Bitcoin.

The television was flickering, as if it were agitated by the events being broadcast. The volume was turned right down but was still audible; it was the only constant noise in the room. An acutely tuned ear could discern crowd noise, not constant but graduating from silence to a murmur and then to a shrill and fervent, only slightly more than momentary crescendo and then, rapidly, returning to virtual silence once more. A voice could be heard above the crowd, in complete synergy with it, at first calm almost monotonous, ascending into urgent and stronger speech until finally erupting, at one with the crowd, into a wildly enthusiastic, brazen scream. Which swiftly tapered off into a deeper tone as his delivery became unhurried; his manner insouciant.

Tim Stretton was watching racing on TV; but not watching in the normal sense of the word. He occasionally looked at the screen, only when the horse he had backed had won the race and was doing a victory parade or the horse’s jockey was being quizzed by TV station’s programme host. If he had lost on the race, depending on the size of the loss, he would be swearing, and the loudness of the swearing depended upon the size of the loss; he would berate the horse for not running fast enough or the jockey for not riding keenly enough and a seven letter word beginning with “f” was used, adjectivally, in abundance.

When the race was run, the resultant explosion of joy or anger was replaced almost immediately by the tension that preceded it. Whist the race was being run, the tension in the room was electric. Tim himself was like an expectant father (of an older generation) waiting outside the delivery room for news of the forthcoming birth. He meandered from one side of the room to the other, his steps tentative and erratic in length of stride, his back arched, almost coiled, awaiting to explode into that moment of either elation or humiliation.

His attention was fixed upon the commentator’s every word, particularly when the horse he’d selected was called out. Sometimes he would put his hands over his ears to block the news of his fancied horse’s wretched progress taking up a position at the rear of the field. Just as, when his horse was moving up toward the leading horses, he would gesticulate furiously as if his own energy would penetrate his selection and assist its progress. And then when his horse was out in front, his clenched fists would be raised skyward,then downward then forwards in demonstrable gratitude for the equine exertion on his behalf as the wonderful beast passed the winning post.

Notwithstanding his enthusiastic engagement in the races he had wagered on, Tim was not a compulsive gambler. He played to a system, which had been worked out by him in league with a whizz-kid mathematician, who had analysed results over a twenty year period and allowed him to bet on the favourites in certain selected races at various selected racecourses up to a certain limit and with a prescribed number of losses before repeating the cycle. Only, it did not lessen the emotional investment in each race when he was observing live.

The system was working well for him, up to a point. The return on his financial investment however was not of a magnitude that he was accustomed to. He’d had a stellar career so far. Harrow, a first from Oxford in PPE, a top city law firm, a move to investment banking, a partner in a hedge fund, a serial investor and adaptable entrepreneur. Along the way he had collected a trophy wife, three adorable children, a Kensington mansion and a place or, as he called it a “schloss” in the country. Then it came to a shuddering and ignominious halt. What lead to his downfall was put down to “Insider dealing”, the illegal practice of trading while having access to confidential information; but it was a lot more complicated than that. The transactions or series of transactions had to do with many of the “financial products” that were publicised and highlighted during the Great Financial Crisis or GFC kicked off by the collapse of Lehman Brothers. From derivatives to credit default swaps and from shorting mortgage bonds to slicing up sub-prime loans to create synthetic bonds, as well as benefiting from confidential information, dodgy deals were being made the length and breadth of the square mile of the City with impunity; unless you got caught or unless your activity came to the attention of the usually spineless and inept regulators, whose once draconian powers had been stripped away by a so-called Socialist Government, keen to ingratiate itself with bankers, traders and the like. The truth is that some of Tim’s deals were so complicated, so opaque and so tangled in express terms and conditions, always to the disbenefit of the other party, that sometimes he was hard pressed to understand them. Ergo it went down as insider dealing. The Financial Conduct Authority, the Bank of England and the Serious Crime Squad, between them, had no proper grasp of what had been going on and what his transactions entailed.

Which is why, when it all came to a head, it was labelled insider trading. He actually did nothing wrong. His pithy explanation to those enquiring was “When jealousy and incompetence collide with too much authority, injustice ensues”. When pressed to expand on that, he might explain thus: “What we did (the plural was comforting to him) was so clever, so successful and so benign to all except corrupt and useless bankers, whilst being admittedly so close to being illegal, that the authorities were beguiled into lumping various aspects of various transactions together to make a hybrid but credible explanation.” So, when he was confronted with the reality of having to account for his actions, he concluded that few would be inclined to offer any sympathy, fewer would understand the technical details of what occurred, while envy was likely to cloud the judgement of all. When offered a get out, he jumped. He was encouraged in his decision by the fact that, as all parties, what emerged from the various negotiations between all concerned was very much “an elegant solution”; and, some would say, a very English solution. For, in effect, Tim was, like an errant racehorse trainer, warned off. In exchange for there being no further enquiry into the questionable transactions, provided Tim shut down his operation and agreed to never engage, either directly or indirectly, in any financial dealing of any sort (there was a three-page description in the agreement letter) he avoided any fine or compensation order and his existing fortune and property portfolio was untouched.

The elegance of this outcome was inherent in the fact that explanations to his wife Emily would need to be only, agreeably, brief. Once she was made aware that her lifestyle would not be disturbed; that her “allowance” would be maintained at the same level; and that she could still choose to be in either London or the country (when not abroad on holiday) and entertain lavishly in each, she would not agitate him for a full explanation; she would buy the “I’m tired” line. In fact, the only assurance she sought was that he would not be at home too much and too often and get in her way and in the way of her interests and activities. This is not to say that Emily did not know that Tim’s explanation was not entirely accurate. She knew him too well to accept that he was tired of business and making money; he loved all of that and would not be content in retirement, playing golf, visiting museums and art galleries. She saw no reason to upset the satisfactory equilibrium of their relationship. After all, he gave her everything she wanted materially. The money, the houses, the cars, the holidays; she couldn’t want for more in that direction. Admittedly, for many he would not be the perfect partner; remote, private and sometimes moody, their conversations could be tense and short; communication generally was friendly, but never amorous. For Emily, the “entente cordiale” they had entered into was ideal. She enjoyed the independence she was allowed; she would not have wanted anything more full-on. In addition, they enjoyed a brilliant sex life; it always surprised her that, while he did not make love to her frequently when he did, it was as if he was a different person. He was passionate, patient and caring. He was selfless, wanting to please her, putting her pleasure before his own.

Just as Shakespeare said “No perfection is so absolute that some impurity doth not pollute”, Emily’s perfection was polluted, but not by any fault of or in her. She had a brother who was the complete antithesis of Emily in looks, manners, morals and much else; it was as if they had not shared parents or upbringing. Tim was aware that the distribution of genes among human chromosomes is extremely uneven, but in their case he concluded the distribution must have been overseen by some weirdly malign powerful being intent on ensuring there were no similarities in their make up. In character, the principles they inherited and manifested were poles apart; likewise in personality, the ways they presented themselves and how they appeared to be were totally dissimilar. What was strange and inexplicable to Tim was not that they were so different , but that Emily did not admit the fact. She dismissed Patrick’s failings as mere foibles or idiosyncrasies that somehow added to his charm, which Tim thought elusive in any event. For Tim, loyalty, even family loyalty and love certainly were not unconditional. Reciprocity was essential; and Patrick constantly took but rarely gave. Notwithstanding, in Emily’s eyes, Patrick could do no wrong and she had made it a condition of their marriage that Tim must be “nice” to Patrick.

“Niceness” can come in many forms. Patrick Noble had a social skill that endeared him to strangers; most of whom saw through him swiftly. Tim avoided him socially as much as possible but not so much as to disturb Emily. She constantly urged Tim to include Patrick in his business dealings. “It would be so good if you could help him along the way” she would often say “He’s such an entrepreneur; he could even be useful to you”. Tim was usually stoic in the face of Emily’s attempted persuasion; whilst she accepted his silence, she could not tolerate his inaction, so she pushed until Tim allowed Patrick access to his office and ultimately to the means to trade and deal in the name of Tim’s company. Initially this went well, largely because Patrick was ghosted by Tim’s right hand man, Marcel, who kept a close eye on all of his activities and limited the scope for error or, more importantly, misadventure (Tim’s euphemism for the shenanigans that Patrick was in his view likely to get up to). Unfortunately, when Marcel had to return to France and leave London, Patrick was left pretty much on his own and at the time Tim found it difficult to oversee Patrick’s activities; there was no one to keep an eye on him, even though Tim felt strongly that this would be a mistake. “Now that Marcel is no longer with us, you’re going to have to keep me briefed on your dealings” Tim said to Patrick without being confident that he would.

Tim’s relative insouciance was based on his assessment that Patrick was not clever enough to cause too much damage. His innate lack of imagination and intellect would keep him from going too far astray and if he did wander into difficulty Tim thought he would always be able to drag the deal back to safe territory.

He would come to rue the day he was so generous towards Patrick; it wasn’t that his judgement was inaccurate; it was just incomplete. Yes he was lacking in intellect and imagination, and scruple as it happened; what he was not not lacking was cunning and a propensity to relieve the unwary of their money in a way that appeared to be honest, but wasn’t. It had taken Tim a long time to work out what had happened; how Patrick had manipulated the market, persuaded a sovereign fund to back the punt while somehow alerting the regulator to the trade without implicating himself in it; and on top of all of that, he had managed to destroy (or divert beyond the reach of the regulator) all of the paper as well as the electronically stored inculpatory evidence in such a way that the path led back to Tim’s company; and to someone in the company who had absolutely no knowledge of or connection with the trade. The outcome for Patrick was all good. He’d made a healthy profit; Tim reckoned at least a million, although he would have had to have given his accomplice half of that (there’s no way he could have pulled that one off on his own); and he was under no suspicion with the regulator or any other authority. For Tim it was a different outcome. Because the trade had been effected through a portal the company commonly used, the regulator’s attention was inevitably and inexorably drawn to the company and the politics of envy demanded and resulted in an unannounced visit which was embarrassing, disruptive and expensive simply in terms of lsot trading days. They went through everything which was a lot and found very little. But the crumbs they fed off bloated their appetite and where there was nothing to find they still searched diligently until they could eke nothing further out of nothing. They gorged themselves until the plate was licked clean and dry and the larder was empty. Replete, they withdrew and built a case or so they thought, but when scrutinised the case was weak and unconvincing. However, regardless of where or how or why the invasion of the bean counters had come about, they threatened a dire outcome. If they dug their heels in, if Tim did not play the meek apologiser, he could lose an awful lot in fines and penalties alone. On top of that, there would be a lot of publicity which he was keen to avoid. Hence the elegant solution.

While he devoted his time to achieving the best outcome possible, he had no time to contemplate the whys and wherefores. When time allowed there was no doubt as to where his focus would land and concentrate: Patrick. Tim had picked up some gossip that Patrick had recently been seen with David Humble, an unsuitable surname if ever there was one. David “Dave” had had a barrow boy upbringing; from an east London estate he had had a dramatic rise in the City, attracting the attention of potential employers and regulators alike. He sailed close to the wind and had had more positions than most banks had tellers, always leaving under a cloud of suspicion, it never being clear if he was actually shoved; observers assumed that employers just wanted to rid themselves of a hot potato before the whole kitchen went up in flames. Notwithstanding that, there was always someone willing to have him on their team. Tim could see the hand of Dave all over the deal that brought him down.

Tim confronted Patrick; when he mentioned Dave, Patrick did not deny he’d seen him but said his association was limited to the odd lunch and no business. More searching questions were parried by complete denials and Patrick was always stymied by a lack of evidence, the regulator having waltzed off with the only crumbs of evidential assistance that might have been available to Tim.

All things considered, Tim was remarkably sanguine about Patrick. Outrage and indignation were limited by his lack of respect or affection for Patrick and what remained was suppressed. What was also suppressed was a Mandella-like inclination to forgive and forget. He was not hungry for revenge but it lingered in the back of his mind and he was confident an opportunity would arise.

Emily had remained blissfully unaware of the goings on; or, at least, she had the sense that it was best not to talk about in case what she heard was unpalatable. She saw a change in Patrick; he had more energy, was more purposeful and positive. What she noticed and did not admire was how his confidence could border on bumptiousness. But she was pleased for him nonetheless.

A few months later, Marcel returned to London and contacted Tim. He was in high spirits as things had worked out especially well for him since he had left. Based now in his beloved Paris, with a retreat in the South, his new trading platform was working brilliantly and he had enjoyed a beautiful and joyous reunion with Francoise, equally beloved. When they met, Marcel was anxious to learn about all that happened with Tim and listened attentively while Tim acquainted him with as much detail as he could muster. “Ah mon ami, c’est domage; but you did well, I think. You must have the best outcome all things considered. I have another reason to be here, other than to see you my friend. It won’t be something you take up but it will be of interest”. Marcel proceeded to unfold how he had come into contact with this “interessant and excitable” Israeli mathematician, Yuri, who was working on a project to create out of nothing, using artificial intelligence and computer technology, a form of computerised precious metal, precious because, like gold and diamonds, it will be expensive and difficult to create or extract and there will be a finite supply. This digital currency, he explained, which will be known as Bitcoin, without a central bank can be sent from user to user; it’s to be released as open-source software. The bitcoins, created by a process know as mining, will be able to be exchanged for other currencies, products and services will be released using open-source software. Marcel’s further lengthy explanation didn’t exactly go over Tim’s head; he was however more fixed upon how he might be able to take advantage of this new development in currency exchange. At first he was not convinced that “Bitcoin” had legs; but the more he heard, the more an idea that had taken hold developed. It was when Marcel explained that the reason he had become involved was that he had been invited to find investors to bring in the seed money needed to pay for the investment in the appropriate technology. Marcel had not witnessed Tim’s interest in what he had to say; to him, he was as indifferent at the end as he had been at the beginning. So he was more than a little surprised when, after an extended pause and uncomfortable silence, Tim said, as a smile broke out across his face, “Perfect. Meet me here tomorrow. Same time. Good man”.

Tim’s plan had a promising beginning. Marcel met up with Patrick. At first they talked around, rather than about, the deal and the elegant solution. Marcel told him he knew little of the detail of what went wrong and made Patrick believe that he really didn’t like Tim; that in fact he resented him and that he had left London because Tim had not treated him fairly. Patrick trusted Marcel, who proceeded to talk about Bitcoin. His pitch was getting better, almost perfect with the benefit of what was effectively a trial run with Tim. He presented the information and the opportunity on the basis that he assumed Patrick would have no interest and certainly would not be able to fund an investment, which Marcel made clear would have to be substantial. He left it to Patrick to suggest it was something he should consider more carefully; and said that he had an investor whom he’d like Marcel to meet and a further meeting was arranged. Patrick was hooked.

A few days later they met again and this time Marcel was with Yuri and Patrick was with Dave. Marcel’s pitch was now pinpoint perfect; and he fielded all the questions with immaculate ease; those that related to the way Bitcoin was going to work and as to the structure of the investment vehicle. Dave was a far more thorough and rigorous interviewer than Patrick and had a surprising basic knowledge of the technology that was going to be involved. Any technical query was fielded expertly by Yuri whose knowledge was unquestionable and wide ranging. Marcel made it known that an investment in the region of £2 million was sought and implied that others were interested but that it might be possible to take investment of smaller amounts, which could be added to as the company grew.

As the meeting came to a close, it was clear that Patrick wanted to be in there and then. Dave was more circumspect betraying no more than a professional interest; Marcel was convinced this could be translated into an actual position in time. They parted and Patrick promised to be in touch soon. An email followed that evening, preceding many other emails and the odd phone call. Solicitors then became involved and soon enough Patrick and Dave were the principal investors in the Bitcoin experiment. They had invested £500,000. They were given shares in return for their investment and the agreement required them to invest more as and when the share price, linked to the value of Bitcoin, hit certain pre-determined levels. The structure and set up of the company were shrouded in secrecy. As soon as Bitcoin was implemented, it proved a popular investment; this was a surprise to Tim but of no real consequence. His plan was perfectly conceived and was being perfectly orchestrated so far. The tricky part had been negotiated successfully.

When Marcel met Tim a few months later he told him: “As you know Bitcoin has been on the rise and the share price has followed. The additional investment clauses in the agreement have been triggered. They’ve got the new shares at the price they were at the date of the original agreement. They’ve made a fortune.”

“On paper” said Tim.

“Yes, but I don’t think that’s the outcome you were after.”

“You’re right about that. This is what I’d like you to do now. Listen carefully.” Marcel left Tim having been fully briefed.

At 6.00 am fourteen days later, Dave had a call from Patrick “Have you seen the news mate?”

“Of course I have. And believe me this has been no accident or natural market movement. Someone has been manipulating. And we both know who that must be”.

“Yes, but knowing that doesn’t help us right now. Anyway the price has started to rally already. It’ll come back.”

“Lets bloody well hope so. Speak later”. Dave rang off.

Two minutes later Patrick’s phone rang again. This time it was Tim, to whom he had not spoken since he’d been confronted about the deal.

“Hello Patrick” and without waiting for a reply he continued “You’ll be aware that with recent events, the company in which you invested is now worthless. What you may not know is that under the laws of the country in which the company is domiciled, the shares are forefit and vest in the sovereign power, so that even if Bitcoin comes back, and there’s every reason to believe it will, you and your mate will never get anything back. You’re done. However, you will be aware that what you lost on this is exactly what you wrongly gained from your unauthorised dealing. And what is more, guess who benefited from your loss this time. Yes, the sovereign fund you ripped off.

Have a good life”. Tim rang off and missed the sight of Patrick with his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving whilst he gently sobbed.