The One Percent Theory

We're down to the last eight in the World Cup in Brazil, and so far Mr Nim has been right in his 'predictions'. His contacts in FIFA have obliged with denials of any corruption by players or referees. Mr Nim would argue that it's not corruption anyway. He calls it influence. He explained his theory to Caroline when they first met at Prince Lippi's casino in Trieste. Caroline, a novice at gambling, was curious how Mr Nim managed to win such large sums.

Shameless Corruption

“Surely gambling is all about chance. All the things people gamble on are unpredictable. Otherwise there would be no point.”

She saw the smile disappear briefly from Nim’s face. She wondered if she had revealed her gambling naivety.

“Unpredictability is my enemy. That is what I fight against. To be a successful gambler you must reduce the unpredictable and increase the predictable. Sometimes it is a matter of one percent here or there, but adding together the one percents is enough to tip things in your favour.”

She thought of asking him if he gambled on football, but then remembered his advice about not asking direct questions. She tried to remember some of Robert’s moans about football matches when his team had not done well.

“But surely all sports are full of unexpected events. An important player might be injured in the game; the referee might miss something obvious; the goalkeeper might make a mistake.”

“You are right. And that is why I have a team of analysts to examine every aspect of the game; the players, the managers, the officials, the players’ wives and agents, the qualities of the grass on the pitch, everything you can imagine, and in great detail. Gambling is a war of information and the man with the best information wins. One percent here, one percent there, one percent everywhere.”

“I had no idea. So when you said you have good judgement, you mean you have good information.”

“Both are necessary. Even with good information we can fool ourselves, allow greed to cloud our judgement.”

The waiter appeared carrying clean plates and a silver platter containing a whole skinned sea bass. Caroline stifled a groan at the sight of more food, and helped herself to a piece of the delicate pale flesh. The smile returned to Nim’s face.

“I can see you have had enough to eat. After this, let us return to the tables. Tonight I am feeling lucky.”

“Does your one percent theory work here too?”

“Of course. But I cannot tell you how. If I did, I would have to kill you.” He smiled. She laughed. They drank green tea from fine porcelain bowls.

Extract from Shameless Corruption by Robert Fanshaw

Shameless Corruption and the World Cup

How is the World Cup going for you? Disappointed that England were 'out' even before the last game of the group stages? Horrified by Uruguay biting their way through to the last sixteen? Several of the European teams - Spain, Italy, Croatia - have crashed out early, suggesting that conditions do indeed favour the South and Central American teams.

I'm still here in England while Caroline has gone suspiciously quiet in Rio. The last I heard, Bertrand Cottoneau had promised her tickets for the final at the Maracana Stadium in July. But I was worried when she got involved with a shady character called Mr Nim in Singapore, and traveled with him and his entourage, first class, to Brazil. He must have some kind of hold over her. Why otherwise would she have asked me to bring a million dollars in cash with me when I fly to Brazil? This kind of money movement is beyond my competence, so I phoned Cosimo Baldissi for advice:

“Are you all right, Cosimo? Speak up, I can hardly hear you.”

“I had an accident, Roberto, and it hurts if I laugh or shout.”

“Well this is no laughing matter. I’ve had a peculiar message from Caroline. She says she needs a million dollars urgently.”

“Ah. That much?”

“Is that all you’ve got to say? You know something about it? I know she’s been speaking to you and Bertrand. He’s getting me a ticket for the final.”

“Yes, we’ll all be there. It will be like old times.”

“I hope not. I couldn’t bear a repeat of Copenhagen. Come on Cosimo; tell me what’s going on. Is Caroline in trouble?”

“If I tell you, you will be in danger. For Caroline, the danger is a fate worse than death. For you, just death.” I had to stifle a chuckle at the Italian’s amusing exaggerations.

“I don’t think they give the death penalty for illicit currency movements. I’m sure Caroline has a good reason for needing the money. I just need some advice on how to raise it and how to move it to Brazil.”

“How much has Caroline told you? Did she tell you about my accident?”

“No. She told me about meeting you and Bertrand and going to Brazil via Singapore for a financial directors’ conference. Then she had a problem with her bank account and she used mine to send a lot of money to Bertrand. It was six hundred thousand euros. So why does she need a million dollars now? Caroline’s usually tight with money.”

“She’s trying to help Bertrand. He has many problems. He’s not the same man since Francine left him for New York. And he has to deal with that FIFA man, Cleb Fludder, who promises to retire and then stays on to wreak more havoc. Bertrand says he is destroying the beautiful game, and Cleb thinks Bertrand is after his job. He’s right, of course.”

“I’ve known Caroline to be generous, but not with money. And she doesn’t care about football. It must be something else.”

“Do you know about Caroline’s gambling habit?”

“Sorry Cosimo, Caroline doesn’t gamble. She calculates. You wouldn’t believe the grief she gives me when I bet twenty pounds on the Manchester United score.”

“People change when they are exposed to new experiences. She spent a week with Prince Lippi and picked up a taste for the casino. He introduced her to some high rollers. I expect she needs the money to settle a gambling debt.”

“Impossible. If you think that, you don’t know Caroline. It must be something else. But whatever she needs it for, will you help me?”

“Of course, anything for Caroline. What assets do you have?”

“Assets? Loans, more likely. We don’t even have pensions. Everything’s tied up in the house. We put every penny we had into it and then borrowed a lot more.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Caroline says two million, but she likes to talk it up.”

“You must live in a mansion.”

“No, we live in Surrey. House prices around London are crazy.”

“And the mortgage?”

“Nearly a million.”

“There are companies which will buy a house quickly at a discount. I will email you two names that can be trusted a little bit. Sell the house, and I will help with the transfer of funds. We will need a friendly bank with an operation in Brazil. I will speak to Von Wolfswinkle.” (extract from Shameless Corruption)

For more, and for the result of the World Cup final before it even happens, click below:

eBooks by Robert Fanshaw

 

Light shines on Shameless Corruption

Boom! The day has come. No, not the day of the World Cup final. Not yet, anyway. The day has come when you can read about my wife's involvement with the football authorities and the World Cup final in Brazil, before the final even happens.

"Before it happens?" you ask. "But that's not possible!"

Yes, before it happens. And that is down to the wonder of predictive fiction. Shameless Corruption is a romance set against the background of the World Cup and the corruption in world football. My wife, Caroline, infiltrates a Far East betting syndicate to help some business colleagues, and loses more than just her money. She is fascinated by the syndicate leader, Mr Nim; and he is convinced she is his lucky redhead. I won't give the game away and tell you who wins the final, but if you want to know before anyone else does, or before it even takes place, go to Amazon.co.uk  or to Amazon.com if you are in America and the rest of the world. Or any ebook supplier you like.

"How does it feel, Mr Fanshaw?"

It feels fantastic. I'm talking about the book publication there, not about the prospect of my wife ending up in a Macau brothel. SteameReads, the epublishers, have done a brilliant job as always on the editing and production, and have come up a with a cover which captures the sultry mood, the Chinese influences, the heat of Singapore and Brazil. It's a special day in the life of an author when their new book is sent out into the world. You must let me know what you think of it, even if you just read the free first section on Amazon. Goodreads, Amazon, blog comments (see below), email via the My Wife Caroline website ; however you want.

"This isn't the first time you've written about your wife's exploits, is it?"

Not the first time, and possibly not the last. Caroline says she wants to go into politics when she's achieved all her business goals. If she does, I can imagine she would get a lot of support from her influential European colleagues who played such a part in Shameless Ambition, which was the first book in the series. Shameless Exposure covers events on a remote Scottish island which are indelibly stamped on my mind and which show what can happen when otherwise intelligent people jump aboard the latest cult bandwagon.

"Doesn't writing about the intimate details of your marriage put your relationship under pressure?"

I admit Caroline made me go with her to the marriage guidance clinic earlier this year. I think we are a typical modern couple. Writing about our ups and downs makes no difference to the fact that long hours of work mean that we spend less time together than we would ideally like. The books are fast-paced entertainments in the 'active romance' genre and are for women and men to enjoy, whether for the romance, or the intrigue, or the sex and sport. You will laugh, too, providing you see the funny side of life.

"Excuse me while I download a copy..."

When Fact Collides with Fiction

One problem with writing contemporary fiction is the danger that the fictional world will collide with real events, trumping the outrageous imaginings of the author. This has been happening almost daily in the revelations of corruption FIFA, with the publication of Shameless Corruption only two weeks away.

What is the 'corruption' referred to in the third book in the Shameless series? Corruption in the higher reaches of world football, corruption led by betting syndicates from the East trying to fix results in the build up to the World Cup, and the corruption created by huge amounts of money swilling around the football world. Elements of all these corruptions run through the story of my wife Caroline's attempt to infiltrate a Chinese betting syndicate in Singapore.

Against these unlikely world events, which turn out after all not just to be likely, but probable, there is the much more personal story of how such corruption changes an individual and leads them to behaviour that in other circumstances would be out of character. Caroline learns how to gamble in order to pass herself off as a 'high roller' in the casinos frequented by Mr Nim and his syndicate members. Even someone as hard-headed about money as Caroline can be tempted by the adrenalin thrill of the large wager. She hates losing money, and that only adds to the excitement for her. She believes that the next big win is just around the corner, and loses more than just her money in a world where huge risks are taken for huge rewards.

Is there a conspiracy at the heart of world football? Will money win out, however blatant the corruption just beneath the surface? And will Caroline give Mr Nim the red card and return to her former life as a married business executive, or take the illicit money and run? I have to hold my hands up here and admit I have a vested interested in the outcome.

If, like Caroline, you would like the answers to these questions, you can join her on her roller-coaster ride through the World Cup finals in just a couple of weeks time. Let's face it, the whole thing is bound to be a blast, whether Nim lands his dirty rotten gamble or whether football's governing bodies come clean and admit to fixing their own competition.

Will she or won't she?

I'm not sleeping well. Caroline's in Singapore and says she is not sleeping well either, blaming the heat. Is she worried about what I'm worried about, or worried about something different?

Caroline has been behaving out of character, which psychologists say is either a) a sign of an undiagnosed physical condition or b) a pending relationship breakdown and divorce, aka a new squeeze.

"Of course you're worried," you say. "Any man would be, in your position."

Ah yes, but there's a complicating factor. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to go to the World Cup final. Unfortunately FIFA keep awarding the finals to far-away places like Brazil, Russia and Qatar and not somewhere convenient like England or Germany.

But Caroline bumped into a business acquaintance when she was in Italy recently, who re-introduced her to the European football supremo, Bertrand Cottoneau. And he has promised her two tickets to the final. I'm finding it hard not to put that in large type capitals, bold, and underlined. I'm sure there's a catch, and that's what I'm worried about. That, and pending relationship breakdown etc.

Will she or won't she? Will she get the tickets from Bertrand, and if she does, will it be me who gets the second ticket?

"What is strange about Caroline's behaviour?" you ask. "I reckon you're being paranoid; like men are when they have a dynamic, attractive, successful wife who earns more than they do."

Have I mentioned the gambling? Having nagged me constantly for four years for 'wasting money' on betting on football scores, Caroline has taken a keen interest in learning all the casino games and has been spending her nights with the high-rollers in Singapore. When she could choose a different night out, she went to the Kranji racetrack to back horses. But what is really out of character is that she is losing money. She always makes it. She's a finance director. She hates losing. That's why her rise to the top of Monsaint Medical Instruments has been so meteoric.

You can see why I'm worried now. Whose money is she losing? I know it isn't mine, because I live my life in a balanced cash flow. It comes in, it goes out, balance = zero.

And now she wants me to funnel about half a million euros, borrowed from a Chinese gentleman, to Cottoneau's account. She say's it's very urgent. My suspicions are well and truly aroused. That's an awful lot to pay for two tickets to a football game, even the World Cup final. Now do you understand why I'm not sleeping well?

I will be in a better position to give you the full story in three weeks time when  Shameless Corruption is published by Steam eReads , global publishers of quality ebooks.

Blurb

You can tell the same story a hundred different ways. And that is what happened when I sat down to write the cover blurb for Shameless Corruption. Or should I call it 'product description'? Either way, it's the bit that people might read first and think, "Wow, I want to read that," or, "I don't think so!"

Writing blurbs is teaching me more about writing novels than any other practice. It forces me to get to the essence, to cut through the waffle and say out loud, "This is about..."

It should be simple, and like most things that should be simple, it's a difficult process to mistress. I might start with a synopsis, something written to inform a potential publisher, or even myself, who the characters are and what happens in their story.

Then I write the novel, which does take a little time. Then I edit it a few times, which takes a while too. When I go back and look at the synopsis, I realise I have written a different book to the one outlined in the synopsis. I rewrite the synopsis to reflect the completed novel, and send it to the publisher, fingers crossed. I then enter the shadow of the valley of doubt while I await a response. The publisher won't like it. The whole project is misconceived. I have completely failed to tell the story I wanted to tell etc. etc.

I give up hope and start working on a new project. My energy starts to return. I don't care anymore about Shameless Corruption. 

Then an email arrives accepting the novel for epublication, and a date is agreed. Way-hay! I need a blurb now, and I need it fast. I read Shameless Corruption (yet) again. I ask myself, 'what is it about'? I consult the synopsis. Useless. I go through the book, picking out key events, change points for the main characters, emotional highs and lows, choices faced. I cut 65,000 words down to 400, then 300, then 200. Still none of the 20 versions completely satisfy but I have narrowed it down to three main angles. Is it:

   a) To help some business colleagues, Caroline infiltrates a plot to fix the result of the World Cup and ends up in the thrall of the syndicate leader;
   b) To her surprise, Caroline finds the casino exciting, and her reckless gambling takes her to a dark place;
   c) Caroline has until the final whistle of the World Cup to choose between two men, one a dangerously wealthy gambler, the other her husband.

I consult a friend who has worked in films and on games, and she reads my blurbs, confirming they don't cut the mustard. She helps me find the key point, the crux, the choice Caroline makes to go this way or that way. Another ten versions, and I'm still not sure which one will appeal to 'readers', whoever they may be. So I test the blurbs out with a group of writing friends, getting them to tell me which blurbs and phrases work for them. That was REALLY helpful.  And even more helpful, they told me which phrases were likely to make them give the book a miss. Of course, one 200 word piece is not going to impress everybody, but at last I was getting close to something I was happy with.

They told me that angle (c) is the way to go, especially since the choice is not as obvious as it seems. If she chooses to turn down the wealthy man, she risks a lifetime of servitude in a Macau brothel.

I sent the new blurb off to the publisher. Almost by return, I got an enthusiastic, "fantastic. That's great, Robert, but could you get that down to one sentence?"

Bangs head on desk.

The 200 word version is HERE on my author website. Does my blurb work for you? If you have blurb experiences to recount, or snappy blurbs to share, just hit the comment button.

Fashion show

You look back and you think, 'How did that happen?' How did Caroline get addicted to gambling? With a bit of perspective, I can see that she was bored at work. She normally puts every ounce of her energy into her career, and I guess that energy found a new outlet when she agreed to help some business colleagues that she met at a Milan fashion show. Here's a sneak preview from Shameless Corruption which will be published in June.

With the third wave of models, lights flashed on and off and dry ice swirled across the stage, giving the stunned audience glimpses of the fashion future. Nipples poked through holes in flimsy bras or were brazenly displayed on a balcony quarter cups. Thongs framed perfect bottoms and only half concealed the models’ shaven crotches. Assorted chokers, bracelets, anklets and chains hinted at dungeons and danger.

Caroline was on the edge of her seat, staring open mouthed at the parade of near naked women. She couldn’t relate to the women or the clothing. There was nothing real about it. Cosimo leaned over and spoke into her ear above the loud music, pointing at a pair of knickers constructed of loops of material which followed the contours of the model’s arse.

“I would like to see that piece on you. Your derriere would do it justice.”

“In your dreams, Cosimo. They only make this stuff in tiny sizes.” Caroline imagined the loops of silver material gracing her rear, but then saw herself getting caught on a door handle and pulling the whole thing off.

Cosimo poured more champagne into Caroline’s glass and harangued the ex-footballer turned fashionista. “Such a waste, Giovanni. Why can’t you make clothes for a normal, beautiful woman?”

Giovanni laughed. “Patience, my friend. We have a short break now, then you will see the exotic range. Those models have a real woman’s figure.”

...Before Bertrand could drag Caroline off for a private meeting, lights started flashing and a drum roll built to a crescendo. While the audience fixed their eyes expectantly on the stage, ten models appeared on the floor of the hall, one for each of the tables. Photographers crowded in to capture the moment the models climbed on the tables, firing a frenzy of rapid flashes. The stunt allowed the audience a close up view of Giovanni’s exotic range as the models turned, bent, and gyrated to the beat of the drums.

As Giovanni had promised, the models had breasts, thighs, and hips, of sufficient curvature to display the sculpted underwear. A scientist would have marvelled at the properties of modern fabrics, infused with exactly the correct percentage of Lycra to stay intimate with the skin. An economist would have been impressed at the use of such a small amount of material in an expensive item of clothing. An artist would have been proud to have painted such designs straight on to the models’ bodies.

Close to their audience, the models engaged the eyes of the watchers. They put on a burlesque show, hooking their fingers into the magic fabric and sliding the bottoms down a little way, and pushing out their breasts. The ten models in different outfits moved from table to table, giving each party an eyeful of the latest exotic fashions. Cosimo insisted on helping the models down from their table, chattering away to them in Italian; anxious, he explained to Giovanni, that they should not sprain an ankle.

One very attractive model had red hair like Caroline’s, only cut in a bob. She smiled at Caroline and gave her a wink. Her outfit was black, with high waisted bottoms and a full cupped bra, but with sheer triangular cut outs in random places, figure shaping but hinting at availability. It was Caroline’s turn to lean over to Cosimo.

“Now that’s more my thing. I could even wear it under a business suit.”

Cosimo pointed at Caroline and then at the model. “Giovanni, she likes this one. Can she have it?”

“Of course, but she must try it for size first.” Giovanni stood and spoke in the model Letizia’s ear. “Please take my guest Caroline to the changing area when you have circled every table.”