The Clayton Account by Bill Vidal

an average of thirty million dollars. Of course a modest rate of interest was always paid to customers on such balances, but
modest
was the key word: leaving ample margins for the bank to earn from overnight deposits and money-market lending – and for Bruno to take the credit in his superiors’ eyes.
    Then he read the letter.
    Each day the post office delivered mail three times. At eight in the morning, at noon, and finally at four in the afternoon. All mail went first to the bank’s post room for sorting. From there it reached the right section by internal messenger, so that Hoechst’s first post was always with him by 8.40 a.m. The letter from Professor Michael Clayton had arrived with the first post and as he read it Bruno smiled, barely able to conceal his excitement. It consisted of a single paragraph above the writer’s signature, instructing the United Credit Bank to close the account in question and transfer the entire balance to Messrs Sweeney Tulley McAndrews, Attorneys-at-Law, c/o Banque Credit Suisse, Geneva. His joy only increased as he envisaged that bore Ackermann having to inform Brugger that he had managed to lose the entire deposit within forty-eight hours!
    His first reaction had been to take the letter to Ackermann in person, but then he thought better of it and adhered to the system. On a little memo sheet he wrote
Ackermann, J., Room 543
. This he appended to the letter and placed it on his out-tray, ready for the 12.40 collection. He then got on with the rest of the day’s business, still smiling. Maybe, he thought, he would time his departure for lunch to coincide with Ackermann’s and get in the lift with him – just to see the look on his face.
    But Ackermann would not be in the lift at his usual time that day. In fact he would not be taking a lunch break at all, for at one o’clock he was sitting across the desk from a stern-faced Brugger and worrying about his prospects. The Vice President of Private Clients motioned him to sit down, then totally ignored him as he contemplated the papers on his desk. Whatever this turned out to be about, Ackermann thought, it would be most unjust to blame it all on him. But he also knew that if a scapegoat was required, he could well be it.
    The door opened and two men came in. They were not preceded by Brugger’s secretary, as etiquette dictated. Nor had they bothered to knock. For these were men who walked about the bank as though they owned it. Ackermann recognized Walter Laforge, Chief of Internal Security, in step with the towering Dr Ulm, a Management Board Director and Head of Retail Banking. Brugger stood up immediately and moved away from his plush chair. It was evident that Dr Ulm would preside. As he eased down his six-foot-six frame he stared at the others in turn. His steely eyes did not betray emotions. His dark grey suit had been tailored by London’s best, his discreet Patek Philippe crafted by Switzerland’s finest. Laforge, in stark contrast, wore an olive-green suit and a summery yellow tie. A touch of silver at his temples hinted at an age beyond his youthful appearance. Unlike the others, he was not a banker – he simply worked for a bank.
    ‘So, Ackermann, explain to me what this is about.’ Ulm’s tone was amiable but his body language was not.
    Ackermann explained everything from the beginning, leaving nothing out, from the moment he had been advised of his first appointment with Clayton, until the American had left the bank after the last. He did not dwell upon, but certainly mentioned, that he had cleared all steps with Dr Brugger. Avoiding the latter’s gaze, he then recounted the results of the checks carried out in New York, complete with names, times, and copies of all communications.
    When Ackermann had finished, Ulm looked at Brugger, who nodded his confirmation of the facts.
    ‘This letter?’ asked Laforge. ‘When did it arrive?’
    Ackermann cleared his throat, ‘It was received by one of my colleagues this