Rapacity

“The advantage we hold Gerhardt, is that we never register. Not with anyone. Ideologies rise and fall. Political opponents slay each other, more often verbally and sometimes literally. Either way, it is no concern of ours.”

With the last statement, Sir Rainer Martens, completed the full Windsor and stepped back into his tailored coat. Hillebrand held the coat as he had for the father.

Gerhardt placed his pen neatly on the table. Rainer permitted himself a rare smile as he watched his younger brother in the mirror.

“Are your calculations finished?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“So, then, do we hold, or do we sell?” Rainer was showing all his teeth when he asked the question. To Gerhardt he looked positively wolfish.

Gerhardt ignored the question and returning to his brother’s earlier statement asked one of his own.

“Why should we not take a greater interest in world affairs?”

“Ah, but we do! The Martens have been interested in more than the daily grind of business since the times of Roman Empire. We are the free thinkers. We do not let an idea rule our soul, nor emotions frame our decisions.”

Rainer checked his right cuff link, as he spoke, the diamonds in the family insignia catching the light as he adjusted the position to stand out more.

“Except for the idea of money.” Came Gerhardt’s riposte.

“Yes, yes…”

Rainer did not hide his exasperation at his brother’s attack of conscience, which were occurring more frequently of late. He paused, remembering that Hillebrand remained.

“That will be all.” He motioned slightly with his right hand.

Hillebrand nodded and closed the door softly behind him. Rainer observed Gerhardt coldly, it was time to crush these unnecessary pangs. Such sentiments were fatal in the game their family had played in one guise or another over the last millennia.

“Not money brother. Economics. This understanding of how countries and enterprises rise and fall is the only tool one can wield, to ensure the freedom to do as one wishes.”

Gerhardt hated the pomposity of his brother’s use of the third person.

“What good is our wealth if we live off the misery of others?” Gerhardt pressed on.

Rainer sighed,

“It never ceases to amaze me, how someone with your mathematical intellect, fails to realize that the numbers of humanity are against you.”

“Humour me. How so?”

Rainer realised that he was being baited now. His brother would not give him the calculations until he had satisfied his need to discuss morality.

“Do you think that the majority of those in poverty, or even the middle or working class would hesitate to swap their life for yours if the opportunity presented? Our greatest advantage is neutrality. We live as we choose because we can afford to do so. In times of war, we retreat to Switzerland, in times of economic strength we remain in Germany. It has served us well and kept our bloodline strong. We are unknown to the world, but our wealth protects us from those whose influence is powerful, even if it is temporary.”

Gerhardt had heard much of this before. Rainer wore the cloak of their father well.

“So, holding our influence will protect us, our family selling will weaken us?”

“Ha! You are too literal little brother. Those shares are not out influence. They are just another transaction.” Rainer was gathering his winter coat and gloves.

“With questionable practices in relation to pharmaceutical testing.” Gerhardt had been sure Rainer would react to this indication of sensitive political knowledge.

Rainer was now flicking through his phone, without looking up he said.

“With a price that is trending upwards as we speak, with no sign of a plateau. Honestly Gerhardt, must we do this every time? Your questions are becoming tiresome.”

“You are right of course. We never questioned father. But that was never our relationship. You and I? We would always discuss every option.” Gerhardt rose to his feet, gaining his brother’s attention again.

“I do not have that option now.” Rainer replied.

“Yes… you carry the Martens name now.” Gerhardt rolled his eyes.

“I did not mean it like that.” Rainer’s jaw hardened.

Gerhardt had pushed far enough.

“Do you think we should hold?” He asked.

“I have a fair estimate of what I think will happen, but I want your calculations to be sure I am right.” Rainer waited near the door.

Gerhardt tapped all eight fingers rhythmically on the mahogany desk.

“The shares are worth holding for a little while yet. We should review in the next quarter.”

“I knew it!” Rainer clipped the cigar he had drawn from his pocket. He through it easily across the room to Gerhardt and then took another for himself.

The waft of rum-soaked Havana soon filled the room. Both soaked in the aromatic smoke, each contemplating the other. Rainer checked his watch again.

“I will let Zurich, London and New York know.”

“Then Singapore and finally Tokyo?” Gerhardt replied mechanically.

“Yes.” Rainer stopped at the door, poised, he thought better of what he was about to say and changed tack.

“You should go see Giulia, have some fun. Then end it.”

Gerhardt considered this suggestion and all it implied. He had run the numbers, provided sound economic analysis. Now it was time for the duellist to go to work. Rainer had an unparalleled ability to play the man in the game of chance that was high finance. He called it his exceptional understanding of the human condition. Merchant bankers called it strategy. The Ministry of Finance called it manipulation and worse.

Gerhardt had always envied his brother’s natural ability, but deep down he was glad he did not take part openly. If Rainer’s claim to superiority was his ability to influence without registering the attention of the merchant and tech barons of this world, then Gerhardt’s claim must be that of a Ghost.

He smiled at this thought. He would go see Giulia. Why not? If he drove the Bugatti at this time of night, the E45 would be quiet. He would make Innsbruck in 90 minutes or less. Giulia answered his call almost immediately. The conversation was brief and pleasant. She would be at home when he arrived.

Mozart and Wagner distracted him from the blackness of the night as he drove. He had arrived and been ushered in by a new doorman. He was now standing in Giulia’s library, wishing he had not come. Their brief conversation had given no indication that he would be met with vitriol.

“You promised me Gerhardt!” The venom in her voice was only outdone by the unadulterated rage in her eyes. He heard himself fall back on Rainer’s logic.

“It is the smart play. If we sell, others will follow, and it will rip the southern Mediterranean countries apart. Italy and Greece will be skewered like lambs on a spit.”

Without spilling her Sangiovese, she slapped him hard with the back of her hand. Gerhardt stood very still. The diamond had cut his cheek to the bone. He was not sure what hurt more, the physical pain, or the sudden knowledge that this was a premeditated move that came with a great deal of practice.

“What was that for?” He asked.

The blood wept down his cheek bone onto his driving jacket.

“For making a fool out of me. I promised my friends in Zurich that you would sell. You also insinuated that Italy and Greece were no more than the playthings of Germany. Knowing my family history, how could this be anything but the most derogatory insult?”

Gerhardt was now passed caring. Rainer had been right about Giulia all along. He poured salt into her wound,

“Or perhaps it hurts because you know both things to be true, yet you would blame me and Germany for your own present and hereditary stupidities.”

Casually she threw the rest of the wine in his face.

“You are a bastard of the worst kind Gerry. In all senses of the word.”

He should never have let her know. What if she told Rainer the parting words his father had shared with him as he lay dying? Without saying another word, he crossed to the guest room. He cleansed the cut and applied a small plaster found in the first aid kit found under the sink.

When he returned Giulia was finishing a phone call in Italian, so it was clearly meant to be kept from him. What phone call could not wait for him to leave? Zurich? No, Rainer would have closed Zurich to her people by the time Gerhardt had left Munich. His mind began to triple track.

“You should go!” There was something more than the dismissal in her voice. There was triumph in every fibre of her quivering body.

“What have you done?” His mind was racing.

“Do you think that only the Martens know the dark arts of economic espionage? How could forget? Ha! Such arrogance! The mighty Gerhardt blinded by the light of his own reflection as he gazes hour upon hour into the sea of digital suffocation.”

“No more than you, whose only ambition is to ride in the wake of the Titans, celebrating the return of nihilistic pleasures as if they in themselves are the paragon of virtue.” Gerhardt could see that his words lost their impact even as he spoke.

“Reflect on yourself in that statement Gerry. I am simply embracing the tribalism that you and your family have nurtured and suckled from, in the shadows, for centuries. What then Aurelius? Too late in your waking hours do you realise what Rainer has always known.”

Gerhardt winced at the nickname, once said with pride and endearment, now replaced with subtle mocking.

“And what is that my dear and faithful Penelope?” The bitterness wrenched from his voice.

“That humanity's virtues are not from some greater age, but an ideal beyond the attainment of men.” Giulia’s smile reached only to her perfectly white teeth.

“Then what is it that you aim for?” He could not help himself. Why must he always know what motive drives the action?

“A rapaciousness that is no longer restrained. To the victor go the spoils, to the vanquished…death.”

Gerhardt realised that Giulia was now looking at the ornate clock behind him.

“Tokyo!” The word came unbidden to his lips. He rushed from the room, smashing the library door open with his shoulder. Giulia’s voice followed him down the marble stairs, but he did not comprehend her words. Desperately he tried to ring Rainer.

At each message left he became more frantic. The Bugatti roared to life and he placed a call through to contact in the Bundespolizei.

“It’s late, what the hell do you want?” Came the curt response.

“I am in Innsbruck. I need two favours. One, find Rainer, make sure he is safe. Two, no interruptions on E45.”

“Why?”

“Tokyo is in play way too early.” Gerhardt was almost at the entrance to the motorway.

The Divisional Director drew in a sharp breath.

“What do you think Rainer will do?”

“Don’t ask a question you know the answer too. Just find him.”

“Of course.” The Director hung up.

Over the next hour, Gerhardt had only two thoughts. Stop for nothing and the memory of their father catching them playing with his limited-edition Smith & Wesson .44 Russians. As teenagers they had never imagined the pistols would be loaded. They had been practising their quick-draw and smoking their father’s cigars. Baron Martens had entered the room just as Rainer had pointed the pistol at Gerhardt. Only the shock of their father’s arrival and the power of the weapon had saved Gerhardt’s life. The bullet passed an inch or two to the right of him, lodging in the frame of a minor Cezanne.

Rainer kept the mahogany and leather carry case in his desk. He used to joke about keeping them at hand for the last stand. Like so many things his brother said, there was always another angle. There were 5 BPol units waiting at the main house. A sixth unit had ushered him through the gated estate entrance.

Hillebrand barred Gerhardt at the first step of the stairway to Rainer’s quarters.

“Step aside Hillerbrand.” Gerhardt could not tell that he was shouting.

“We aren’t allowed up Baron Martens. Forensics are already at work.” Hillebrand held his ground.

Gerhardt went to push past and then the use of brother’s title sunk in. He slumped against the wall. His cheekbone bleeding again, congealing on his neck, staining his sharp white collar. He looked over at Hillebrand.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Asleep in my quarters. There was only one shot. I woke up and rushed to the study. I will never be able to see such an unholy mess. I cannot describe it to you.” Hillebrand could not meet his gaze.

“Then don’t.”

********

Giulia’s voice purred softly down the phone.

“It is too late for conscience now Hillebrand. Your overheard what Rainer said, anyone of us would take his place given the chance. You did not hesitate, make his loss your gain.”

“I didn’t realise he still had his father’s antique pistols.”

“Do not mourn him. Your empathy is misplaced. Rainer Martens epitomised that robber barons of any age. His manipulation of tech, pharma and crypto shares was only ever about control. It is because of his insatiable greed and absence of moral compass that the masses have sold their privacy and freedom for ease and a shallow dopamine hit of brief euphoria.

“Leeches like the late Baron Martens thrive on the provision of illusionary gratification, in exchange for the most intimate of knowledge, which most of us would not share with a friend, let alone a stranger on the other side of the world.

“If you must mourn, think of those who suffered as he plied his trade. He once countered Gerhardt’s concerns over shares in a Congolese diamond mind with the response that everyone has to die sometime! I guess we can apply his own philosophy to him. He is in no place to care.” Giulia felt that she had reached her mark.

“What about Gerry?” Hillebrand asked.

“Why should I care?” Came the reply.

“Goodbye Giulia.”

Hillebrand pocketed his phone. He would contact his agent at Lombard Odein to check that Giulia had kept her word. In the meantime, Baron Gerhardt Martens needed a new wardrobe. He wanted to visit their South Asian assets to review the labour practices. A new tact for Martens name perhaps? If Rainer never registered and Gerhardt thought he was a ghost, perhaps that made Hillebrand an atom? Too small to see, impossible to live without and explosive when broken.