‘A lot,’ said Gunni. ‘Three million dollars’ worth. Which is supposed to be worth five million now. But may be worth nothing.’
Dísa could feel herself blushing. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t her fault at all. She had never told Gunni to buy any Thomocoin — she didn’t even know he had. Gunni was a grown-up businessman; he could make his own decisions about investments.
But she could easily believe that Mum had urged him on.
And together with the Thomocoin she was due to inherit, she felt she had inherited her mother’s guilt as well.
They had reached the river, which here paused to form a broad pool among the water meadows. Two swans drifted towards them. They turned and retraced their steps back up the slope towards the farm. From down here, Dalvík was out of sight, but the ever-present island of Hrísey sunned itself out in the fjord.
‘I want the money back, Dísa. I want it now.’
The voice was low and urgent and commanding.
‘What?’
‘I want you to repay your mother’s loan.’
‘But I can’t,’ said Dísa. ‘You know Mum had no cash. That was why she had to borrow from you in the first place.’
‘You have the private key to her Thomocoin,’ Gunni said. ‘Helga told me once she’d told you where it’s hidden. Don’t deny it.’
Dísa considered doing exactly that. But instinct told her the way to beat Gunni wasn’t to lie to him.
She stopped and turned to face him. She was a good six inches taller than him. But he was powerful and used to intimidating men bigger than her. He looked up at her, his square jaw thrust towards her. He took a step forward.
‘Yes, I do,’ she said.
‘In that case, transfer two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of Thomocoin to my wallet now.’
Dísa swallowed.
‘No,’ she said.
‘What do you mean, no? Your mother owed me the money. I want it back.’
‘Have you spoken to Grandpa about this?’
‘No. But I will if necessary. I am sure he can be made to understand the right thing to do.’
He probably could, thought Dísa. Grandpa would crumble.
But she wouldn’t.
‘It’s Monday tomorrow. Grandpa is going to see the lawyer about Mum’s estate. I’ll go with him. If you are right and you can prove you lent Mum the money — and I believe you, by the way — then you can talk to the lawyer about how to get it back from the estate. Only then will I transfer the Thomocoin.’
‘But that’s why I’m talking to you now. You could do it just like that.’ Gunni clicked his fingers. ‘On your phone.’
‘No,’ said Dísa, looking right into Gunni’s hard blue eyes. ‘Anyway, why do you want Thomocoin if it’s worthless?’
‘I’ll get what I can take,’ said Gunni. He jabbed a short finger at Dísa’s face. ‘I liked your mother. But if she is responsible for losing me three and a quarter million bucks, I swear I won’t rest until I’ve got it back. From you.’
Dísa kept her voice calm. ‘I understand we owe you the money you lent Mum. But if you decided to buy that much Thomocoin, that’s your problem. Not mine.’
Anger erupted in Gunni’s eyes. He dropped his arm and his fingers clenched into a fist. For a moment Dísa thought he was going to hit her. She wanted to flinch, close her eyes, raise her arm, duck her head, but she didn’t.
She forced herself to stare into that anger.
‘Stupid bitch,’ he muttered and turned on his heel. Dísa swayed as she watched him stride back towards the farm.
She needed to find her mother’s USB stick and put the paper copy of the private key back in its hiding place.
But if Gunni was right — and Dísa feared he was — it wouldn’t matter if all her mother’s Thomocoin was stolen. It was all worthless anyway.
She looked up the valley to Blábrekka, standing proudly on the lower slopes of the mountain. That would be gone.
And it wouldn’t just be Gunni who would lose money. People all over Dalvík had trusted her mother and trusted Thomocoin. Dalvík was a small place and people had long memories. In twenty years’ time, people would pass Dísa in the street and think she was the woman who’d lost them or their family their life savings.
They would be just like Gunni. They wouldn’t forgive.
Why, oh why had her mother been so stupid, so greedy, as to pull in all those other people? All she’d needed to do was sell the bitcoin Dísa had given her, pay down the mortgage and forget cryptocurrencies.
And why borrow money from Gunni, of all people?
Probably because he was the only one who would lend it to her.
Mum had really screwed up. And then left Dísa to clear up after her. For a second, maybe two, Dísa felt a flash of anger towards her mother, followed by a cold wave of remorse.
Mum was dead. Despite that fact taking up all the space in her head, she still couldn’t quite believe it.
A tear leaked out of her eye. Dad had warned her. ‘Don’t tell Helga,’ he had said.
But she had.
It was Dísa’s fault. It was all her fault.
Sixteen
Krakatoa stared at his laptop screen. He was kind of enjoying this. Even though he knew the shit was about to hit the fan big time.
TUBBYMAN: What about $361 for the price tomorrow? I think the guys need a bit of good news. And bitcoin’s going gangbusters.
KRAKATOA: OK Tubs. Go for it. But give them a hiccup in a couple of days. Don’t want to make it too easy for them. How are sales?
TUBBYMAN: Uganda’s going crazy. We sold $1m+ yesterday.
KRAKATOA: Nothing from the States?
TUBBYMAN: Nothing for a week.
KRAKATOA: That’s good. We need to shut down in the States.
TUBBYMAN: The Netherlands is still going strong. And Poland.
KRAKATOA: Good to hear. Thanks Tubs.
She was good, Tubbyman. She had a real feel for market psychology; she should have been a trader in some bank somewhere — she would have made a fortune. She knew just when to give the Thomocoin investors a little encouragement and when to give them those down days that added the element of danger that kept them playing.
She was the one who set the Thomocoin price every day. Although she went by Tubbyman, she was actually an extremely thin thirty-four-year-old American woman called Jessica who lived in Berlin. Thomocoin was the ultimate ‘working from home’ organization; coronavirus lockdowns had no effect on business. Krakatoa employed people all over the world. He paid them well — in bitcoin usually, or Thomocoin if they preferred. He insisted on knowing who they really were. He also insisted that they should never know who he was, just that he lived in British Columbia and worked odd hours.
And that they should never cross him.
TECUMSEH: Job done.
KRAKATOA: Where did you hide the knife?
TECUMSEH: The shed by the side of the house. In a kayak.
KRAKATOA: Good work. I’ll transfer the bitcoin now.
TECUMSEH: Shall I go to the airport?
KRAKATOA: No. You’ll never get back in if they tighten the tourist restrictions further. But get out of Dalvík. Go back south. Lose yourself in Reykjavík.
TECUMSEH: I’ll need $1500 a day waiting time.
KRAKATOA: $1000.
TECUMSEH: Those are my rates. I prefer to leave the country now. And there’s a risk staying here.
KRAKATOA: OK. $1500. Wait for my instructions.
Fifteen hundred seemed steep for doing not much, but Krakatoa could afford it. And he might need Tecumseh to act quickly in the next few days.
He logged into one of the four crypto-exchanges where he held bitcoin and transferred sixty thousand dollars’ worth to Tecumseh’s wallet.