Silas Vane hated uncertainty. He could tolerate risk. Risk had rules. Risk could be measured, managed, bought, sold, and redirected. Uncertainty was different. Uncertainty was standing in the middle of a battlefield with no idea where the next bullet would come from.
And recently, there had been far too much uncertainty.
The morning rain tapped softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Canary Wharf office as he stood with a glass of water in one hand and a report in the other.
The frozen accounts were still frozen.
His political contacts had bought him time. Michael's obfuscation had bought him time. Even the regulators seemed to be moving slower than before.
But time wasn't a solution. Time was simply distance from a problem. Eventually the problem arrived it haven't arrived already.
A knock sounded against the office door.
"Come in."
His assistant entered carrying a black folder. "The investigators sent their preliminary report."
Silas nodded. "Leave it."
