to sandbag one of its major players,’ he argued.
‘BGC stock can’t fall any further,’ Walters quipped, cynically.
‘Who says?’ Fielding responded, wishing immediately he had bitten his tongue.
‘If it does, Chris,’ the other man warned, ‘you would do well to consider other pastures.’ With that, Walters had slammed his receiver down leaving Fielding wallowing in a sea of desperation.
****
Christopher Fielding’s recent marital skirmishes had left him all but impoverished. Since settling with his first wife five years before, the once highly respected geologist’s image had been tarnished on a number of fronts. A brief, second marriage had also ended in acrimony, his shareholding in BGC reduced by half, the stock dumped on the market within days of settlement causing most of the company’s value-woes of today. Then there was the challenge with respect to the integrity of Kremenchug’s senior geologist, Eric Baird, when further investigations had been carried out under a ‘farm-out’ arrangement which saw the stock all but collapse. Fielding accepted that he must shoulder the greater portion of blame, refusing to permit twenty years of experience and his gut instinct from questioning the veracity of Baird’s glowing report. As a result of two divorces his finances were at an all time low. He knew that Scott Walters’ ominous threats should be taken seriously and, for one fleeting moment, as he gazed out over Vancouver’s, bleak winter skyline, he contemplated finishing it all and saving Walters’ goons the trouble.
****
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