There was one large, wide bench, which was four tables jammed together and covered by a green carpet-like fabric. Sitting on the ‘billion dollar’ table was more money than Haut had ever seen—eight hundred million dollars in notes and a further two hundred and fifty million in bonds. The notes were stacked in lots of five million in one hundred dollar bills. There was a freshly minted look and smell about the cash. The Great War’s General John Monash’s powerful military head on the one hundred dollar note had never had such prominent exposure. Haut, with his outstanding five million, was small fry in comparison to some of the big players of Australian finance and business who had been summoned to account, or to collect. By the close of business at 3 p.m. all transactions had to be made and debts settled. If not, then no one could make claims either way. The final ‘gong’ signalled the end of proceedings, once and for all.

There was electricity in the air. The bankers, some in suits, some with jackets off and sleeves rolled up, were ready for the grand game of settlement. There was no pirate glint in the eye though. These were the controllers with their ever-developing and greater Ponzi schemes to suck more money from everywhere and everyone.

In this speed money game, rather like speed dating, every debtor had to face his or her creditors. Haut met the representatives of the two banks with which he had to settle, shaking hands with the chairman from Bank Presse Internationale and the deputy chair from Continental East. Bank Presse’s Sinclair Adams was forty-five, tall, definitely a former private school boy in his born-to-rule manner and clipped speech. He was leaning across the table looking over papers that instructed him how much he had to collect from whom, and the amount he had to give away and to whom. The deputy chair from Con East—auburn-haired Harriett Cullum—was in her mid-thirties and a recent recruit from the Royal Bank of Canada.

The doors were bolted shut with security men parked at each exit, arms crossed and a shoot-to-kill demeanour for anyone who might even wish to go outside for a pee, or even a biscuit. With so much cash on display, there was always the possibility that some foolhardy armed criminal gang might try for the biggest bank heist in history.

No one could leave until all transactions were completed or the final bell was sounded. Once the deal was done on that day, it was over. No correspondence would be entered into.

Haut had six dollars to his name, in his jacket pocket and not in his account. He didn’t even know how he was going to reach Melbourne airport for the humiliating flight back to his Hobart home. Ms Cullum (‘Please, call me Harry’) seemed sweet, or so Haut thought, in a sea of suited male sharks.