As soon as the meeting broke up just before lunchtime, George Waring led the way to Jim Ashby’s old office. When he and Robert Ashby were alone, he closed the door behind them.
“As the largest shareholder, you need to decide whether to liquidate the company or sell it or to continue fighting these claims. If you decide to go on, there are only enough funds to run the company for another month or so. You can imagine how word has got around that Plantation is in difficulties – the main person running the company – its founder and largest shareholder – is suddenly gone. In addition, the brokers have been pressing for payment of these claims on behalf of their clients for some time. In situations likes this, the market can be like a village : everyone knows everyone else’s business – word soon gets around if your competitor is experiencing problems. The wagging tongues, whether they be telling truth or lies, have caused many of Plantation’s clients and policyholders to withdraw their business or threaten to take it elsewhere. Naturally, you know that an insurer’s ability to pay claims on demand is crucial when the brokers control much of the incoming business. Consequently, Plantation is in a stand-off position against the brokers and its own clients and also the rest of the market who share a large part of the same business you underwrite. Regrettably, it boils down to your ability to bring all of these claims to a conclusion within the next month or two at the most – or Plantation will fold and take many people with it.”
“Did you speak to my father about this ?”
“No, I'm afraid not. I tried many, many times but he was always busy. But I have looked through some of his papers and I have to say that I find it difficult to understand why he thought there was ever the ghost of a chance of resolving all six claims.”
Robert Ashby stared at the disorder on his father’s desk. How could things have deteriorated as they had ? It was out of character for his father to have let the business go downhill. The younger Ashby was, of course, unaware how Plantation had been infected by the assimilation of Stirling.
Waring said that he would contact Ashby again at the end of the week to hear his decision. After he left the room, Rob locked the door to his father's office and using a key which Roger Grenville had given him, unlocked the various drawers to his father's desk.
In the top drawer, there was a mass of paperwork. (His father was always fairly disorganised.) There were two bulging Manilla folders, full of notes, copies of documents, accounting spreadsheets and computer punchcards. The other drawers contained virtually nothing and he emptied all of them out on top of the desk. Cigarette lighters, old photographs, different types of pills for varying maladies, a little black book containing lots of scrawled phone numbers and addresses, odd nick-nacks, maps, over £2000 in cash, used airline tickets, hotel brochures from some of his trips abroad, the keys to the family house in Surrey and all of his own letters written to his father from Texas. These were the remnants of a life spent struggling against adversity.
For the next half hour, he examined what he’d found. Were any of these items linked to what had happened to his father ? Try as he might, he couldn’t understand why the events described in the boardroom, should have resulted in his father’s death. The old man was tougher than that. Perhaps it was best left for the following day.
Shortly after two o'clock, he felt so tired that he decided to go for a walk in the fresh air.
Outside, it was a grey, breezy, overcast day which matched his mood. Lime Street was bustling as usual and the shopping precinct in Leadenhall Market and the pavements along Fenchurch Street were as full of people as in the rush hour.
He walked down to Eastcheap, feeling drained from the overnight flight. Hearing all morning of the company’s woes had exhausted him. How could it all be put right ? As he walked along, he heard someone calling to him in the street.
He turned around and came face to face with a short man carrying a thick leather folder of files and papers.
“Robert – well, well, what a turn up seeing you,” the man said with a broad smile and grabbed Ashby’s hand, giving it a mighty shake. “I haven't seen you for ages – it must be more than two years. Oh, uh, I was sorry to hear about your father, by the way, he was very much respected by us…”
The man was obviously a broker. As Ashby stood talking to him, he tried to recall his name but felt overcome by drowsiness.
“I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me but I….”
“What ? Don't you remember me ? David Wellbourne ? City First Brokers ? I know this isn’t the time or place, but I’d been trying to get in and see your father about the Captain Stratos claim. Perhaps you know something about it ?”
From that point, Wellbourne rattled on about how his clients were the Greek shipowners and that they wanted to try and wrap it all up if possible without taking the matter further in court. Could they get together and talk about it when Ashby had a moment ? A business card materialised out of nowhere, giving a phone number which could be rung at any time. Mornings were best. (Any other time you’re in the pub, thought Ashby.)
As if reading his mind, Wellbourne said : “Fancy a quick pint ? You look like you need one. What say we slip into the Bligh & Bounty ?”
“Thanks but I must be getting back to the office. I'll give you a call.”
George Waring was right. Something didn’t fit. Brokers let the paperwork do the talking – but not in this case. Instead, they were applying pressure directly. The Captain Stratos needed scrutinising – and fast.