According to the rules for stockbrokers, entrusted information must be kept absolutely confidential, and what Montes just said was enough to land him in prison.
Grabby waved dismissively, unconcerned. "That's not surprising—you must've seen Mr. Sandler's mansion on Bond Street. Buying that place surely cost quite a bit."
"Six thousand British Pounds. That's the transaction price for that house. I checked." Montes looked around again, then continued, "And that's not all. When I was drinking with Mr. McCartney—yes, that senior trader from Lloyds Bank—I happened to hear him mention that Mr. Sandler used company shares as collateral and borrowed more than ten thousand British Pounds from him."
"This doesn't make sense. Sandler wouldn't need that much money—he's always been single, doesn't even have a mistress."
"Isn't Lady Damien his mist—"
"No, she isn't. Trust me," said Montes with certainty. After all, he'd been involved with that woman for more than a year.
