Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) (8 page)

The coffee arrived, a cappuccino for Narayanan and a macchiato for Aditya. Aditya waited till the person serving the coffee was out of earshot.

‘And did you make the kind of margins you were intending to make?’

‘That and more. The initial phase was phenomenally successful. Almost everyone who came to us and started an emu farm made money. Initially people were very apprehensive. But once the first lot of people who invested started making their returns, the buzz started to intensify. More and more people began queuing up to open emu farms. In fact, the second wave was so intense that farmers started selling off part of their land to raise the deposit money and started converting their balance land into emu farms. We were loaded with cash, not knowing what to do.’

‘Are there any rules around emu farming?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Then what is bothering you, Dad?’

‘Adi, the problem is that the business has grown. And almost everyone pays in cash. The farmers, for instance, who have enrolled with us under this scheme, don’t even have a bank account.’

‘Dad, you don’t need to get defensive about it. Almost everyone we meet these days deals with cash. What would you expect in a country where hardly 6 per cent of the population files income tax returns? That’s hardly a problem. What’s the issue?’

Narayanan leaned forward, elbows on the table, and whispered, ‘The accumulated cash is becoming a problem.’

‘That is not a bad problem to have. I would rather be rich and have excess cash to play with than be poor.’

‘I know. I am not complaining. The problem is slightly different.’

Aditya just sat there listening.

‘A month back, Gopal Krishna, the income tax commissioner of Coimbatore was transferred and a north Indian fellow has come in. Last week, he raided the offices of one of the largest emu farms in Mettupalayam—Rajah Emu Farms.’

That’s when Aditya understood what the crux of the problem was. ‘So you are worried that they will raid you. And if they lay their hands on your cash, you will be in a soup.’

‘Yes. And they are likely to do so anytime. Temporarily, I have managed to get rid of all the cash. There are intermediaries who will manage it for me for the time being. But I don’t want to leave it with them for long. They are not very dependable. Will it be possible for you to help me move the cash? Can you keep a part of it with you in Mumbai?’

‘How much cash are we talking here?’

Narayanan looked around. He pulled out a tissue from the stand on the table, scribbled something on it and turned it towards Aditya. When Aditya saw it, his eyes popped out. He looked at Narayanan, then back at the tissue paper again, and whispered, ‘Forty crores?’

Narayanan nodded.

‘How the hell will I keep so much cash in Mumbai? And what will I tell Cirisha?’

‘I don’t know. I have to get rid of ninety.’ He pointed to the paper napkin and said, ‘CR.’ Aditya understood that he meant crores and nodded. Narayanan continued, ‘And there is nobody else that I can trust. And I obviously can’t keep this in a bank.’

Aditya’s palms started bleeding sweat. The very thought of so much of cash in his control worried him. He wasn’t unfamiliar with massive amounts of cash but this was the first time that family was involved.

‘Dad, I don’t think I will be able to stash away so much in Mumbai and keep it under my watch. But …’ and he paused.

‘But what?’

‘There could be a way out. We have done that for a few big customers in the past. A few businessmen and politicians. I can try and see if we can do that for you. But before that let’s get out of here.’ Both of them got up; Aditya walked up to the counter, dropped a five-hundred rupee note and walked out, without even waiting for change.

Once they were in the safe confines of the car, Aditya said, ‘Look, Dad, what I am telling you can’t be discussed with anyone. In Mumbai, we have a team of global relationship managers. These RMs, even though they are based in Mumbai, can help you open an account in any country. They operate below the radar. Even within GB2, not many know about these RMs. Not only will they help you open an account in countries with reasonably softer tax and extremely stringent privacy laws, they will also move your funds there. I recommend that you open an account in Geneva, Switzerland, and move your money there.’

‘Will it be safe?’

‘Much safer than here, for sure. The Swiss have very tough confidentiality and secrecy laws. No one will ever find out.’

‘What if I need access to the funds?’

‘Call the RMs and they will deliver the cash to your doorstep.’

‘Oh? Is that possible?’

‘Yes. The only catch is that these guys do not get involved if the amounts involved are less than fifteen million dollars.’

‘Brilliant! Aditya, this is just brilliant! This gets rid of a big headache for me,’ Narayanan exclaimed.

‘Let me recheck the process. I’ll talk to them when I get back to Mumbai. Once I have the information, I will call you.’

Narayanan was happy. Finally he had found a solution to his problem. After driving around for an hour more, Narayanan dropped off Aditya at the airport. Just before Aditya got off the car, he asked Narayanan, ‘Dad, that warehouse? Shivinder and I would like to come visit it sometime next month.’

‘Sure. Anytime. It’s yours, Adi.’ And he smiled. ‘But just to give you a heads-up, the warehouse is nearly full. We need to look for a new one in case you are planning to store more stock there.’

‘How long will it take for you to operationalize one?’

‘At best sixty days.’

‘That would be awesome. Thanks, Dad,’ said Aditya as he stepped out of the car.

‘Please do not discuss any of this with Cirisha,’ Narayanan reminded him. Aditya nodded as he shut the door. He did not need to be told that Cirisha would never approve of what Narayanan was doing.

12

May 2005

Coimbatore

The process of opening an account in GB2 Geneva was laughably simple. Two well-dressed, deodorant-drenched young men in their late twenties landed up at Narayanan’s residence. It took them exactly thirty minutes to complete all the formalities. An account opening form was filled up, photographs clicked, fingerprints taken and telephone numbers exchanged. Narayanan couldn’t help noticing that they had a telephone number with a Swiss code prefixed to it.

‘What’s the amount you would want to transfer into this new account in Geneva, Mr Narayanan?’ This question from one of the RMs made Narayanan uncomfortable. But Aditya had told him to be completely open and transparent with the guys from GB2.

‘About ninety crores.’

‘Hmm. Over twenty million dollars. Thanks. I need to sensitize the bank.’

‘When will you pick up the cash?’

‘A different team manages cash. They will get in touch with you, pick up your cash and give you credit into your GB2 Geneva account within the next forty-eight hours.’ Narayanan was relieved.

Everything done, the two RMs got up, picked up the bunch of papers and put it into their briefcase.

‘Can I get a copy of these papers?’ Narayanan asked.

‘You won’t need them, sir. Within three days, you will get a call with your account details, using which you can access your account over the internet. That should suffice. Thank you, sir.’ And they turned to leave.

As promised, within the next seventy-two hours he was called and given an account number and a password. He was also given a number to call in case he wanted to transact on the account. ‘Of course, if you ever visit Geneva you are free to walk into our branch, sir,’ the caller said before he disconnected.

‘Aditya, they gave me a number to call to transfer funds. Is it safe?’ Narayanan called Aditya within five minutes of having received the call from the bank.

‘Yes, Dad. Call them and they will pick up the cash from you. Leave the rest to them. Don’t ask them questions, answers to which might confuse you.’

The next day, around midnight, an armoured van pulled into the driveway of a ramshackle farmhouse on the outskirts of Coimbatore. A few men stepped out and Indian currency worth ninety crores was picked up from the farmhouse and loaded into the van. After the cash was loaded, the van stayed in his driveway for a couple of hours. Narayanan guessed that it had a currency-counting machine in it. His blood pressure went up a few notches when they left. He had no document to show for having given them the cash. Worried stiff, for the next forty-eight hours he sat by the computer, logging into his account, hoping to see if the money had been credited. Finally when he saw a credit of approximately twenty million dollars in his account, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was working.

He picked up his phone and called Aditya.

‘The first lot has been transferred, Aditya. Thanks for getting this done for me.’

‘No problem, Dad.’

‘I was worried since I didn’t know these guys.’

‘Dad, it’s a regular thing these guys do. You are transferring only twenty million. These guys manage ten times that amount and more for politicians and big industrialists. Relax. Your money is safe.’

13

July 2005

Boston

Deahl drove the Ford SUV into his parking slot. Though it was not a reserved slot, no one else parked there because everyone knew it was where Deahl parked his car. He got off and walked towards his block. The look on his face was tense. He had been summoned by the provost to be part of an ad hoc committee formed to review a decision taken by the Faculty Evaluation Committee (FEC) at MIT.

MIT guidelines were very clear on the process to be followed once the tenure application was denied:

‘An individual can submit a written request for a formal review to the Provost within 60 days after being notified in writing of the decision not to promote or award tenure. If filed subsequently, the Provost may deny the review request as untimely. The review requester must identify any and all grounds for the request for a review since there is one single review of such a decision.

The Provost will decide if a review will be undertaken after making a preliminary review of the request to determine whether the request provides one or more appropriate grounds for review. In making that decision, the Provost may consult with whomever the Provost decides is appropriate.

After consulting with the Chair of the Faculty to the extent the Provost determines appropriate, the Provost will appoint an ad hoc faculty committee of three senior faculty (naming one as chair) and notify the review requester of the names. If the review requestor believes that any of the ad hoc committee members could not participate as an objective fact finder, he or she should timely write to the Provost explaining his or her reasons, and the Provost, in his discretion, will decide if there is a need for an alternate appointment.’

Richard filed the review petition with the provost, challenging the earlier decision of not granting him his tenure. He was in his late thirties and close to completing nine years as a non-tenured assistant professor. To hit the late thirties without a tenured role was akin to putting an end to even a remote chance of building an academic career. More importantly, the university rules stipulated that anyone who was denied tenure at MIT twice had to leave within twelve months. Hence every shot at getting tenure was a matter of life and death. Being rejected twice certainly meant professional death.

The provost, after considering Richard’s petition, had formed an ad hoc team of three members. Michael Cardoza, who was on the initial panel that had declined Richard’s tenure application, Ahmed Siddiqui, the legal head at MIT, and James Deahl, the Chair sponsoring the granting of a tenure to Richard.

‘It’s been nine years that I have been a member of the faculty at MIT. Initially an adjunct professor and now an assistant professor. I applied for tenure a few months ago, as in my view, I had the required credentials—research publications, proven grant-raising skills, teaching assignments, student mentoring and even sporting duties. I have met the required criteria on every single parameter. Yet my application was turned down. The peer evaluation committee rated me highly and recommended me. I am at a loss to understand the reasons for the FEC turning me down. Your letter does not state it. I couldn’t get a valid explanation from my Chair, Dr Deahl. That’s why I decided to appeal to you, to reconsider the decision of the previous committee. The judgement has been unfair, to say the least.’