Page 36 of Behind Frenemy Lines

Kriya

Charles led the meeting with Shaw Boey. We’d briefed Farah—that is, we’d told her what we knew about the facts of the case, which wasn’t much. But she took a backseat during the meeting with client, as she’d been away.

Shaw explained his instructions. We had a trainee take copies of the identification documents he’d brought for the true client, one Jamaludin Abdul Rashid, who was the beneficial owner of multiple companies named in the Guardian article that was the subject of the complaint.

Charles explained that we would not be complaining of it that day, since completing client due diligence for a person of Jamaludin’s status was not straightforward. We’d asked the team to treat it as top priority, but we were in their hands as to when we’d be able to confirm we could act.

Then we saw Shaw off and went back to our office.

When we were back at our desks, Charles said, “Maybe we should get started on drafting the letter. The client will want it sent out the moment we’re good to go.”

I’d been very quiet throughout the meeting. I turned in my chair and kicked the door shut. “You think we’ll get cleared to act?”

Charles blinked. What he’d suggested—starting work before conflicts were officially cleared—wasn’t strictly according to protocol, but I’d done it before.

It was easy to fall into the habit of viewing the client due diligence checks as a mere formality, if you were reasonably confident there wasn’t a conflict that would preclude the firm acting.

And of course, this new client was linked to Blackmount Capital, which had already been through all the checks to get registered as a client of the firm.

“Have you read the article they want to sue for?” I said.

Charles’s forehead furrowed. “Not yet. Shaw only confirmed the blogger’s name today.” He sat down at his desk, flipping through his notes. “Helen Daley?”

“We were talking about her Guardian article at the weekend, when my friends came over,” I said. “I’ll send you the link.”

I only had to type the first two words of the title before the link to the article popped up in the search bar of my browser. I’d read the piece a few months ago, while having lunch at work.

The biggest scandal you’ve never heard of …

except all of urban Malaysia had heard of it, even my terminally offline parents.

The theft of billions of ringgit of taxpayer money, the barefaced shamelessness of the people who’d done it, and the lengths they’d gone to to conceal their crimes had shocked even Malaysians, inured as we were to the misbehaviour of our public officials.

I leaned back in my chair, running my hands through my hair. How had this become my life? My boss had gone nuts, I was in a situationship with my work nemesis turned office roommate, and to top it all off, I’d spent the morning with Shaw Boey looking down my dress.

“Charles, do you know who Shaw Boey is ?”

Charles had just started reading the link, from the look of it.

It wouldn’t teach him about Shaw Boey’s role in the scandal—he and his investment firm weren’t named.

Maybe he was due to appear in the next article in the series, and that was why he was so keen to get an injunction to restrain publication.

It wasn’t like no one had written about the scandal before, but its being featured in the Guardian gave it a new level of notoriety.

The faint hope of those to whom this was all old news was that the article might incite someone who had the power to do something to take action.

They said the US Department of Justice was launching an investigation, and the Swiss and Singaporean authorities were taking an interest, too.

If I were Shaw Boey, I might be feeling that London was a little too close to Switzerland for comfort. But then again, he had billions of ringgit to hide behind. It wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t concerned.

“He’s the Malaysian Prime Minister’s fixer,” I said. “His right-hand man. He’s the guy who set up the whole fraudulent scheme.” I shook my head, incredulous. “I thought when you were talking about ‘Shaw,’ it was a surname. Like George Bernard Shaw.”

“No, Boey’s the surname,” said Charles absently. He was still reading. “His full name’s Boey Heng Shaw.”

“Yeah! I know!” I hadn’t recognised Blackmount Capital as the name of his investment firm, but if I’d seen Shaw Boey’s name in any of the documents, I would have known something was up.

But all the emails I’d seen had come from some Blackmount staff member, too low down the chain to have made it into the reportage of the scandal.

“I should have guessed,” I said. “A blogger making politically motivated allegations. Helen Daley’s had a blog about Malaysian politics for years, it’s called the Hornbill Gazette.

I suppose their story is she’s in the opposition party’s pay, or something like that.

And this poor man she’s harassing is Jamaludin, of all people. The Prime Minister of Malaysia.”

I couldn’t act for the PM. I’d acted for plenty of companies that didn’t have much to be proud of except for their annual profits.

It was part of the job—you worked for whoever could afford the firm’s fees.

After all, we merely advised. It was up to the client to decide what to do with our advice—even if what they decided to do wasn’t ethical, or possibly wasn’t even lawful.

The whole reason we got paid was to help people navigate the grey area where what was lawful and what wasn’t was unclear.

But there had to be a line somewhere. A point at which it was no longer possible to disclaim responsibility for what the client did, because we were only the lawyers. I’d hit mine.

Charles sat back. “I don’t understand. How does this affect you?” He gestured at his screen, meaning, presumably, the wholesale theft of the wealth that rightly belonged to my friends and family back home.

I stared at him. “Did you read the article?”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s state money being funnelled through Blackmount Capital and all those other companies,” I said.

“That means it belongs to the people of Malaysia, not Jamaludin and his wife and his stepson and all their cronies. Who’s going to have to pay off the debts they’ve run up?

Malaysians, that’s who. If the country wasn’t run by these self-interested jokers, maybe I wouldn’t have had to leave.

I could be home right now with my parents, instead of knowing I’ll only get to see them once a year every year until they die. ”

“I didn’t mean—”

But I was too angry to stop, all the old bitterness rising up in me.

“I left because I was sick of being cheated by people like Jamaludin and bloody Shaw Boey. You don’t know what it feels like to have your future stolen like that.

To have your home taken over by people who’re going to destroy everything good about it, and you’re powerless to stop it. ”

“Kriya,” said Charles, his lips twisting. “I’m from Hong Kong. You think I don’t know?”

I shut up. After a moment, I said, “I’m sorry.”

“It was a stupid thing for me to say,” said Charles. “I only meant it wasn’t clear to me if you had any direct involvement. But you’ve got a conflict. Is that fair to say?”

“Yes. If you want to put it that way.” I certainly wouldn’t be able to act in the client’s best interests. I probably wouldn’t kill Jamaludin and his wife if I had the opportunity, but if I could slip something in their drink to give them explosive diarrhoea, I would.

Charles took a deep breath. “All right.”

I could tell he didn’t quite know what to do. It wasn’t the kind of work dilemma one ran into every day. There wasn’t going to be a firm policy on what to do if you objected to the firm taking on work for the corrupt PM of your country.

“I need to talk to Farah,” he decided. “If you’re recusing yourself, we might want to get another associate on board.”

That wasn’t what I had in mind. “We shouldn’t be acting for them at all. It’s a reputational risk for the firm. You saw what the article said.”

Charles hesitated. “We do already act for Blackmount. And there’s nothing to indicate this instruction is for the purposes of fraud. If there is a money laundering risk, that should come up in the checks.”

“They won’t be trying to launder money through us,” I said.

Jamaludin and his crew would have made sure their money laundering was conducted through other, more amenable routes, with fewer hoops to jump through.

And they wouldn’t have left obvious tracks for our CDD team to find.

“That’s not the point of approaching a firm like Swithin Watkins.

The point is to intimidate Helen Daley and anyone else who wants to report on their activities.

They don’t have to win. The cost of defending the claim is deterrent enough, for an independent journalist. I mean, this is basically a SLAPP, isn’t it?

A lawsuit designed to silence criticism. ”

“The client’s within his rights to pursue the claim,” said Charles. “We advised to that effect. That’s what our note says. You helped draft it.”

“That was before I knew who I was advising!” I crossed my arms. “Charles, do you really feel all right being part of this? If we act for these guys, we’re conferring legitimacy on them.

People will think Helen Daley must be a crank, if these big London law firms and banks and consultants are on Jamaludin’s side. ”

“I understand the concern,” said Charles.

“I’m not saying I don’t share it. But ultimately, it’s not for us to decide whether the firm takes him on.

If there’s reliable evidence of what’s alleged in Helen Daley’s article, presumably it’ll come to be considered by the CDD team and the partnership.

You are satisfied the allegations are credible? ”

“Everyone in Malaysia knows what’s going on,” I said.