Chapter 13 Chapter Twelve

Giancarlo.Catania's palms were wet.Before shaking Fieri's hand and saying goodbye, he quickly wiped his sweat on the hip of his trousers.But he was worried that this small gesture would be noticed, and besides, in Fieri's office, which was as cold as the arctic, it was impossible to hide the fact that his palms were warm. He felt that he was afraid, and at the same time he felt the loss of dignity caused by fear.This fear at least made him angry, and it was in this anger, as usual, that he found relief. His driver and bodyguard just happened to be the target of his venting.He saw the two men lounging beside his limousine, smoking nonchalantly as if on purpose.He yelled that if he was assassinated by assassins, what would they do.They both laughed secretly, thinking that it really wouldn't be of much use.

The official post of president of the Bank of Italy is accompanied by bodyguards.Most senior Italian bankers have bodyguards.For many of them, these bodyguards are not only a means of protection but have become a status symbol.As far as Catania was concerned, he already felt indifferent to the precarious position they had given him.As for protection, he knew very well that when it came time to protect, no amount of people would help.He therefore had no intention of cultivating the loyalty of his bodyguards (there were four of them, rotating duty) to him.It's even better to use them as his venting objects, as his punching bag.

After his tantrum, he settled easily into the back seat of the Lancia.The car drove away slowly, leaving the Epiia | Antica Road on the outskirts of Rome, and driving onto the Port | San Sebastiano Road.Catania looked at his watch.Eight forty-five.If the stupid Paul could drive faster, he'd be home before the kids went to bed.He yanked the partition away and barked an order.The driver carefully peeked at the boss's face from the rearview mirror.He had really run into something that made him very angry.He could see a tinge of fear in the boss' anger. Paul passed a red Fiat on the inside lane and sped away amid an indignant honking.He wondered how many times he wondered how a good lady like his wife would marry this pig.

Catania hunched over on the back seat and lit a cigar, recalling just now with Antonio.The meeting with Fieri.Fieri looked tense, suspicious, and demanding.Worse than ever.Yeah, he's in trouble.Who has no trouble?It seems like half the people in government, and most people in finance and business, are being investigated, not unlike interrogations.Catania felt a surge of disgust.Maybe it's his turn next. Everyone is at risk, even the innocent.Senator Amalfi committed suicide last week after his department was embroiled in a construction scandal.All who knew him simply did not believe he was guilty, but his reputation was ruined.He picked up the shotgun and killed himself.Catania looked out through the tinted glass.What he hates most is that Fieri doesn't give him a good life and makes him more nervous.

He had expected to be in and out in an hour, in time for a long lazy evening with his wife and children, but Fieri dragged him there for more than two hours, grilling him about finance ministers and central bankers. situation and its meeting in Frankfurt next week.Catania didn't have much to say, other than to keep telling him to wait until the meeting was over, at which point he would present a full report.But Fieri refused to give up, because he wanted to know the reason for this sudden meeting.The scheduled meeting is in London in two weeks.Why are they calling this Frankfurt conference?

Catania tried to hide his impatience, explaining repeatedly that he didn't know why.The Germans said they would explain it clearly at the meeting.Everyone is complaining, but it's okay, and of course they're going to be there.No one is going to snub the mighty Bundesbank. He also tried to speak casually, as if he didn't care, but Fieri's barrage of questions and bad temper irritated him.Maybe Fieri already had suspicions about him.Catania gasped for breath.No, he couldn't doubt it.This is impossible, and it is impossible for the wind to leak.It's like killing a goose that lays golden eggs.Catania couldn't help but fight a cold war at the thought of this metaphor.He stared out the window, trying to stop his thoughts.

The car pulled up on San Eustatio Road, pulled up in front of his apartment building, and jolted him.The apartment complex is located in the center of Rome, rich in Baroque architecture, next to the Pantheon.He got out of the car without a word, climbed four flights of stairs to the penthouse, and rang the bell.Clara the housekeeper opened the door for him.From the living room he could hear Donatella playing with the children and laughing.Be damned for this Fieri who made him restless.This is due to the fact that the person's temper becomes worse and worse with age.There is no other reason.He just couldn't figure it out.Comforted by these thoughts, Catania hurried into the living room and threw himself into his wife's warm embrace.

They played with the children for ten minutes before Donatra took the children to bed.For the time being, only Catania was left in the living room, and his apprehension returned to him.He went into his study and sat there, seeing nothing through the darkening windows.Sitting around doing nothing like this was too much for him.He snatched up the phone, flicked through the official address book, and hung up on the Governor of the Bank of England in his private suite in the Bank building.It was eight o'clock in London, and he might be found before dinner. Barrington was about to sit down to dinner with his wife, enjoying a rare evening without an official banquet, when the phone rang.He glanced at the phone and picked up the receiver.What stupid guy would call at eight o'clock?Maybe it's the idiot Treasury, who either work late or get together for what they jokingly call six o'clock tea.He was somewhat surprised to hear a heavy Italian accent.

Listening to Catania's broken English, he couldn't hide his impatience.But after Catania got to the point, Barrington turned from annoyed to condescending, which he liked better. My dear Governor, I know it is unpleasant to have two meetings in two weeks.I can sympathize with you.We are all very busy, but I don't know what the Frankfurt meeting will be, so it would be wise not to say whether it will be held together with the London meeting.He smiled, as if covering a secrecy with a particularly good cloak of humor, and all I can say is that if the Germans are going to call this meeting, they must have good reasons for it, you can believe that.They have a clear purpose in everything they do.Whatever it is, they'll give it serious thought, so they'll take comfort in knowing that it will be in our personal interest to go to the meeting.

Catania didn't seem to understand the joke he just said, but Barrington wasn't surprised.He had always thought the Italian was rather depressed and lacked a sense of humor.He often wondered how Catania had climbed to the position of President of the Bank of Italy by any means.Maybe it's his tenacity and cunning.He shook the annoying Italian out of his mind and went back to the dining room.His wife is waiting. When Barrington sat down to eat, Catania was sitting motionless in the study.Barrington's humor was evident in the Englishman's self-importance, like a blunt sword stabbing at his fears.He heard his wife calling him.He stood up, cursing himself secretly.He is now weak-willed, easily swayed by unfounded suspicions.Actually nothing happened.He knew that if something had happened, he wouldn't be sitting here now.

Sarah woke up the next morning feeling a little excited.Secretly monitor Matthew.Arnott will be a snap.At seven twenty-five she took a seat beside him and began to keep him under close watch.She thought of his Holland Park apartment and what Matsumoto had said about his possible family fortune.Sarah thought that was unlikely.It is unlikely that someone with a large personal income will work hard at an investment bank.They'll eat, drink, and play for years on that money.Only those who desperately want to make a lot of money will stay here longer.Sarah estimated that Arnott was in his late thirties, and had probably been in the foreign exchange market for nearly eight years. In any case, he lacked the flair of a dude.He is too greedy and unreliable in dealing with others.Sarah felt certain that his money was self-earned, most likely illegal. She believed that Arnott had ulterior motives.To her, his smug smile and his initial hostility toward her were warning signs.She's new here, a potential threat who just might stumble across something.So why hire her again?If he and Scarpirato were accomplices in the illicit trade, why take the risk of bringing in someone new?Why hire Simon.Wilson?Of course, unless he also has some purpose. Sara leaned back in her chair and turned her gaze to her colleague.She lit a cigarette and watched the smoke circle rise to the ceiling.Maybe hiring outsiders was a cover.There is always pressure from senior management to add headcount to profit-making departments.If Arnott and Scarpirato were conspiring, it would be suspicious to refuse to admit a newcomer.She smiled to herself.Maybe she is not the only one with ulterior motives. She wondered if Jacob had told his friends about that.She glanced at Arnott, who was sitting beside him with a stern face.Bugs are sure to turn things around.The mystery of him and Scarpirato will be revealed: whether it's a faux pas, a cover-up, or both. Scarpirato left early at four o'clock, and Sarah soon followed.There is no market for this day.She only made a small transaction, made a profit of fifteen thousand pounds, and then took it as soon as it was good.Wilson and Arnott dabbled in a few deals.Both made slight losses.Wilson was optimistic: He never seemed angry, and the loss didn't affect Arnott's mood in the slightest.Sarah had been trying to get him to talk, to delve subtly into him through conversation, but that would have to wait. Sarah got out of the taxi on King's Road.She stopped by the newsagent and bought a copy of the Evening Standard so that she could read the financial pages and her horoscope.She could have bought a newspaper in the Financial City and brought it into a taxi to read on the way home, but she thought it would be better to look at the bustling street scene outside the car window and let her mind think about it.She fumbled for thirty pence out of her handbag, and dodging the red double-decker buses and the frantically driving postman, hurried across the street, followed the pavement, and turned into Carlyle Square. The noise of passing vehicles was much quieter, and Sarah could already hear the children playing in the garden of the square.Their screams carried far away.She watched them play and chase each other through the trees and bushes.Sarah loves the gardens, they are a verdant hideaway, ideal for sunbathing in summer.Thanks to careful management, it is colorful all year round.She looked toward the park gate and saw her neighbor, Mrs. Jardin, surrounded by a large group of children. Sarah waved her hand, and had to greet her loudly because of the noise.Mrs. Jardine waved back and smiled at her, who seemed to have been patient with the children for a long time.Mothers in this part of the world never allow their children to play unsupervised, and Mrs. Jardine was on duty today.Sara would take care of it sometimes, but she wasn't in the mood tonight.The work atmosphere is wearing on her nerves, so she needs to go for a run.She crossed the sidewalk again and stopped in front of her apartment.The apartment gave her pleasure and always lifted her spirits. The apartment is light and airy, four stories high, with an elegant beige stone frontage from the street.Including the ground floor, there are four bedrooms.Sarah's bedroom, with its roof balcony, was about thirty feet square.Alex's room was the largest, overlooking the garden.It's literally a storage room for climbing ropes, hiking shoe spikes, tents that roll up, and all the other gear you need for serious mountaineering.The third bedroom, which Sara has converted into a study, is filled with books from floor to ceiling: hers are eclectic, and Alex's is all about climbing and mountains.The fourth bedroom is on the ground floor and is used as a guest room. The living room occupies the entire second floor.Light enters the interior through four tall sash windows overlooking the square and two smaller windows that open onto the private garden at the back of the house.Under each of these windows was a small ornamental balcony filled with pots of geraniums and carnations, which swayed through the glass towards the green interior.The walls were painted in elegant beige shades, and the floor was dark, covered with old Persian rugs.The ceiling is high.Sarah always felt that she could only breathe in this room. An eclectic collection of paintings adorns the walls: a close-up of the face of an Afghan fighter next to a Scottish mountain landscape; Close-ups of parts of the African jungle; and mountains whose names Sarah could identify and pronounce from either side of the mountain.These constitute a visual map of Alex's travels through the countries. Records were still playing in the kitchen and bathroom.The walls here are covered with incredible zoomed-in photos of China's mountains, which stab like knives into the sky.When Sarah soaked in the bathtub, she would look at these mountain scenery and imagine her vision of being there. The house is very tidy today.The cleaning lady, Barbara, came to clean once in a while.Sarah watched the orderly scene with great joy.She tosses off her high heels in the hallway and throws the suit and shirt on the bed.She rummaged through an old-fashioned oak chest of drawers and found a pair of denim shorts and a white T-shirt.She found her running sneakers with their sturdy, corrugated soles, hanging out to dry on the roof terrace. She started with a five-minute warm-up stretch, her hamstrings strained from days of sitting too much.Holding the house keys in her right hand, she jogged across the busy King's Road, down Old Church Road, and turned left onto the Thames Embankment.The rush hour has begun, and the air is filled with the strong smell of gasoline.Sarah didn't look at the nearly end-to-end cars, and jogged while looking at the river.She saw a riverboat deftly approach Cadogan Pier, disembark dozens of tourists, and roar westward toward Chelsea Piers, half a mile away.She sometimes took this steamer home from Swan Lane in the City of Finance after get off work.It wasn't the right way for her, but it was worth it to have a view of the river, especially the Houses of Parliament, and to change her routine. She was sweating slightly as she ran across the pink and white Albert Bridge and turned into Battersea Park.Sunbathers are heading home, ready to give way to joggers who will soon be arriving from all directions.Sarah picked up her pace, passing some of the slower runners, but never got beyond the grass.Her doctor disapproves of jogging because she treats too many patients with broken knees.But Sarah insisted on jogging.She loves running, which keeps her head sane, and keeping her in shape is a pleasant side effect. She ran around the park, sprinting for the last few hundred yards, then walked across the bridge, panting.Walking west along the Thames River Embankment, the impressive Lotz Road Power Station comes into view, just like the dream of some theme park creators, except that it is real.Groups of white smoke hang leisurely above it, confirming the existence of life in it.Sarah imagined the magnificent gears and gleaming copper wires of the power plant, though once she took a closer look, all she saw were rows of what looked like giant radiators. The exterior of the power plant is definitely better than its interior, and the sister power plant towering next to Battersea Park is also magnificent, but it is out of service and looks pathetic.It was almost turned into a theme park.To Sarah's great relief, the developer went bankrupt in the late 1980s, so the power plant was restored to a respectable oblivion. Feeling her cool, Sarah turned away from the embankment and turned back to the King's Road along the Old Church Road.When she got here, she came across a group of sweaty bank employees, wearing starched shirts and struggling to carry briefcases, walking in a single file.Half of the City's workforce appears to live in this area.She saw a couple she knew and ducked quickly into Carlyle Square.Whenever I go out, I will inevitably meet a few acquaintances.The impossibility of living here in anonymity was too much for her. Someone called while she was away.It was Pierluigi, her colleague at Finlays Bank, calling.Rivana.He was calling about a dinner they had arranged a week ago.He said he would drive to pick her up at nine o'clock.Great, there's still plenty of time to laze around and take a rest.As much as she misses Alex and Eddie, she does sometimes relish a life of solitude, peace and quiet. She took a long, brisk shower, washed her hair, and lay in bed.The windows were open, and the breeze that blew in through the muslin curtains chilled her.She read a paperback novel intermittently, dozing off now and then, and didn't get dressed until nine o'clock.She was wearing a blue and white cotton jersey top that buttoned from top to bottom, and navy blue high-heeled slingback shoes.She straightened her tangled hair and put on some perfume.Pierluigi arrived at 9:15, and it was conceivable that he was late. hello sarah how are you Sarah kissed him on both cheeks. Hello, Pierluigi.I am fine, thank you.How are you? Oh, I'm fine.Very busy.He stared at her, curiously. Sarah smiled.do not do that. They went to Scalini's on Walton Street together.The restaurant was crowded with customers and there was a lot of noise.After working in the trading floor for a day, Sarah would not like to come to such a noisy place for dinner, but Italians like it lively.She has already received the favor from others, so she would be embarrassed to suggest another spacious and quiet place.Pierluigi led her to the reserved table.There are already eight people present, and there are still two seats vacant.There was only one person here whom Sara did not know.For what seemed an eternity of time, she was busy kissing and exchanging pleasantries before finally turning to the stranger seated at her right hand.The man sat there silently watching the performance, his face full of joy.Pierluigi made the presentation. Sarah.Jason, Marco.Scarpirato. They shook hands, and Sarah took the empty seat next to his. Pierluigi sat across from her, watching her.Sarah ignored him and turned her attention to Marco.He is shorter than his brother.The face that smiled at her was full and unlined, and the voice and gesture were relaxed.He was dressed in casual clothes, with a T-shirt over his jeans, which couldn't cover his slightly fat belly.No one sees them as brothers. How did you meet Pierluigi? That was at Finlays Bank, where we worked together. Don't work together anymore? Yeah, I just left my job a few days ago. Oh, where did you go? Intercontinental Bank.Sara said it casually.Marko seemed momentarily unresponsive, with no expression on his face.Strangely enough, a tinge of irritation flashed across his face, and then he fell back into polite impassiveness again. My brother works there, his name is Dante. He is my boss.Sara giggled as she spoke.The world is too small and so on. You are out of luck. Why do you say that? Oh, he's a wicked genius, you know. Sara looked interested, no, I don't know yet. Marco's expressionless face suddenly changed, and he was really a little annoyed, come on.My brother is brilliant, everyone knows that.But they didn't pretend to like him. Sara was starting to feel uncomfortable. He seemed to be fine with me.Unfathomable, perhaps, but not unlikable.Definitely not something evil. Marko sat sideways, looking at her with a big smile, but there was no smile in his eyes, you didn't know him. This remark, intended to be humorous, made Sara even more uncomfortable.In other words, the two brothers couldn't get along, obviously they didn't like each other.They might call each other jerks, which is understandable.But Marko clearly felt the need to hide his inner emotions.He couldn't hide it, which only reinforced Sarah's impression that Marco's feelings were particularly deep-seated.She wondered deeply what Dante had done to his brother. Sarah shrugged. I said I had heard enough about the City in the course of the day.Let's talk about something else.She noticed that his shoulders had slackened slightly. I take it you don't work in the City? He laughed, yes, thank goodness.I worked there for three years and left out of boredom.I am now an art student. This change is not small.How did you choose art?Is someone in the family a painter? Actually no.It was all my business, he replied bluntly, my father was a banker.He was very happy to see his two sons inheriting his father's business.He shrugged. Dante had a blast, and I had a blast.In fact, there must be one of the two, either win or lose, are you right? This is the case in the City, where the trend is one of polarization. Marko turned sideways again, looking at her for the first time, what are you doing there? Sarah laughed, you can ask questions like this.But I'm not sure.Just find something to do in the meantime, right? Marko smiled, as if he had a crush on her, which means you're not very involved, right? Spit, nasty word.Are you very committed to our business and our company?You know that input is very important to us.Sarah imitated these popular hyperbolic phrases, which are repeated no less than a hundred times a day in the City.Marko suddenly laughed. Better not tell your brother. The laughter stopped abruptly, why should I tell him?The question sounds exasperated.Sarah felt Marko's nerves tense again.She shrugged. That's all right.She smiled and turned to chat with another neighbor. At twelve-thirty, just as Sarah was about to doze off at the dinner table, the bill was finally paid and everyone got up and left.After they exchanged good nights, Sarah and Pierluigi headed for his car. How are you satisfied?You hope to meet Marko for a while.Scarpirato.Already understand what you want to know? Sarah was taken aback by Pierluigi's harsh tone.She glanced up at him, a little unhappy.One night with a highly sensitive man is enough. I don't want to know anything, Pierluigi.I'm just a little curious, that's all. curious?Well, I'm curious too.He was furious and drove the car without saying a word.He turned into Carlyle Square and pulled up on the outside of a line of cars already parked outside Sarah's apartment.He walked her up the steps to the front door, kissed her goodbye and good night, and then looked hesitant, the anger gone, replaced by embarrassment. Listen, Sarah, I just want to know what's going on.You were the one who called me and asked if I knew Dante.Scarpirato.I said that I only knew that he was famous.But I do know his brother Marco.Scarpirato.You said bring him to dinner.He looked at her sternly, and said in his grandiose Italian voice: I don't know what you're up to, but anyway, you mustn't talk to Dante.Scarpirato went out together.Do you get me? Sarah laughed in surprise, why on earth did you say that?Why would I want to be with Dante.Scarpirato going out together?I already have a very good boyfriend, I love him, and even if I didn't love him, I wouldn't be able to go out with Scarpirato. Pierluigi appears unmoved, you are of the same type as him.His words resounded like drums.She had her hands on her hips. So that's what happened, huh?Don't I have a say in this matter? Pierluigi laughed at her defiant image, well, maybe you'll be fine.But when he turned to leave, he added softly: They all succumbed, sooner or later.He looked back at her standing on the front steps of the house and called me a week later. Sarah walked into the house, thinking over Pierluigi's words.She was so busy defending herself that she didn't even ask the obvious question.Dante.What was so terrible about Scarpirato?Why did Pierluigi feel the need to issue such an ominous warning?Perhaps jealousy was at work?No, although the words have already been said very powerfully, the reality may be more powerful than this.She felt restless as she undressed and got under the covers.The image of Scarpirato, sitting silently in the dark office in his black uniform, filled her mind.Her conversations with Marco, with Pierluigi, did nothing to deepen her trust in the man.Instead, they plunged her into a state of extreme anxiety.She had always thought of so-called white-collar crime as almost clean, painless crime.But Dante.Scarpirato had an aura of pain, an aura of terror