Roskov, Book 10, page 14
‘We just saved a shit load of money on the beds, and … the nursing home profit will be better, and … I get to help pensioners and their quality of life, thanks to my fame here, thanks to the baby.’
‘Thanks to you rescuing her,’ David pointed out. ‘Thanks to you rescuing the Pan Am Baby.’
‘Let’s not call her the Pan Am Baby, eh. Pan Am don’t deserve any credit.’
Ross put in, ‘So you think that these events benefit you financially - in a round-about sort of way, and that’s a good thing for Batman … more money for Batmobiles.’
I slowly nodded at him. ‘I can do some good, but the chubby lump … not for eighteen years or more, divine intervention aside.’
Ross added, ‘You’re not harming the kid or anyone by milking the fame here, Traffic Jam software being a good example. Italian motorists get what they want, you make money, more money invested in social programmes.’
David put in, ‘And you’re getting more good ideas on things than anyone else. Where do the ideas come from?’
‘I see a need, I … think of what will help. Governments work in general terms, general trends, but I look at the small stuff that needs fixing. One problem at a time solved, till they add up and make a difference.
‘As a kid I helped local pensioners, puzzled as to why they all lived alone whilst all complaining – about living alone and being afraid. The answer seemed obvious; don’t live alone.’
David began, ‘People don’t want to give up their homes, till they see something that’s better, much better, and traditional nursing homes are definitely not better – nor would they take you till you’re bat-shit crazy or immobile.
‘By enticing people into the Three-Phase you’ll free up housing stock whilst offering the pensioners a better quality of life, and lower costs for the taxpayers, so everyone wins and there’s no downside.
‘And crime falls as well, no more pensioners being broken into at night and killed, so it’s not two birds with one stone, it’s ten birds with one stone.
‘And the nursing home makes a profit, more money for you to spend on social programmes – which will probably make money anyhow.’
I smiled. ‘Put up a large sign outside the new soft prison: welcome to the Grafton Road Hotel.’
They laughed.
‘Seriously, we’ll call it a hotel, paying guests, paid by the government. Each soft prison would be run by private companies, and they charge board and lodgings.’
Ross took a call. He finally reported, ‘Luka’s DNA has been matched, no doubts about it, same for the Concino lady and the Chubert man – on file in Belgium for some paternity suit.’
‘Can you look for others?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but it takes time, the matching. I’ll have discrete searches made.’
‘Kudulov told me that he never had a family…’
Ross replied, ‘Not a family living with him, kids raised by him, and I know that he regretted that, and that he looked at the photos of the kids sometimes.
‘He hinted once … that if he let himself care then he would get hurt, as with his original family.’
I considered the pain he had gone through in his early life, and I knew that he had been scarred for life. ‘How does someone walk away … from losing their entire family?’ I softly posed to no one in particular.
David and Ross exchanged saddened looks.
Half an hour later Ross took another call, NordTech up thirty points, a price doubling for us. He was now offloading.
I called Rolf. ‘Seen the news about NordTech?’
‘I am selling now, small tranches; the news of a takeover was released in America.’
‘How much will you make?’
‘More than two million Euro.’
‘Good work, and I think I made some money as well so I owe you.’
‘You already make me enough money, too much.’
‘We met the beds company, and we’ll get the beds at around four thousand Euro.’
‘A massive saving, yes. Some we can sell to other nursing homes in Corsica.’
Called ended, and I informed Ross that Rolf was selling.
Ross smiled. ‘Your private trading account now has an extra three million British pounds in it.’
My eyes widened. ‘It does?’
‘We used credit, as before.’
‘And you made … how much?’
‘Around thirty million dollars.’
‘Jesus,’ David let out. ‘Nice work when you can get it.’
I told David, ‘They don’t come around that often, the opportunities.’
‘Don’t need to,’ he quipped.
I faced Ross. ‘You know what you should spend that money on. Finding grand old buildings in Belfast, renovating them, turning some into offices and some into nice apartments.’
‘I think I have an extra thirty million for that project, yes. But the renovations will make a profit,’ he said with a grin.
‘A burden to bear, yes,’ I told him, nodding. I faced David. ‘Some of these old civic buildings in Belfast look fantastic, Victorian or Georgian even.’
‘They’d make for nice offices, yes.’
‘Some have these huge stone stairs going up.’
‘A Roskov wine bar?’ David joked.
‘In time, yes, I want some in every town.’ I faced Ross. ‘Have a look at the court order that affects Luka, I want an opinion.’
He nodded.
I faced David. ‘In British law, tax law, when do I pay tax on my earnings in my stock market trading account?’
‘It’s capital gains tax, so you make a yearly declaration. If you make a good profit but then invest in another stock you should still pay the tax, but if you lose money then you adjust it next year.
‘But if you make trades each day, you can be called a trader and pay tax as if it’s your job, a higher rate. For simple capital gains you’ll pay twenty percent less costs and adjustments.
‘If you leave the profit in there and don’t declare it then it’s a crime -’
‘And if I take it out and hand it all to my charity?’
‘Then there’s no tax. Technically there’s no upper limit on charitable donations for a private individual, and you get tax relief at a high rate, so it’s worth donating because your other tax will be knocked right down.’
‘VAT?’
‘Yes, there’s VAT to take into account, and you can only donate up to 25% of your gross company profits per year. So you should donate say … half a million to the charity in this tax year.’
‘Remind me when we get back,’ I told him. ‘I think I need some tax planning, but I don’t want to be seen to be … tax planning, if you know what I mean.’
‘Your accountant will have a few ideas,’ David suggested.
Ross put in, ‘If you want to stretch the law some, we have schemes.’
‘I can’t be seen to do that, because I pretend to be the champion of the poor, remember. And years from now I don’t want anyone to accuse me of profiting personally.
‘So maybe my personal income is kept low, everything else done through the charity or the estate. And I’m not out to become rich.’ I faced Ross squarely. ‘What would happen if I did take the inheritance, how much tax to pay?’
‘Technically, a lot of tax, but you’d have time to pay it as assets are broken up and sold. Technically, in French law, you wait till all parts are broken off, cash in a pot, the cash is then taxed – at a high rate in France, like sixty percent.
‘But there are provisions. For example, you inherit a large track of land but can’t sell it yet, so you don’t pay tax yet. As it now stands, as a trust that you control, that’s the best way to avoid short-term tax considerations, but you also can’t take out any cash if you need it.’
‘I don’t need the cash for anything, and I want to grow the estate, so … is there a time limit?’
‘Some may argue that it’s a fudge, that you’re avoiding the tax, but the estate pays tax anyhow and it obeys the laws. If assets are sold off and charitable donations made, then bit by bit you’d reduce the final tax bill upon inheritance.
‘In France, the authorities tax people who benefit from a trust, but you’re not receiving any money, you’re adding to the estate.
‘And there are great tax benefits from charitable donations in France. If ten percent of the estate was sold off each year, large donations to charity made, that would reduce the fixed asset size and also keep cash in the bank at the same time, cash that has already been taxed.’
I asked, ‘How long can we run the estate … before they start asking questions?’
‘Decades, longer, and if you’re doing so much for charity and not dealing drugs then they won’t want to investigate us.’
‘And the worst case scenario?’ I pressed.
‘Would be … a claim that you want to avoid inheritance tax, which would make little sense in court given that you’re using your fame to boost the estate free of charge, and that the estate is giving to charity.
‘But the law is not clear on how long you can defer the claim. In some cases an estate could be claimed a hundred years later by a lost heir, but you’re not lost, you’ve deferred it. Not so clear, that one, how long you can defer it, because it’s not like we can’t find you.’
‘And a permanent refusal to accept?’ I floated.
‘Then, technically, it goes on forever, as do some charities and trusts that support old institutions, old veterans from the wars, the ballet society, church trusts that have been in effect for four hundred years.
‘A trust and a charity are closely linked, just that a trust can try and make money, a charity can invest its money but not run a nightclub or take risks - supposedly. The Kudulov Estate could stand for a hundred years.
‘I’ll put more money in your charity soon, a tax break for us anyhow.’
‘How much?’ I asked.
‘With this thirty million for Belfast, we could hand you say eighty million all in.’
David cautioned, ‘The newspapers will ask questions.’
I shook my head at him. ‘I told the entire British population about Kudulov, a billion pound estate.’
Ross put in, ‘We have a potential buyer for a factory near Marseille, aerospace sector, which I think will grow at less than the margin that you could make us with the nursing homes – by a wide margin.’
‘How much would we gain?’
‘We have to protect the worker’s pension fund but would get almost two hundred million in cash. If that money was in nursing homes it would double, versus the twelve percent a year we expect now – or hope for.’
‘A slight difference,’ David quipped.
I told Ross, ‘I’d say sell it, and we focus on the nursing homes, holiday village, and Mandoch Valley, and Mandoch Valley could see us make four times the investment.’
‘There are very few legal business ventures that can make that return,’ Ross noted. ‘Very few. But you’re using your name to influence the council, as well as the buyers. We could build a villa for two hundred thousand Euro and sell for over a million.’
David put in, ‘With all the publicity, people will be clambering over each other to buy that villa. And the hotel will be busy. Not many hotels have a waterfall and a pool.’
Ross noted, ‘Cheap concrete construction, could build that hotel for under a million. The damn fittings would cost more.’
I told them, ‘We’ll save on the hotel’s exterior,’ making them laugh. ‘And rooms without windows, which is most of them, can have a large TV on the wall, livestream view of the waterfall.’
Two strong hands, I can help…
The next day, calls made and plans made, I drove with David and Ross to meet Cardinal Armani outside of Milan, a crowd gathered as we arrived.
Down from the van, and bracketed by the police, Armani showed us a recently finished building as well as photos of what it used to look like.
Inside, we met the part-time volunteer workers and the charity staff, hands shaken as the Press snapped us, the internal décor examined and nodded at, some of the homeless greeted, their new rooms glanced into.
Sat with a homeless man and a translator, the TV crew filmed me asking questions of government support and menial work opportunities. This was a small town, and there was no work, but money did come for food.
The man then told me that they pooled their money and cooked together, saving money. I handed him two hundred Euro, and to have some food on me, all in front of the TV camera.
Back at the house I grabbed the chubby lump, Luka and the social worker, and we headed to the same hospital that I had recovered in, soon in the back way and up to the ladies’ ward, shocked women soon noticing me and the baby.
I placed Katerina on a bed and chatted to a lady, being translated, a TV camera behind me, photographers snapping away. Katerina was being well-behaved and laughing, which cheered the sick women.
Next patient, and I presented Katerina again, the woman delighted, not least because she had suffered an amputated leg and was looking very pale and unwell.
Katerina then pointed at the next bed and made an odd noise, a lady with a small child, perhaps a year old.
Smiling, I carried Katerina around and placed her near the kid of similar age. Katerina touched the other kid’s right eye, an odd sound made, but it did not attract the attention of anyone but me it seemed.
With Katerina handed over to Luka, I lifted the boy and had a good look, his left eye not right, a slight bulge behind it.
Turning, I called over the doctor, and my look worried him. ‘Scan the baby, behind the left eye. Do it now!’
Shocked, the Press shocked, he took the baby away after explaining it to the very shocked mother, the Press puzzled.
I lifted Katerina and told the translator, ‘I want a scan made of the boy’s right eye, for a tumour. It doesn’t look right, and it can do no harm to check.’
I faced the mother. ‘Do you trust me?’
They translated. ‘Yes.’
‘Let the doctor scan your son, wait and see.’
I moved on to the next lady, this one old, and she was delighted to see Katerina, so we were doing some good here. Ten ladies later, and I led Katerina out, meeting all of the doctors and nurses that had treated me, a group photo taken.
Back at the house, I was worried, worried about the chubby lump’s ability to see things that were odd, but then again she had been close to the boy, and touching his face could have been unintentional.
Then the news hit the TV screen, the boy had a tumour, diagnosed by me, emergency surgery planned for the morning.
Everyone in the contessa’s lounge turned to face me.
I explained, ‘Katerina told me about the tumour.’
Maria almost fainted, the contessa shocked at the news but grabbing Maria, Luka fearful, David and Ross exchanging worried looks.
‘Did anyone see?’ David asked.
‘No, I hid it.’
‘Then it’s your sharp eyesight, that’s all,’ David insisted.
I turned to Ross. ‘Book a flight to Corsica for tomorrow, we need to be away from here I think. Luka can come with the social worker, and anyone else that wants to come. And your wife can meet us there.’
‘I will travel with you,’ Isabela announced.
Oddly enough, the contessa wanted to come – despite her fear of flying, so Maria would follow as ordered, as well as bodyguards. Bags would be packed tonight.
I asked Ross, ‘Rooms in the old Kudulov Estate?’
‘Plenty, yes, but there is construction work underway. I’ll alert them.’
Ross made a few calls, then informed me that we could only get a twin prop plane, but one with room for forty people, so it was not a small plane. I agreed it after he assured me that it was very reliable.
Rolf called at 9pm, as I sat in my hotel room. ‘You are on the news in Italy, a friend called.’
‘I saw a kid with an oddly shaped eye, that’s all, could do no harm to scan him.’
‘You do now, apparently, cure the sick.’
‘I can explain it, don’t worry, no miracle here, but we did think that Katerina could choose horses in races for us.’
‘That … is not such a bad idea, but we don’t tell anyone.’
‘Rolf, I was joking.’
‘What harm can it do?’ he argued.
Call ended, I called down to the hotel manager, and he let in those cold yet persistent reporters and photographers that had been camped at the hotel gate, a function room used for us. There was a white board, so I drew a picture, two eyes, two eyebrows, and a bulge.
‘I saw this in a magazine, a sign of a tumour behind the eye, it was no miracle I’m afraid. This is what doctors look for, but it may have been hidden in the boy till recently.
‘The mother was the patient, not the boy, so the doctors did not examine him. See a miracle if you want, or see a man with good eyesight and a good memory for medical articles in airport magazines.’
I took their questions for five minutes and then kicked them all out. And then I hid in my room.
The Kudulov Estate
In the morning the crowds were thick outside the gate, our minibuses slowing down some, but I smiled and waved. At the airport we used a side entrance, our twin prop sat there, a high wing and a high T-tail to it.
On board, I went forwards and greeted the pilots, both honoured to be flying us. ‘Just get me there safely, eh.’
‘This plane can land on a road or ditch in the ocean, safer than a 737,’ they assured me.
We sat where directed, the noisy engines starting up, and there was a vibration, unlike with a 737 or similar jet. Taking off seemed oddly slow, and we climbed as if in slow motion, but it was a pleasant day and we were all offered a great map-view of Italy.
The coast loomed near quickly, the contessa pointing out the estates of people she knew, and soon we were over the ocean and looking down at boats, Katerina staring down and fascinated.
I told David in a loud voice, above the roar, ‘I think this is better than a 737, I can see out!’
