He slammed the phone down hard as he heard the news. He always knew it was going to happen, as long as Alba made the bid, he would lose. Conor and his band of idiots had cost him billions.
He pulled out the IBC file, it was rubbish now. He flicked through the contents one last time and read Conor’s CV again. Very experienced, very smart, very ruthless but it failed to mention his one major flaw. He was totally damned useless. Whoever had recommended him would pay for this, he thought as he flicked through the list of recommendations. It was only when he found the list that he recalled Conor had been second on the list.
He sat back and wondered whether it would it have worked if he had played it differently. He stopped. It was pointless. He couldn’t roll back the clock and start again. He stopped thinking about what had gone wrong and realised he should focus on what he could do right. He didn’t need to roll back the clock, he had plenty of time. His bid may have been rejected but the deal wasn’t signed. What was the old saying? Oh yes, it wasn’t over until the fat lady sings. He laughed to himself, or should it be until the rich Scotsman signs. He just needed a plan and the right man. He studied the list and made his decision.
He dialled the number next to the name at number one. It rang twice before it was answered.
“Who is this?” a man answered abruptly.
“We need to talk.”
The line went silent, the man at the other end recognised a voice he had not heard for fourteen years and had never expected to hear again.
“REAPER, did you hear me, I said we need to talk!” repeated the client.