CHAPTER THIRTY
“How is the British press handling the accusations?” asked one of the executives.
“They aren’t,” said Maximus. “At least not for now. Two journalists that we know of have a scant amount of intel, but we’ve paid them enough to stay quiet. For now.”
“But how long will they sit on a story this juicy?” asked another executive.
“A week tops,” said Maximus. “And that’s no guarantee.”
“When will we know what the accusations are?” asked a third executive.
“Not until I’ve spoken again with the Prime Minister,” said William. “Myself and Max are the only two people who have full knowledge of what those accusations are. I’m going to keep it that way for now.”
“And if it hits the press before you can damage control?”
“Then our already herculean job will just get more difficult,” William said as his phone rang.
Sloane picked up his phone and looked at the Caller ID.
“Who is it?” William asked her. Nobody phoned him personally except in emergencies.
“It’s Bobby,” Sloane said.
William took his phone and answered. “I’m in a meeting, Bobby.”
“It’s Joy, sir.”
William froze. “What about Joy?”
Sloane looked at him.
“She was in a horrific car crash.”
William’s heart dropped. “What?”
“I’m on my way to the hospital now.”
William didn’t wait for details. He hopped up and hurried out of that conference room.
“Sir, what’s the matter?” asked Sloane. “Sir?” She ran behind him.
“Tell the pilot to wait here,” ordered Maximus to the confused executives. “I’ll find out what’s going on and let you know.” Then Max hurried out of the conference room, up the aisle, and off of the plane too.
He ran across the tarmac as William and Sloane were getting onto the backseat of William’s Mercedes that was never to leave the airfield until after the plane had taken off.
He hopped onto the front seat, replacing the bodyguard that was forced to find a different mode of transportation from the airfield, as William’s driver sped them away.