I drove my rented car down the long drive that was flanked on either side by perfectly manicured lawns and perfectly groomed trees. Although it was autumn, I can't bring myself to call it fall, there was not one golden leaf lying at rest on the green grass. My mind imagined a Head Gardener seated in a watchtower with powerful binoculars held to his unblinking eyes as he scanned the grounds, ready to order an under-gardener into action; "Ramirez, a leaf has fallen in your sector, remove it immediately!" The under-gardener would run to his quad-bike and speed to the errant leaf, pick it up and sprint back, hoping that his presence wouldn't be noticed by the Master.
I entered the mansion compound through an arched entrance to be confronted by its brick paved courtyard surrounded by a terribly English style building, courtesy of the original Fairchild's good fortune to own a railroad company at the beginning of the railroad boom, and the money to build a home appropriate to his new-found wealth. To the left of the entrance was a row of doors that was obviously the home for the family's cars. Straight ahead seemed to be a dormitory wing serviced by a single plain door, while to the right was a much more substantial entrance to the main wing. I drove up to this entrance and parked. I went over in my mind what I knew of this family before I opened my door and stepped out.
The father of the current Fairchild had the great fortune to have been slightly less than law-abiding during the Prohibition era and expanded the fortune considerably, with the help of conveniently placed contributions to certain politicians' election funds. Favours were returned and his wealth consolidated.
The current Fairchild head has profited and had set the current trend by exploiting his country's involvement in various wars and police actions around the globe. They all required provisioning in both weapons and food supplies. His factories employed workers who, with a little help from his financial contributions to a variety of officials, had arrived without the necessary paperwork to remain legally, thus binding them to low paid servitude for life, which given the lax health and safety procedures could be cut short at any time. Such trivial matters worried him not at all, his only concern was to maintain a healthy bottom line and lavish lifestyle.
His son, Andrew Malden Fairchild IV, the reason for my visit, had taken some of his projected inheritance and invested it in IT stocks, dallied briefly in the Dot Com boom in its infancy, and got out before it went bust, making a huge profit in the process. He convinced his father's bank to invest in high risk mortgages and off-load them to other lenders at a modest profit, leaving those lenders with catastrophic losses. The bank then applied for, and gained, huge government bail-out funds to cover their book, but not real, losses and ended up profiting even more from the GFC. He seemed to have developed, at a young age, the necessary financial skills and flexibility of morals, to continue to grow the Fairchild financial portfolio.
To AMF4, ethics was someone with a speech impediment speaking of a county in England.
My Editor had chosen me to undertake the task of interviewing AMF4 for an article that would appear shortly on profiteering by US business interests in Iraq and Afghanistan. His impeccable reasoning being that I had been a War Correspondent on the frontline in both theatres, and had seen firsthand what was happening. Of course when I rang the man's P.A. to arrange the interview I had to have another reason, there was no way that he would talk to anyone about the billions his companies had made out of government contracts, especially as many of those contracts had been in default for some time, but still received payments.
He had several indulgences, and I found one that I could use as a hook to gain an appointment with him. To all intents and purposes I was a writer with a motoring magazine wishing to interview him regarding his unique 'Vertical' collection of Bentley cars. He boasted of owning one each of the over sixty models produced by Bentley since its inception last century. This was typical of the man, everything he said and did was about proving that he was richer and more powerful than the next man. I was going to enjoy my encounter with the super ego of AMF4. But this would have to wait.
I was met at the front door by the terribly English butler who ushered me to the library, where I was greeted by AMF3 and the news that "Andy has taken the yacht out for a shake-down cruise following its refurbishment, if you like I can arrange for you to be taken out to join him."
I handed him my business card. "Why don't you get your son to ring me and arrange another appointment, one that he will keep? And you could also tell him that, as he will be copping a fair amount of negative press shortly, he might need me and my story to balance that out." I turned my back on him and found my own way out. I was not about to let him do this to me. He, in his own condescending way was telling me that he and his son were richer and more powerful than me, and would see me when it was convenient for them, regardless of my convenience.
I hadn't even reached my hotel when my phone rang. It was AMF4, probably ringing from his yacht to ask me what the bit about the negative press was all about. He could wait until I was ready to talk to him.
I was back in my hotel room, with a drink to keep me company, when I returned his call. "Mister Fairchild, Ben Walsh, I'm returning your call."
"Who the hell do you think you are, threatening me like that?"
"Did I threaten you? I'm sorry if you took it that way, but we did have an appointment this morning, and I've travelled halfway around the world to keep that appointment, only to find that you had better things to do. I'm entitled to be a tad pissed off that you couldn't even pick up the phone and reschedule." I was not going to bow down to him and his money, I knew better.
"I apologise for my rudeness, but this morning was the only window of opportunity I had to take 'Fair Winds' out before we ship her across to Cowes for the yacht regatta. I guess I just got a little excited. Let me make it up to you, why don't you come out for dinner this evening, we can discuss things then."
"No, I'm not able to do that, I have important meetings that will go on well into the evening and I don't think that you would appreciate it if I were to nod off in the middle of dinner, would you? Tomorrow's Sunday and I'll be tied up all day what with one thing or another, so why don't you call me on Monday morning and make another time to get together? I feel that I should warn you, if you fail to arrange an appointment, I will go with what I've got. At least I'm giving you the chance to tell your story."
He held it together long enough to agree to this. He was definitely not used to being treated like this by anyone, let alone some hack journalist from Australia. They, he concluded, had no respect for wealth and power. In that he was right.
My next drink was half consumed when the phone rang again. I answered it. "Mister Walsh?"
"Yes."
"My name is Naomi Fairchild. You were speaking just now to my brother."
"True." I wasn't going to extend the hand of friendship until I knew what this was all about.
"I wonder if I might come and see you, there's something that I need to discuss with you."
"Naomi, are you ringing on his behalf?'
"No, if he knew that I was talking to you, he'd kill me. No my brother and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, not the least of which is his arrogance. I understand that he had an appointment with you this morning."
