Life in the outside lane

Well, that was a weekend. I may still be drunk, I’m not sure. Nothing like celebrating losing your job so publicly that you’ll never work in the industry again by going out and spending far too much money on booze.

Essentially, Surer Risk can go to hell. I’m done with them. One door closes so another gets kicked in, as they say.

What I did want to say, now I don’t have to be nice about Surer Risk any more, is a bit of an explanation about what happened on Saturday. Apart from the bit where I got fired. The pretext, prequel, whatever you want. I’m going to keep it short because the noise from this keyboard is making my head hurt.

Last month I went over to France, following a trail of clues. This was not a work thing, this was a personal bit of exploration. Someone had fed me some evidence that looked a trail leading to a WWII-era cache in… I’m not going to say where. I found the place, and dug it up.

But it wasn’t WWII. It was modern. Judging by the hallmarks on the gold, no more than ten years old. And the hallmarks are from a company that Surer has… let’s call it a ‘strategic alliance’ with. Plus some documents in a sealed envelope that I didn’t open and no longer own.

I’ve been asking questions, and nobody’s been giving me answers. That was the reason I got busted onto desk duty at work, and then defenestrated at the Trustees Meeting, ‘Gross misconduct’ my ass. They wanted me out of the picture.

But that doesn’t answer the question: who’s burying gold in France, and why? I went back to the person who set me on its path. Called herself Snow White. Trail’s gone cold. If you know anything about this character, contact me urgently: I need to speak to her.

I know the Fan knows something, but all I get is silence there too.

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