Sheikhs, Lies and Real Estate: The Untold Story of Dubai Read Online Free Page B

role was to capture trades
for equity-linked structured derivatives, and to monitor trading positions and
risk limits. Every day, irate traders would shout at me over the phone about a
trade dispute or an upcoming corporate event. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what
they expected, but rather that I didn’t give a damn, and wasn’t going to let
some guy who was earning ten times what I was talk me into a panic about
something that had no bearing whatsoever on my life. All of my preconceptions
about corporate life were ringing true: the work was boring, the hours were lengthy
and the commute was a nightmare. It wasn’t long before I was deeply de-motivated
and began looking for a way out. 
    To get a fresh perspective on my dreary life, I
arranged to have lunch with Cameron, a close friend I had not seen for over a
year. I had first met Cameron on the London party circuit in my early promoting
days. At the time he was making a fortune exporting mobile phones to Africa,
and he had since invested in a fashionable wine bar in the West End that had
become a regular haunt for the hedge-fund crowd. Today he had his finger in a
number of other pies, from software companies to urban dance schools. He was
well connected with club owners and promoters at all the trendiest London clubs
and restaurants, and had introduced me to some of my biggest Arab clients.
    Cameron oozed success; he was a natural-born
entrepreneur who seemed to excel in everything he touched. He was a living
example of the unshackled lifestyle I had always craved, and I admired him for
making his fortune on his own terms, having never worked for anybody in his
life.
    As I arrived at the restaurant near Green Park,
I instantly spotted him flirting with an attractive brunette waitress who was
giggling like a school girl while he showered her with his boyish charm. This
was classic Cameron: his success with women was legendary and few could resist
his chiselled good looks and piercing blue eyes. He usually wore a permanent
copper complexion owing to his penchant for travelling to exotic locations, but
I noticed that today he was more golden than ever. As I approached the table,
he handed the waitress a business card and she scuttled off with a huge grin.
    ‘Well, well, if it’s not Mr Party Time himself!’
    ‘How are you doing, Cam?’ I replied, smiling. ‘You
look great!’
    ‘Why, thank you. You don’t look too bad
yourself after all the late nights you’ve had. Take a seat, buddy.’
    We ordered some drinks and caught up. He told
me how his wine bar had recently won numerous prestigious awards, how he was
dating an up-and-coming Brazilian supermodel and that he was now thinking of
launching his own lingerie line. He listened carefully as I told him about my
mundane new job, how it lacked the thrill of the old promoting days, and that I
was desperately seeking a new direction.
    ‘My advice to you is you need to think outside
the box, buddy,’ said Cameron after some thought.  
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, you’re doing what everybody is doing.
You’re a sheep and you need to be a wolf. You need to do something that nobody
else has the balls to do.’
    ‘Okay, now you’ve completely lost me.’
    Cameron paused and stared deep into my eyes. ‘Do
you know where I’ve just come back from?’
    ‘Let me guess, somewhere ridiculously hot and
sunny,’ I replied sarcastically.
    He smiled wryly. ‘Go on, take a guess.’
    ‘Cannes, Ibiza, St Tropez...’
    ‘You know me well!’ he laughed. ‘But you’re
wrong. I’ve actually been somewhere quite different this time. I spent last week
in a crazy little place called Dubai.’
    ‘Doo-buy?’
    ‘Yes, Dubai. The world’s fastest-growing city.
Surely you’ve heard of it?’
    I vaguely recalled one of the sheikhs mentioning
he was from Dubai once at the end of a night as I ushered him into a taxi with
a Romanian blonde, but I didn’t know much else about the place. ‘Isn’t it
somewhere in the