Some cracks were beginning to appear in the Kloch master plan.

The Dallas businessman, who had invested in the frozen food plant and was fronting the whole Captain Marco distribution network from Texas, was starting to become very concerned. In the beginning he had seen some limited return on his investment and the subsequent success of the venture had reassured him. The orders continued to pour in but the rent wasn’t paid, the suppliers of raw produce were clamouring for payment, and worse, the “Big Boss”, was apparently away in France “dealing with his restaurant” which, looking at the website, could only cater for 20 people and was usually only open for three months of the year!! Something just didn’t make sense.

Worse for Kloch was his beautiful Russian girlfriend who had now confessed that her father was “deeply involved” with the Russian Mafia and wanted to meet to discuss “mutual investments” and “marriage”. Kloch instantly regretted having purchased the Ferrari in her name but, as with everything, he had to continually cover his tracks and remain as invisible as possible - otherwise the cursed “creditors scenario” would repeat itself once again and this time he was determined to keep as much of the money as he possibly could.

Charles Kloch loved the Ferrari, he drove it out of the underground car park of the office building and headed south down the freeway towards San Diego. He wished that he was in Australia where there was no effective speed limit when driving through the outback, “just think how fast this baby could go on those pan-Australian highways”. Coming off the freeway at Solana Beach he continued south down the Old Highway and came to a stop in front of a half derelict store looking out to the Pacific Ocean behind.

He opened a small panel at the side of the store, placed a key in the lock and punched in some numbers. The old protective blind started rising into the roof and Kloch unlocked the main door.

This was his real office, the same he had kept for 30 years. Very few people knew about it, this was the nerve centre of the whole empire.

Kloch switched on a computer and went over to unlock the mail box placed in the front wall. The usual junk mail, some bills, and then.. a letter from Paris, apparently a lawyer’s office. He quickly opened the envelope. Gérald had been intentionally vague but the message was very clear and to the point, basically it said:

Dear Mr. Charles Vinneker Kloch,

We know who you are, where you are and what you have been doing and, on behalf of my client Mr Jean-Marc Sands, we expect to receive your proposal about how to resolve the pending matter of Captain Marco’s Gourmet Delights Inc. Failure to receive your response within seven days will oblige us to take out legal action against you .... etc. etc......

“Shit, how did they get this address?” thought Kloch, then he remembered, all those years ago coming to this office, with Jean-Marc. They had been driving from LA on their way to Mexico on a search for the ultimate chilli pepper sauce and they had stopped off, Kloch had needed to pick up something from the office and Jean-Marc had obviously remembered the address.

Kloch noticed a second small slip of yellow post-it paper in the lawyer’s envelope, it was in Jean-Marc’s handwriting, it simply said:

Charlie,
You stole money from my Dad, you stole money from practically everyone I introduced you to and many other people I know too, now you are stealing my life. Please stop it!

This wasn’t really an attorney’s letter, this was more of a punch beneath the belt. Kloch was hurt because he saw himself as a victim trapped in an spiral of circumstance, he could only go forward otherwise the past would catch up and drown him. “This is the way the system works” he thought, “what else can I do?”

Kloch went over to the computer and checked his E-mail. He didn’t use E-mail very much but this was the only method he used to communicate with his banks and manage his numerous accounts in China, the Middle East and the Caribbean. He had nevertheless been extremely cautious about his E-mail address and only a select few of his bank managers knew it. This made today’s InBox extremely worrying: there was just one message:

I will know when you read this message, methinks therefore that you also received the note from your old acquaintance. I recommend you take immediate action to rectify this injustice. Cordially yours, Denis Weldone

Looking at the return E-mail address Kloch realised it was his own, which made the whole thing stranger and even more worrying - what if someone had hacked into his server? He had gone to considerable lengths to keep that particular E-mail address and domain name very secret.

He rummaged through some papers in the filing cabinet and found Jean-Marc’s restaurant brochure. There was an E-mail address and, although the brochure was several years old, Kloch guessed that the address was probably unchanged - he started typing a message, he desperately needed to gain some time:

My dear Jean-Marc,

I’m about to sell the whole operation for hundreds of millions of dollars to a buyer from the Middle East, let’s split the proceeds and be friends like in the old days.

Kloch sent it using his @hotmail.com address, he nevertheless thought is wiser to keep his tracks covered. However he had forgotten about Jean-Marc’s own passion for computers, and the @hotmail.com address was also his nick-name on the MSN Messenger network which Kloch used extensively for exchanging documents with his various offices and banks. It was more anonymous than the mobile phone and E-mail, and practically untraceable but Kloch had inadvertently given Jean-Marc a sure way of contacting him every time he was online, which was almost all the time.

Within minutes of sending the E-mail, MSN Messenger started flashing on Kloch’s computer screen “start of conversation with Jean-Marc Sands”, a chat window popped up, it simply said:

Bullshit

Kloch switched off the computer and stormed out of the office, he was angry, he had underestimated Jean-Marc and now he had to think of another plan.