“And so I’m here with an ankle that’s swollen as large as a grapefruit and the feeling that I’ve got my hands on the biggest story to rock the financial world since Bernie Madoff.” London raised her empty glass. “Your turn.”
Benson finished his drink and signaled for two more. “You were right,” he said. “Indonesia isn’t PetroSaud’s only client. They work with a dozen sovereign wealth funds. Malaysia, India, Brunei, Kuwait—”
“Paragons of transparency.”
“As well as Japan, Mexico, and a few hedge funds on Wall Street,” said Benson, naming the good guys. “There’s no indication of wrongdoing. Not from where I stand.”
“There wouldn’t be, would there? All you’re seeing is the public side of the transaction.”
“All of them list their investments in the KSA on their annual reports. They’re certainly not trying to hide anything.”
“But how we do know if the investments are real?”
“Come on, London. How do we know they’re not? The Japanese do not invest in fraudulent oil leases.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“All this based on one unattributed email? You don’t even know who the whistleblower is.”
“Those documents are real, Benson. I know it. There’s a reason PetroSaud posted security guards in front of their building. They’re frightened.” London wrung her hands in her napkin. “There’s something else.”
Benson sensed the change in tone. “Oh?”
“I received a strange email this morning, sent to my business email at theFT. It said very clearly that others might not be pleased if I were to look into PetroSaud and that I should watch my back.”
“A specific threat?”
“God, no. More like fair warning.”
“From who?”
“No attribution. I showed it to the IT guys and they just scratched their heads.”
“What did it say? Verbatim.”
London dug out her phone. “‘Look into PetroSaud at your own risk. Others are aware of your interest. Actions will be taken.’ Like I said, ‘fair warning.’”
“‘Actions will be taken.’” Benson leaned across the table. “Is that the first time you’ve gotten something like that?”
London shook her head. “Usually, it’s from the aggrieved party. This came from an anonymous sender.”
“So it could be PetroSaud. Ergo, the guards.”
“My instincts tell me it’s not.”
“What will you do?”
“Do you mean will I stop looking into PetroSaud? Of course not. It’s my job.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do I look like a coward?”
“You most certainly do not,” said Lord Grantham. Lady Grantham felt a stab of pride at his vote of confidence.
The entrées arrived. Fish for Benson and the rib eye for London. Conversation turned to other matters. The local social scene. Who was sleeping with whom. Who was making the most money. Who looked absolutely awful at so-and-so’s dinner party. London was glad for the reprieve. The food was excellent.
“I have a confession to make,” said Benson Chow. “There’s something else I want to bring up. I was going to try to get you back to my place before I told you.”
