Barry Corby Part 7

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For part 1 click here part 2 click here and part 3 click here and part 4 here and part 5 here  and part 6 here

“You're serious?” Barry Corby looked at the large frame of ArtyMac.
“Yeah, why not? It's the perfect solution.”
“You want me to do a Reggie Perrin and fake my own death?”
“Not your own death, your own assisted suicide. It's different.”
“How is it different? I'm still 'dead'.”
“It’s completely different. Look if you fake your own death and then the press get wind of you transferring your savings to an off-shore account, you’re bound to get caught, right?”

Barry nodded. “Like that canoeist,” he said.

“Exactly, like the canoeist." Arty agreed. “But tell the world you have an incurable disease and there are numerous advantages. Firstly, the press won't run stories about Lulu if they think you are dying, and secondly it gives you time to get your affairs in order before you get reincarnated somewhere else.”

Barry pinched the top of his nose. “I’m not sure.”

“Look it’s simple,” Artymac picked up a pen and started writing on the flipchart in Barry’s office. “Sell your businesses for way below market value to an off-shore investment company. No questions asked, you need a quick sale because you're dying. Then transfer a large sum of that money to Switzerland to pay for the assisted suicide. Again no questions asked, Dignitas doesn’t come cheap.  Then change your will leaving money to a cat charity in Poland, When the time comes, we put out a press statement saying you're dead and you assume your new identity. But here’s the magic; the off-shore investment company is owned by you and the cat charity is yours, so you still have control of your companies, while Lulu on the other hand is left with just enough to keep her in make up for a year.”
Barry had to admit it sounded good. But he still wasn’t sure.

“What if I get caught? If we go public with my disease, won’t I have to show my medical records?
“Who the hell questions someone with a terminal illness?”
Barry swung his chair around and looked out of the window, if he did this he’d never see his wonderful plans for the club come to fruition.
“It’s win-win” Artymac said.  “You keep your companies, keep your money and you keep your reputation. Much better than running the risk of getting some feminist judge in the divorce courts.” Arty moved around to the other side of the desk and clicked the mouse.
“It's all there,” Arty pointed at the spread sheet on the screen.  Barry looked at the figures and the plans.
“Make me chairman of the company, now. You know you can trust me.  Then I can deal directly with you. No one needs to know.” Arty said.
“Won't the press want to know who the new owners of Castleton United are?”
“They might! But it doesn't mean we have to tell them, plenty of football clubs have blurred ownerships. You just announce it is sold to a Dubai trust fund who have put me in charge.”
“It’s genius,” Barry said. “But I don't like it.”
“What other choice do you have?” Arty said.
“Let me think about it.”
“You haven't got long Barry, you're a dying man.”  But Barry didn't answer, he was already deep in thought.