‘They come up to the house looking for food in the mornings. You can hand feed them then.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,
However, I don’t take them.
I just sit back and let Rob get more and more frustrated and lose more and more ground while Nigel puts forth more and more ‘evidence’ to support his claim that it was all an honest clerical mistake. No matter what Rob says or does, Nigel is impossible to faze. He is as cool as someone on a deckchair on the Titanic the day before the disaster, who had a helicopter ride off the ship that evening. Smooth. Confident. Secure. Unshakeable.
Watching Nigel in action isn’t like watching a cheetah kill. There’s no dazzling speed, claws, teeth, clouds of disturbed dust, or flying fur. It’s more like watching a python wrapped around a goat. Every time the goat exhales, the python squeezes tighter until the last breath is gone. At which point the python, at its own leisure, swallows the goat whole.
As we leave the restaurant I pretend to be disappointed with the outcome even though I’m actually feeling very satisfied. It is rare that someone gets the better of Rob, and he’s such a jumped-up, pompous ass that the pathetic side of me quite secretly enjoys seeing him brought down a peg.
In the car he fumes impotently. ‘I hate these oily bastards. I’d love to investigate his accountancy firm. I’m sure there are more than a few skeletons rattling in there.’
Wisely, I say nothing.
As soon as I’m out of Rob’s sight, I text Dom.
You might want to give your accountant a huge bonus this Christmas. X
I chat for a bit with the receptionist. She tells me her dog swallowed her ring so she has to dig through its poo with a stick. I make the appropriate noises of sympathy mixed with revulsion. When I leave her I take the lift upstairs and go straight to my desk.
I sit down and pull up the Integrated Compliance Environment (ICE) desktop interface. I bring up the original search request I made for Lady Marmalade. Scanning through the form, I notice that, under ‘Reason for Request and Any Additional Information’, I’ve input all his brothers as additional associated persons that I wanted researched. Even BJ’s name is there.
Leaning back, I gaze at the entry.
Every name on the list means something to me now. They’re real people. They live, they breathe, they have hopes and dreams, they love their families, and they hurt when I go after them. I remember how emotionlessly I had compiled the list. How proud I used to be of the impressive responsibility I had, to make a decision on whether to challenge a declared tax return, and at what level that challenge should be made. How powerful it used to make me feel.
I was a different person then.
My mobile pings. I pick it up and look at it.
Want to celebrate with me?
I type back:
Obviously.
The answering ping is immediate.
Pick you up at 6. Wear a bikini under your clothes. Or don’t.
Still smiling, I click out of the form and pull up the ICE Feedback Form. I complete it and click ‘Send Form’. There. Case closed.
I sit for a while with my hands in my lap and then I open a fresh Word document and begin to type into it.
We drive out to his country house, which takes us about two hours. We turn off a main road and drive for another couple of minutes on a much narrower country lane before we come upon a rather nondescript steel gate, which he opens with the touch of a button on his key fob.
We then travel through about a mile of woods, which Dom tells me he has turned into a bee, bird and deer sanctuary. And as we drive slowly through, I start to see colorful birds everywhere.
‘Oh my God,’ I cry with delight, when Dom points out two sweet little deer hidden among the trees They do not scamper away, even at the monstrous sound of the V8 engine, but they gaze back at us, their large, moist eyes totally unafraid.
‘Are they tame enough to be petted?’ I ask, turning my head to stare at them.
‘They come up to the house looking for food in the mornings. You can hand feed them then.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,
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