You know the scene:
The airport lounge
Reclined at ease in a sofa, with leather shoes, creme caramel coloured. Smart shirt but not too smart; familiar demeanour but not too familiar.
There’s a distinct and subtle inflection learnt on a school paddock.
Then there’s a gentlemanly trust gained headfirst between the backsides of two muddy second-rowers.
There’s contracts from the eighth floor above the brass plate door.
And a cheekiness – white towels whipped at each other on the warm tiles of the locker room.
And now broad smirks when raising the glass and the sound of ice cubes.
Ah, and by the way a quick chat about those hidden treasures, overseas. You haven’t forgotten about those have you?
No, no. They’re in good hands.
An announcement calls from above and ice cubes are left swirling in an empty glass.
Vast wealth, money and more numbers than your brain can imgine: Trillions of Euros, of Dollars and of Sterling are nestled away in remote islands – tax havens – conveniently difficult to access, conveniently semi-autonomous, beyond the reach of the tax authorities, hidden beyond the orange sunsetting horizon and thus in a grey area of the law. X marks the spot on the map but ‘0’ is what you will find in the accounts. Nobody seems to own anything and yet the assets equal half of the world’s wealth. All in the good hands of a few men secured on a ‘gentleman’s agreement’.
Documentary about the Tax havens: