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This is a Exerpt From Running with gods Please enjoy

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roger penzance
Getting Comfortable
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Joined: Wed Aug 28, 2013 7:03 am
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This is a Exerpt From Running with gods Please enjoy

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The Author is guy Templar

EXCERPT ONE

Park Lane London England New Year's Day 2012
Conrad Langer laughed harshly, delighting at the clink of celebratory champagne glasses. His alone was an ugly sound. Certainly enough to mar the ringing chimes made only by the finest of lead crystal.
‘Mein Gott! We have pulled it off, gentlemen! What a New Year’s present, hein? This is no longer a hedge fund we control. It is a virtual forest!’
The beautifully suited men around him and the three elegantly tailored women in the group of dutiful admirers, who had forgone the day on which everyone traditionally recovered from seeing in the New Year, all smiled the expected smile. And coldly calculated what was in it for them as his subordinate fund managers, who did all the real work that had now made Conrad Langer one of the richest men in the game.
As they began to do the sums, their smiles collectively turned into a dazzling series of zeros, followed by genuine, acquisitive pleasure. It would mean the highest ever bonuses any of them had earned in the ruthless and demanding world they inhabited courtesy of Langer, Rinehart & Goldstein Holdings CH. Although sometimes unnerved by Langer’s "Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!" attitude towards the business of making money, each one of them loved results like these.
Unforeseen consequences were simply not in the vocabulary of their thinking. Naked greed carries the same heady aphrodisiac as unprotected sex.

Of course, the genteel and punctiliously courteous Hans Rinehart was no longer alive to witness this latest piece of brazen financial banditry. Or to mount one of his ethical objections that Conrad Langer found so ‘tiresome’. The poor man had died horribly towards the end of the previous year in mysterious circumstances, when the powder blue Bentley he always drove himself at an irritatingly measured pace even in the fast lane of the motorway carrying him to LR&G’s Geneva headquarters each day, came to an ignominious and terrible end.
Died horribly in the twisted and burning wreckage of his beloved vintage Bentley Continental, after it inexplicable veered across the dual carriageway, smashing into other vehicles nine-pinning in all directions, and then ploughed through the crash barrier. Before fatally impacting with one of the electricity pylons at the edge of adjacent farmland.

However, Zachariah Goldstein was present at this unholy celebration of the professionally unacceptable. Although Zachariah Goldstein quietly hated the Germans for his grandparents’ death in a Nazi concentration camp, admittedly some years before he was born, he was by nature a realist. As a professional necessity. He was also beholden to Langer in more ways than he could ever hope to untangle in a legal battle that would undoubtedly break him financially.
Doing what he was told had become a habit. Turning a blind eye to dubious and repeated regulatory infringements, to put it mildly, had been mollified by Judas payments running into many millions of Dollars, Pounds, Yen and even Euros. Conscience can take to its heels with the alacrity of an Olympic athlete when this kind of money is involved.
It kept Zachariah Goldstein’s overweight and querulous wife occasionally grateful for the exquisite Tudor country house they lived in with her yapping poodles, an hour and a half’s drive from Central London. And it provided his young, illegal immigrant Ukrainian mistress with enough jewels to mount a serious challenge to Tiffany’s glittering displays in New York.
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