THE DISRUPTER

A documentary script

Chapter One: The Logic of Disruption

(Black screen. Subtle string music begins. A narrator with a composed, British
accent speaks as archival photos of financial districts and trading floors from the
1990s and early 2000s fade in.)
Narrator:
In a world defined by convention, he stood apart.
Not by design, but by nature.
Where others saw limits, he found leverage.
Where experts saw complexity, he saw code—patterns, inconsistencies, opportunity.
(Fade in: early 2000s footage of the City of London. Cut to visual diagrams
of financial structures.)
This is the story of a man who solved problems not by following the rules—
but by understanding who wrote them, and why.
On-screen title: Iain Clifford Stamp – The Disrupter
Narrator:
In the 1990s and early 2000s, Iain Clifford Stamp was no ordinary financial planner.
He became a quiet force behind solutions that lawyers and accountants couldn't see
—yet trusted completely.
Thousands of high-net-worth clients were referred to him, not because he followed
financial doctrine, but because he questioned it.
(Montage: stylized reenactment of Iain sketching financial structures on a
glass wall. Voiceover continues as diagrams animate.)
One of his earliest breakthroughs came in 2001.
SAGA, Prudential, and Bank of Scotland signed a contract to market a novel
financial structure developed by Iain.
He used equitable charges over property to unlock income for elderly
homeowners.
The capital was invested in single premium life policies, while a credit line from
Bank of Scotland was used to acquire discounted with-profits life insurance
assets.
The arbitrage between policy bonuses and credit cost generated a stable 5%
tax-exempt income—
without putting the homeowner’s property at risk.
(Cut to: original documents, marketing materials, contract excerpts. A
graph shows income vs credit cost.)
It was elegant.
It was efficient.
And it completely rewrote the rulebook.
Narrator:
He didn’t stop there.
Between 2001 and 2008, Iain created twelve structured planning solutions—all
rooted in financial logic but defiant of orthodoxy.
They were called The Maximiser Plans.
Based on arbitrage between the growth rate of with-profits endowments and
borrowing costs, the plans generated surplus cash flows for:
 Mortgage repayments
 Retirement income
 Care fees
 School tuition
 Business liquidity
Over £100 million was invested.
The future value of these portfolios exceeded £1 billion.
(Cut to: interview excerpts from former clients or advisors. Quotes fade in
on screen: “Revolutionary.” “It just made sense.” “No one else was doing
this.”)
Narrator:
When corporations faced pension deficits, Iain saw past liabilities.
He saw mortality mispricing.
By assembling portfolios of US life settlement policies, he built a model that
produced 8% annual cash flows, matching pension payments with actuarial
certainty.
It drew $80 million in venture capital and was later adopted by Vida Capital,
which today manages over $15 billion.
(Cut to: boardroom scenes, portfolios opening with actuarial charts.)
Narrator:
And as ETFs became the new frontier, he moved again—
building a volatility-based ETF allocation model, automatically matching
portfolios to investor risk tolerance.
Rebalanced by statistical triggers, not human fear.
This wasn’t a copy of Scaleable Capital.
This came first.
And it was rooted in Nobel Prize-winning theory.
(Diagrams animate ETF volatility curves and rebalancing mechanics.)
Narrator:
From FX trading to sports betting, he applied the same logic—
find the mispricing, measure the risk, automate the system.
Whether it was 25 currency pairs or 65 football leagues, the model never bet—it
calculated.
(Visuals flash between trading desks, football matches, algorithmic code.)
Then came his most radical work:
The deconstruction of debt.
He built systems that challenged the legitimacy of contracts themselves.
Using bills of exchange, trust law, and the obligations of the Crown and the
United States,
he confronted debt, tax, and financial lack not as moral debts—but commercial
fiction.
(Cut to: legal notices, affidavits, diagrams of the Bills of Exchange Act
1882.)
Then came his most radical work:
Not in markets.
But in law, money, and jurisdiction.
(Cut to: images of legal documents, tax forms, vintage Treasury bonds.)
He realized that debt was not a moral obligation—
but a system of credit issuance and abandonment.
By studying IRS Publication 1212, and the rules of Original Issue Discount
(OID),
he discovered that banks were operating as nominee holders of abandoned
securities.
Every loan, every payment, every charge—was already monetized in the
background.
Through a carefully constructed 98 Grantor Trust,
he built a filing model that reclaimed abandoned credit—
mortgage payments, court fines, tax bills, and more—
by filing tax returns to the Internal Revenue Service, leveraging the same system
the banks used.
This was not tax evasion.
It was credit recoupment.
A remedy hidden in plain sight.
(Cut to: ledger entries showing negative liabilities turning into credits. A
page flips showing IRS Form 1099-OID.)
Narrator:
In the eyes of the establishment, these weren’t just solutions—
They were disruptions.
They undermined legacy institutions.
They exposed the inefficiencies of systems held together by ignorance and inertia.
But they worked—
and that made them dangerous.
(Fade to black. Quiet pause.)
Narrator:
This is not the story of a financial advisor.
This is the story of a critical thinker.
A man who solved problems others couldn’t.
Because he asked questions others wouldn’t.

THE DISRUPTER
Chapter Two: The Patsy
(Fade in: 2001 – A high-rise boardroom. Morning light filters through the glass.
Documents on the table bear the names Integrity, Bank of Scotland, Prudential.
Narrator begins in calm, solemn tone.)
Narrator:
In 2001, after the groundbreaking success of a financial solution designed to
provide risk-free, high income for elderly homeowners, Integrity and its founder, Iain
Clifford Stamp, were riding high.
Bank of Scotland, which would later become part of Halifax Bank of Scotland and
then Lloyds, had approved and backed this plan. But within months, they pivoted.
They withdrew from the public venture—and instead offered Iain and Integrity
something bigger: an unlimited private credit line.
The model was simple. High-net-worth clients contributed 20%. The bank financed
the remaining 80%, allowing the acquisition of discounted with-profits
endowment policies from the consumer market.
Iain had built an actuarial model capable of identifying undervalued policies where
future bonuses would outpace the cost of borrowing. The resulting arbitrage
produced reliable cash flows used to fund mortgages, care costs, and retirement
income—solutions outlined in Chapter One.
It was a masterpiece of financial engineering.
But what Iain couldn’t have known… was that the bank behind it was already
collapsing.
(Cut to: archival footage of bank corridors, 2005–2007.)
By 2005, Bank of Scotland was technically insolvent. The public didn’t know.
But insiders at the FSA, the Treasury, the Bank of England, and senior
government did. The plan? Cover it up—and prepare for one of the largest asset
seizures in UK history.
Starting in 2007, HBOS and RBS would seize over £90 billion of customer-owned
assets.
Integrity and Iain Clifford Stamp were made the fall guys.
Narrator:
Because it was Integrity’s name on the brochures. Integrity on the plan
documentation. And while Bank of Scotland managed the loans and custody,
Integrity had visibility. It was, to them, the perfect shield.
In 2007, Iain was summoned to a meeting in Edinburgh.
There, he was told the bank would change the valuation method for the very life
insurance assets that backed these plans.
This change would trigger a default across all credit facilities. 5,000 investor
accounts. £400 million in current value. Over £1 billion in future value.
Investors were given an impossible choice: inject more capital or allow the bank to
cash out the policies—destroying both their 20% stake and the plan.
Narrator:
Iain protested. For nearly a year, he challenged the bank’s intentions. But then
came the ultimatum.
He was taken aside by a senior executive at HBOS and offered a deal:
"Either you support us… or we destroy you."
He didn’t believe they could. He refused.
And they followed through.
Narrator:
Starting in 2008, plans were collapsed. Investors were wiped out. The FSA
launched an inquiry, not into the banks—but into Integrity.
The accusation? That Integrity had breached regulatory principles. That the losses
were its fault.
But Integrity had no control over the credit lines. No authority over the custody of
assets. It was a marketing entity—a regulated promoter and arranger of deals
that were bank-driven.
Narrator:
Then came the FCA’s summons. Iain and his Finance Director, Paul Adams, met
three senior regulators at Canary Wharf.
On the table: Integrity’s audited accounts.
The accusation: Insolvency.
They claimed a multi-million pound loan to the holding company didn’t exist,
despite having been audited and accepted for three consecutive years by Grant
Thornton.
“If we say it doesn’t exist—it doesn’t.”
That’s what the FCA told Iain.
The campaign against him had begun.
Narrator:
Within weeks, the FCA wrote to all 250 wealth managers distributing the Maximiser
Plans—suggesting they'd mis-sold them.
Panic ensued. Complaints flooded in.
Iain called a board meeting with his directors, lawyers from Rosenblatt and DLA
Piper, and auditors from Grant Thornton.
The conclusion? An impossible choice:
 Keep fighting and risk losing permissions.
 Or liquidate Integrity.
He chose liquidation.
Narrator:
Rosenblatt’s Nigel Frudd introduced Iain to Peter Middleton of Middleton Partners,
who promised to handle the process with integrity.
But Middleton betrayed him.
Integrity was sold in secret—reportedly for millions, but only £50,000 was
declared. The firm had multiple ongoing income streams.
While Iain was on holiday in the Bahamas, Middleton phoned:
“I had to take a deal from the FCA. They were going to fine the firm £350,000…
unless I agreed it had breached regulatory principles.”
He took the deal. Without consent. Without notice.
Narrator:
Integrity was publicly censured.
The media pounced. Headlines accused the firm of fraud, mismanagement, even
driving clients to suicide.
Iain was erased. Twenty years of work—gone. Reputation—destroyed.
He complained to the FCA. He asked them to re-examine the censure. Margaret
Cole, Head of Enforcement, refused.
Narrator:
And still, it got worse.
Between 2011 and 2012, the FSCS paid out £80 million to investors—wrongly. The
Queen’s Counsel report used to justify the payout was based on false
information supplied by the regulator.
The real liability? It belonged to Bank of Scotland, now merged with Lloyds Bank.
The forced merger tanked Lloyds’ share price—from over £10 to under £1.
Shareholders sued. They lost.
Meanwhile, Peter Middleton—the man who executed Integrity’s liquidation—was
later struck off and bankrupted. The only liquidator in UK history to suffer that fate.
Narrator:
So what was the truth?
Integrity was never the villain. It was the patsy—used to absorb the shock of a
billion-pound cover-up.
A cover-up directed by failing banks. Enabled by a complicit regulator. Presided over
by Andrew Bailey, then head of the Financial Services Authority—now Governor of
the Bank of England.
What followed… was years of silence. Years of isolation. Years of rebuilding.
But the man they tried to destroy? He was only getting started.

Chapter Three: The Pension Deficit Solution

(Fade in: A map of the United States, overlayed with actuarial tables and graphs.
Cut to Iain speaking at a whiteboard in a Texas office. Calm, confident tone.)
Narrator:
As his business was being dismantled in the UK, Iain Clifford Stamp was already
building a new solution—one that would transcend national borders and challenge
the very foundations of global pension deficits.
He had identified a critical flaw in how pension funds managed liabilities: the
mismatch between pension liabilities and dependable income-generating assets.
Narrator:
His solution? A new asset class: US life settlement policies. Bought on the
secondary market from insured American seniors, these policies offered something
almost no other asset could:
Predictable, mortality-based cash flows.
Narrator:
Iain set up three licensed companies in the United States to acquire these
policies legally and compliantly. He worked with UK and US actuaries to build a
mortality model that identified the value of purchasing these policies at a discount.
The outcome was revolutionary: a low-risk, high-certainty yield, ideal for
pension trustees who needed cash flows to match pensioners’ monthly payments—
without exposing themselves to volatile market risk.
Narrator:
But scale was essential. And for that, Iain needed investment infrastructure.
He began building a regulated collective investment scheme in Ireland,
structured so that under the US-Ireland double taxation treaty, all life insurance
maturities would be tax-free.
The Central Bank of Ireland reviewed and—after three years—approved what
became the first-ever authorised US life settlement fund in Europe.
Narrator:
At the same time, Iain met a man named Jeff Serra in the United States—founder
of what would become Vida Capital. They aligned quickly.
Jeff had acquired a licensed life settlement provider called Magna, and Iain had
three licensed acquisition vehicles. Together, they mapped a plan to market this
investment model:
 Jeff would lead in the US.
 Iain would lead in Europe.
Narrator:
They pitched the idea to a Texas-based venture capital group. Iain presented the
actuarial model, the infrastructure, and the pension deficit solution.
The response was emphatic: $80 million of venture capital was committed—
channeled into Vida Capital’s US operations.
Narrator:
And it worked.
Iain launched the listed investment product, the Strategic Life Settlement Fund,
aligning it with the US infrastructure developed in partnership with Jeff. The model
had all the hallmarks pension trustees wanted:
 Predictable cash flow
 Low correlation to equity markets
 Potential for credit ratings from S&P (A to AA+)
Narrator:
But then came the sabotage.
The FCA in London initiated a thematic review of the life settlement market,
triggered in part by issues with an unrelated fund, EEA, that had grossly
mismanaged their asset acquisition.
Iain was invited to participate in the review—his identity as the man behind Integrity
unknown to the junior FCA staff.
He submitted a detailed technical report explaining how US life settlements could
be the perfect asset to close pension deficits—safe, actuarially sound, and
transparent.
Narrator:
Weeks later, the response came not as thanks—but as destruction.
Margaret Cole, then head of enforcement, issued a press release branding life
settlements:
“Toxic Death Bonds.”
Narrator:
The UK media picked up the headline and ran with it. Overnight, the European life
settlement market was eviscerated.
Investment funds shut down. Distributors abandoned the asset class. Iain’s
regulated fund was buried by perception, not performance.
His part of the global joint venture with Vida Capital collapsed.
Narrator:
But in the United States, the story continued.
Jeff Serra and Vida Capital scaled Iain’s model and today manage over $15 billion
in assets, much of it from US pension funds.
The structure, strategy, and even the actuarial model had its roots in Iain’s creation.
Narrator:
Back in Europe, the damage was done. Not to the banks this time—but to the
solution. To the very model that could have helped hundreds of struggling pension
schemes recover.
Why?
Because the FCA had no interest in fixing the system. Their loyalty, Iain realised,
was not to the pensioner—but to the product providers.
Big institutions. High charges. Low outcomes.
That was the real status quo.
And that was what Iain’s work threatened.
Narrator:
The European chapter of the pension solution was closed.
But the model lived on.
And Iain… wasn’t done.
Title card: The Disrupter – Chapter Four: Currencies, Algorithms, and the
FCA’s Long Arm

Chapter Four: Ark Astrella and the Hilton Deception

(Fade in: A helicopter landing on a country estate. Subtle tension builds in the
music. Aerial shot of lush grounds. Fade to Iain opening his front door. Narrator
begins:)
Narrator:
In 2011, with Integrity dismantled and his life settlement pension solution crushed
by regulatory sabotage, Iain Clifford Stamp was looking for a new challenge.
That challenge came from a man named Richard Aston Clay.
Narrator:
He arrived by helicopter—with an entourage: a lawyer, an accountant, and an
architect. His pitch? A contract to build 80 Hilton Hotels across the United
Kingdom.
The project was ambitious. Richard needed over £100 million. He claimed Hilton
would operate the hotels, and rental yields would provide stable returns to
investors. Occupancy over 65% meant high profitability.
Narrator:
Iain saw potential. He still had staff. Still had offices. Still had the drive.
He spent six months and £500,000 building a fully regulated collective investment
scheme in the Channel Islands—a fund designed to attract international high-net-
worth capital.
Within weeks of launch, Iain raised £20 million from trusted wealth management
contacts—individuals who still believed in him despite the smears from the FCA.
Narrator:
But there was more beneath the surface.
Richard had also been raising money via debentures—secured loans against newly
formed limited companies. These were promoted through self-invested personal
pensions (SIPPs), administered by a firm called Hampton Dean, with Catherine
Clarke as trustee.
Over £50 million had been raised this way.
Richard invited Iain to become a pension trustee. Iain agreed—on one condition:
full access to the books.
Narrator:
Within two weeks, the cracks became canyons. The documentation was sparse. The
property investments—ski resorts in Fernie, Canada; hotels in Bansko, Bulgaria;
luxury developments in Cape Verde—were illusions.
Iain visited the locations.
They didn’t exist.
What did exist was a money funnel—channeling pension investments straight into
Richard’s personal ventures, via an Isle of Man trust company: Herald Trust,
operated by Ben Bryant.
Narrator:
When Iain confronted Bryant, the trust executive denied wrongdoing. But Iain had
seen the truth.
He travelled to Nottingham for a scheduled investor meeting with representatives
from Hilton Hotels, Yorkshire Bank, and legal and architectural teams.
In the meeting, Iain stood up and declared:
“This project is a fraud. I’m withdrawing my £20 million fund and resigning from all
involvement.”
Narrator:
Outside the room, Richard pulled Iain aside—furious. He offered a £10 million
bribe to stay quiet.
Iain refused.
He returned to his office and compiled a comprehensive dossier of evidence—
sent it to:
 The Serious Fraud Office
 The FCA
 The Pensions Regulator
 Companies House
And then… silence.
Narrator:
But Iain didn’t just walk away with words—he did what few in the industry would. He
returned the £20 million to investors. He paid full commission to all the wealth
management firms that had marketed the fund in good faith. And he personally
absorbed the loss of the £500,000 used to build the Channel Islands fund
structure.
In total, he lost over £2 million.
He chose truth over profit. Integrity over complicity.
A costly decision. But a demonstration of the values he refused to abandon.
Narrator:
The SFO said they’d “get back to him.” They didn’t.
Until years later—when Richard Aston Clay was finally arrested and jailed for 10
years, and Catherine Clarke received a two-year suspended sentence.
Narrator:
Iain was contacted by Nottingham Police to provide a formal witness statement.
But the next day, he received an anonymous call—from a blocked number.
“It wouldn’t be in your interest to give evidence.”
The caller hung up.
The following day, Nottingham Police cancelled the meeting.
Narrator:
Why?
Because had Iain’s evidence been submitted, it would have exposed the FCA’s
failure to act on his detailed whistleblowing years earlier.
£50 million in additional investor losses could have been prevented.
But the regulator had done nothing.
And now, they wanted the silence to continue.
Narrator:
It was a chilling moment. A clear message.
The establishment wasn’t interested in truth. Or justice.
Only preservation.
Title card: The Disrupter – Chapter Five: Algorithms, FX, and the Hedge
Fund War

Chapter Five: London Capital Group and the Shadow Ledger

Narrator:
Following the collapse of the Hilton project and years of regulatory
obstruction, Iain turned to what he had spent nearly a decade perfecting:
an algorithmic trading engine tailored to exploit market oscillations across
25 foreign exchange pairs using 125 interlocking algorithms.
Narrator:
Built on a mathematical grid system, the model entered trades counter-
trend and closed trade baskets at pre-set retracement points, ensuring
consistent, low-risk returns. It was tested, hardened in live markets, and
ready.
Narrator:
Iain presented it to a regulated investment firm called IPM. Impressed by
its performance and logic, IPM agreed to a joint venture. Iain’s firm
supplied the algorithmic system; IPM acted as the regulated investment
manager.
Narrator:
The model ran inside managed accounts and a Channel Islands collective
investment fund. Execution was handled by a trusted prime broker:
London Capital Group (LCG), headed by Simon Denham.
Narrator:
LCG reviewed the system, signed on, and integrated the trade execution
pipeline. Performance was strong. Over £20 million flowed into the
strategy. Monthly statements from LCG confirmed success.
Until, suddenly, they didn’t.
Narrator:
Just before Christmas, Simon Denham phoned Iain.
“You better sit down. We’ve discovered an £8 million discrepancy in the
master account.”
Narrator:
The discrepancy meant nearly 40% of investor capital was gone—and
every issued statement had been false. Iain’s name was on those reports.
IPM’s name was on them. But it was LCG’s system executing the trades.
And the reputational fallout would land on Iain.
Narrator:
LCG initially admitted liability. A legal battle began. Iain secured £1.5
million in litigation funding. He added £500,000 of his own capital. It was a
solid case—until LCG bribed Iain’s key witness, former IT director Matthew
Klein.
Narrator:
Klein, based in New York, was pressured by LCG’s legal team:
“If your testimony causes us to lose, we’ll sue you in the U.S. and destroy
your family.”
Narrator:
On the eve of his appearance, Klein’s lawyers issued an ultimatum: accept
a revised testimony or lose the witness. Iain gambled on transparency.
Narrator:
Klein appeared via video. He claimed the algorithmic code contained fatal
errors—and that the £8 million loss was his fault.
Narrator:
The case collapsed. The funders pulled out. High Court costs spiraled at
£40,000 per day. LCG offered £250,000 in settlement—half of what Iain
had spent on the case.
Narrator:
But the worst was yet to come.
Narrator:
A confidential source revealed that the losses were not real—they were
engineered under instruction from the FCA, who had intervened behind
closed doors, directing LCG to apply false trades to destroy the
programme.
Narrator:
Media reports smeared Iain once again. The algorithm was blamed. IPM
exited. LCG evaded accountability. Meanwhile, a separate fund—launched
through the Channel Islands—collapsed after the FCA threatened another
FX prime broker, Hansard, forcing their withdrawal.
Narrator:
Iain compensated investors. The fund closed. The FX platform was buried.
Another innovation destroyed. Another chapter censored in plain sight.
Title card: The Disrupter – Chapter Six: The Retail Pension Solution
Chapter Six: The FCA Stonewalls and the Judicial Maze
Narrator:
After walking away from Richard Aston Clay’s fraudulent empire, Iain returned to
familiar territory: trying to reclaim his rightful place in the regulated financial world.
Narrator:
He had never been personally censured—only the firm Integrity had been. Margaret
Cole of the FCA had confirmed this in writing. So, starting in 2011, Iain filed not one
but seven separate FCA applications for a regulatory license.
Each one followed the same pattern: delays, redundant questions, procedural
evasions. None were ever approved. None were ever denied. The FCA simply ran
down the statutory clock, forcing each attempt to expire without conclusion.
Narrator:
Iain even attempted to acquire an existing licensed firm by changing its control
structure. The FCA stalled that too.
Narrator:
By the seventh failed attempt, it was clear: the FCA was stonewalling. Iain
pivoted. If the regulator wouldn’t address the truth through licensing, perhaps the
courts would.
He worked with Paul Needus, an advocate for investors who had lost money in the
Maximiser Plans. Initially skeptical, Needus soon understood that the fault did not lie
with Iain—but with the Bank of Scotland, who had seized the assets, and with the
FCA, who facilitated the cover-up.
Narrator:
Together, they built a legal strategy. Two major London law firms agreed to
represent the investors, bolstered by evidence that the £80 million FSCS payout
had been misdirected. Funding was on the table. But every time a funder showed
interest, they were warned off—behind the scenes, by regulatory insiders.
The lawsuit collapsed under pressure.
Narrator:
Undeterred, Iain pursued a judicial review of the FCA’s actions—enabled by a
formal rejection from the FCA Complaints Commissioner, which opened the legal
door.
The case was accepted and filed at the High Court in the Strand.
Narrator:
But then, it was moved to Cardiff—hundreds of miles from Iain’s residence. There,
it was struck out. Iain appealed, and the case was reinstated… only to be moved
again, this time to Bristol High Court.
Narrator:
When Iain arrived at the courtroom in Bristol, he noticed something odd—no other
attendees in the corridor. He entered the courtroom early, only to find the judge,
FCA lawyers, and Complaints Commissioner counsel in private discussion.
They scattered as he entered. The hearing began. And then came the trap.
“Why are you here, Mr. Stamp?” the judge asked.
Iain pointed to the judicial review documentation.
The judge replied:
“This court does not award damages in judicial reviews. You’ll need to return to the
Strand.”
Narrator:
Iain objected. He had precedents in hand—two Bristol cases where damages had
been awarded.
The judge insisted:
“You’ll also need to post £500,000 in costs to have the case heard in London.”
Unable to raise that amount immediately, the case was closed down.
Narrator:
Months later, the FCA’s legal team demanded costs. Iain challenged them:
“Prove the hearing ever lawfully occurred at Bristol High Court.”
No reply ever came.
Narrator:
The judicial path, like the regulatory one, was closed.
Justice, it seemed, was a private club. And Iain Clifford Stamp was not invited.
Title card: The Disrupter – Chapter Six: Algorithms, FX, and the Hedge
Fund War

Chapter seven: The Retail Pension Solution

Narrator:
Undeterred by the FCA’s repeated sabotage, Iain Clifford Stamp pivoted once more.
If the regulators wouldn’t license him, he would build solutions outside their control
—but still within the boundaries of the law.
Narrator:
He identified a lawful route forward: license his algorithmic trading systems to
regulated investment managers. He wouldn’t manage funds—he’d provide the
software, design the solutions, and leave execution and compliance in the hands of
the FCA-authorised firms.
In 2016, Iain met Puresh Shah, CEO of Stargate Capital Management, and
presented a vision: a retail pension solution built on ETF volatility modelling and
FX grid-trading algorithms.
Narrator:
The idea was bold and simple. Millions of UK personal pensions sat unmanaged or
poorly allocated. Iain had built an algorithm that could analyze 4,000 global ETFs,
score them by volatility, and construct portfolios tailored to an investor’s downside
risk tolerance—from 1% to 10%.
The portfolios would automatically rebalance based on volatility triggers, ensuring
optimal performance while protecting against large drawdowns. For diversification
and added performance, Iain also deployed a 125-algorithm FX grid system, capable
of producing 2% monthly returns with minimal drawdown.
Narrator:
Iain built an end-to-end infrastructure: pension transfer automation, compliance
workflows, custody, reporting, and fund execution. He partnered with two major
marketing firms, giving access to over 20,000 pension holders ready to transfer.
Narrator:
Stargate Capital Management licensed the algorithmic systems. Everything was
ready. Then, the FCA struck again.
Narrator:
They summoned Puresh Shah to Canary Wharf.
“Are you working with Iain Clifford Stamp?”
Puresh answered truthfully: “Yes.”
The FCA responded:
“We believe he may be managing funds without authorisation.”
Narrator:
Puresh explained that Iain was not managing money—he was licensing algorithmic
tools. But it made no difference. The FCA suspended Stargate Capital
Management and issued a supervisory notice—naming Iain 75 times in a
document supposedly about Stargate.
Narrator:
The FCA published the notice, then secretly redacted and backdated it the next day.
But Iain had downloaded the original. Armed with evidence, he requested standing
in the Upper Tribunal, typically inaccessible to unregulated parties.
A judge agreed to hear him.
In court, the FCA denied publishing the document. Iain presented the unredacted
copy. The judge sided with him and encouraged him to pursue a civil case for
defamation.
Narrator:
Iain declined. The pattern was clear. Justice, again, was protected territory. But the
retail pension solution was dead.
Narrator:
The FCA privately warned Puresh Shah never to work with Iain again or lose
Stargate’s permissions permanently. They intimidated the two marketing
partners, leading to their withdrawal.
Puresh—traumatized and on the brink of suicide—was personally supported by Iain
through the darkest weeks. The FCA, meanwhile, denied all wrongdoing.
Narrator:
Over £2 million of Iain’s money was lost. The pension transfer pipeline collapsed.
Other licensed firms pulled out. And media stories—leaked directly by the FCA—
declared that Iain Clifford Stamp may have been managing funds unlawfully, even
though he was never charged, sanctioned, or censured.
The project was destroyed.
Narrator:
No other investment manager would touch him. The pension model—an innovative,
low-cost, low-risk algorithmic solution—was buried.
Iain knew the truth. But he also knew: survival now depended on moving under the
radar.

Chapter Seven: Mortgage Free and the Matrix Target

Narrator:
In 2019, Iain Clifford launched a new venture under the banner Mortgage Free. It
was based on a little-known legal loophole: the registration gap—a flaw in how UK
mortgages are recorded by the HM Land Registry.
Narrator:
The theory was grounded in academic and legal research. A book titled The
Registration Gap by Elizabeth Cooke, then a senior judge at the Upper Tribunal,
argued that every UK mortgage registration is fundamentally flawed. In
Parliament, Carmel Butler echoed this in 2011, warning MPs that the entire
mortgage system was built on fraud.
Narrator:
Iain authored a comprehensive report that merged both legal authorities and
launched Mortgage Free in partnership with a licensed claims management
firm. The idea: if a mortgage was registered based on an administrative mistake,
the Land Registry’s indemnity scheme could be triggered to compensate
homeowners.
Narrator:
The campaign gained traction. Hundreds of homeowners submitted claims. But
when the Land Registry replied, they admitted the registration gap was real—but
claimed it was common practice, and therefore not compensable.
Narrator:
Then came the FCA.
They contacted the claims management firm and asked a single question:
“Are you working with Iain Clifford Stamp?”
When the firm answered yes, they were threatened with revocation of
permissions. The firm pulled out immediately.
Narrator:
Iain found a second claims firm willing to carry on. But they too were warned by the
FCA. Despite Iain not performing any regulated activity, the FCA targeted and
dismantled every partnership.
Narrator:
The Land Registry refused all compensation. The venture folded. But it was only the
beginning of what the FCA would later escalate into a campaign to criminalise Iain
Clifford Stamp and dismantle Matrix Freedom.
Narrator:
That battle would define the years to come—and form the core of the next chapter.
Title card: The Disrupter – Chapter Eight: Matrix Freedom and the General
Prohibition

Chapter Eight: SENJ Limited and the Seychelles Shutdown

Narrator:
In 2020, within the expanding framework of Matrix Freedom, Iain Clifford brought
in a strategic partner—SENJ Limited, a firm incorporated in the Seychelles, led by
veteran compliance officer Terence “Terry” Franks.
Narrator:
Terry Franks brought with him 40 years of experience in financial services
compliance. His firm, SENJ Limited, was recruited to provide administrative
services for Matrix Freedom Private Members Association—a structure in which
all members had explicitly waived statutory consumer protections in exchange for
private education and administrative support.
Narrator:
SENJ Limited’s role was straightforward: act as a third-party administrator for Matrix
Freedom members who wanted to issue documents challenging the legality of credit
agreements, mortgages, and financial contracts. These were not investment
promotions, nor were they claims under regulatory frameworks.
Narrator:
In 2021, the Financial Conduct Authority issued a letter to SENJ Limited
speculating—without offering any evidence—that it may be providing
unauthorised financial services: specifically, claims management and debt
counselling.
Narrator:
Terry Franks, ever the professional, responded promptly and asked the FCA for
proof. None was provided.
Narrator:
With no evidence forthcoming, Franks informed the FCA the matter was closed
unless substantiated. But the FCA didn’t drop the matter—instead, they published
a warning notice online, alleging that SENJ may be offering unauthorised
services.
Narrator:
Simultaneously, Companies House in the Seychelles contacted SENJ Limited
with a veiled threat: continue this work, and the firm will be delisted. Before
long, SENJ Limited was struck off.
Narrator:
There was no trial. No charges. No regulatory hearing. Just an allegation without
proof, followed by the quiet destruction of an administrative firm run by a man
with an unblemished 40-year record.
Narrator:
It was another warning shot. Not just to Iain—but to any firm, anywhere in the
world that dared to work with him.
Narrator:
And it wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter Nine: The Arrest and the Fiction of Justice

Narrator:
In June 2023, Iain Clifford woke to a pounding at his door. Thirteen officers stood
outside with an arrest warrant—not for the man—but for Iain Clifford Stamp, the
Body Corporate.
Narrator:
With no resistance, Iain was taken to Portsmouth Police Investigation Centre,
where FCA officers awaited him. Their allegation: speculative—that the Body
Corporate may be providing unauthorised financial services.
Narrator:
But no evidence was presented. Over 13 hours of questioning, the FCA never
once asked about claims management, debt counselling, or investment
promotions. Each time Iain prompted them, they snapped back:
"You don’t ask the questions—we do."
Narrator:
Following the interview, the FCA imposed a restraint order—Order 34 of 2023. It
required the Body Corporate to report all commercial activity, spending, or
transactions, effectively freezing all freedom of movement or enterprise.
Narrator:
Unable to operate under the oppressive terms of the order, Iain relocated to Bali.
There, he continued to research and guide Matrix Freedom—not as a paid service
provider, but as a visionary behind the solutions. He received no direct payment.
Narrator:
Still, the FCA persisted. Despite years of raids, seized documents, confiscated
devices, and interrogations, they failed to produce evidence that Matrix
Freedom or Iain Clifford Stamp engaged in regulated activities.
Narrator:
What they pursued instead was a technical contempt charge—alleging breach of
Order 34. Not on the grounds of providing regulated services, but for living under
an impossible order.
Narrator:
This strategy echoed the case of Martin Armstrong, featured in The Forecaster.
The pattern was clear: overwhelm, isolate, and incarcerate.
Narrator:
Over 500 sworn witness statements from Matrix Freedom members were served
—each affirming they never received regulated financial services.
Narrator:
The FCA’s lead prosecutor? Alistair Mackenzie—a name with no public office, no
oath, no identity. An invention.
Narrator:
The courtroom? Southwark Crown Court, a venue where no Crown Agent was
in evidence, defying the Crown Agent Act 1995. The judge, Anthony
Baumgartner, unable or unwilling to produce a sworn judicial oath.
Narrator:
Yet the court proceeded. The Attorney-in-Fact, David Ayerst, who lawfully
appeared to represent the estate of the Body Corporate, was forcibly removed by
seven security guards before he could challenge jurisdiction.
Narrator:
The outcome was predetermined. The process—fraud on the court.
Narrator:
In 2024, Justice Sweeting denied a judicial review of Order 34. His ruling? That
Iain’s arguments held “no merit.”
Narrator:
Iain served formal complaints to the Judicial Conduct Investigations Office
(JCIO), demanding review of Baumgartner and Sweeting. He filed notices with
the Serious Fraud Office, implicating Pietro Boffa and Matthew Stone for
colluding in judicial fraud.
Narrator:
Still, the FCA presses forward, clinging to an accusation built not on fact, but on
fiction.
Narrator:
A fiction designed to silence a man—and bury a movement.
Title card: The Disrupter – Chapter Ten: [Next Chapter Title Placeholder]

Chapter Ten: The Republic of Old Souls

Narrator:
From resistance came rebirth.
Narrator:
In the wake of systemic targeting, Matrix Freedom transformed into a global Private
Members Association—The Republic of Old Souls. What began as a spark in the
UK caught fire across Canada, the United States, Australia, New Zealand,
Europe, and Africa, growing to a membership of over 100,000 nationals.
Narrator:
At its core, the Republic is a peaceful, self-declared nation of awakened individuals,
joined not by borders, but by purpose: to lawfully discharge debt and taxes, and
recoup abandoned credit using lawful remedies.
Narrator:
These remedies include Original Issue Discount (OID) methods and filings under
IRS Publication 1212—revealing how banks act as nominee holders of
abandoned securities. This work, pioneered by thinkers like Gene Keating and
Roger Elvick, underpins the Republic’s financial strategies.
Narrator:
Led by Iain Clifford—now declared President of the Republic of Old Souls—the
movement is not only philosophical, but practical:
 Free energy from the atmosphere, inspired by Nikola Tesla
 Clean water from atmospheric condensation
 Food sovereignty through direct-from-farmer supply chains
 Private peer-to-peer internet
 Secure mobile communication networks that bypass legacy towers
 Health systems rooted in Tesla's plasma energy and natural medicine
Narrator:
As the FCA escalates its campaign, Matrix Freedom’s momentum only grows.
The more suppression is applied, the faster the truth spreads.
Narrator:
Nationals of the Republic embrace lawful remedies like the Bills of Exchange
Act 1882, reclaiming what was taken through fraud, and achieving financial
independence. With credit recouped, taxes discharged, and sovereignty affirmed,
they move beyond control and into freedom.
Narrator:
A diplomatic passport—emblem of their lawful independence—will allow travel
beyond borders, as more nations recognise this grassroots republic.
Narrator:
The Republic of Old Souls is not a rebellion. It is a resolution. A peaceful answer to
decades of institutional deception.
Narrator:
Born from persecution, built on truth—it is the culmination of one man’s 15-year
battle for justice.
Narrator:
And it’s just the beginning.