5. “Look What You Made Me Do” - Taylor Swift
“Look What You Made Me Do” - Taylor Swift
The hospital discharges me a week later, after confirming I suffered no brain damage from the impact.
My list of prescriptions is as long as a grocery list, and I’m accompanied by a private nurse, because while I may be able to lead a country, I sure as heck can’t be trusted to open a bottle of pills on my own.
“It’s only for a few weeks, until you feel more like yourself,” Maisie says. We’re in the sitting room of my private suite, where all of my meetings are being held until a doctor deems it safe for me to walk through my own home.
“I feel perfectly normal,” I say. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
She gulps down some of her coffee—likely her tenth cup this morning—before crossing and uncrossing her legs.
“I have a favor to ask. Normally I wouldn’t under the circumstances, but since you’re not at full capacity for the time being anyway, I thought it might actually be a better time than ever, and I—”
“Maisie,” I say. “Just say it.”
“Okay.” She huffs out a quick breath. “I was wondering if I could take off early tonight. If it’s too inconvenient, I totally understand. I was just thinking that, since you won’t be attending any events yet—”
“Of course.” In the six months she’s been working as my private secretary and assistant, she hasn’t left early even once.
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Take off whenever you need to.”
“Thank you!” Rather than providing an explanation for her request, she remains uncharacteristically quiet.
“Big date tonight?” I prod.
She turns violently red. “It’s— I mean— I’m not sure what . . .”
“Come on, Maisie. Don’t hold out on me. I’m practically bedridden.”
“Well, I just— It’s complicated.”
“Let me guess: he has a foot fetish?”
“No! At least I don’t think so.” She pushes her glasses up. “This one definitely has potential.”
“And? I need details.”
She stares at me for a few beats. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“I have this weird superstition that it won’t work out if I tell anyone.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. She’s entitled to her superstitions. “Fine. But you’ll tell me if things progress, right?”
“Of course,” she says quickly, then turns her attention to her tablet. “By the way, this was sent out yesterday morning.” She hands it to me, and I read the email on the screen.
To all employees of the Royal Family and the Palace,
Please be informed that heightened security measures have been put into place, effective immediately.
All visitors must be approved by the Head of Palace Security, no exceptions. No one is to enter the Palace or its grounds without a full-body sweep. This directive includes employees. All communication on Palace servers will be monitored more closely than ever.
Her Majesty is not to leave the Palace without six armed escorts at any point. She will also be accompanied by no less than five additional vehicles, for a total of eight in the motorcade.
“What is going on?” I hand the tablet back.
“I don’t know. It was in my inbox when I got to work.”
“Did something happen?”
A forced laugh slips through Maisie’s nose. “You mean besides the fact that you were in an accident?”
“Besides that.”
She shrugs. “The staff have seemed more tense than usual, but I just chalked it up to you still being in the hospital.”
“Nothing else out of the ordinary? No break-ins or bomb threats?”
“Not that I know of,” she says.
“How is the public responding to the whole thing?”
“Initially, everyone was freaking out. But once news got out that you were going to be okay, I think things calmed down.”
“And now?”
“There are still some odd conspiracy theories out there, but they’re all from crackpots.”
“Conspiracies about what?” I ask.
“That the accident was deliberate sabotage.”
I smooth the wrinkles from my skirt. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Some people will believe anything.”
“So why the intense security then?”
“No clue.” Maisie shakes her head. “Maybe you can talk to someone? Getting patted down before work is not my favorite part of the job.”
I scoff. “And an eight-car motorcade? This is insane.”
“Should I set up a meeting with the head of security?”
“Yes. And get rid of my nurse. One of my six bodyguards should be able to open a bloody bottle of pills.”
Derrick Jameson, the head of palace security, is a large ex-military man with a buzz cut and a face permanently lined from what I imagine to be stress. He bows in greeting after being ushered into the small office in my suite.
“Good morning, Mr. Jameson,” I say.
I motion to a chair opposite me, then sit down and fold my arms on my desk, hoping I present an intimidating picture. “It has recently come to my attention that security at the palace is being increased.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, that is correct.”
“I have taken a look at these measures, and they seem a bit . . . over the top.”
Mr. Jameson doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “I’m simply following orders, ma’am.”
“Whose orders?”
“The risk analysis team works in connection with security.”
“I see,” I say.
“I take my job very seriously, ma’am.”
“I’m sure you do. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Can I ask what prompted these new measures? Has there been a breach recently that I’m unaware of?”
He hesitates a moment, and his face remains emotionless while he tries to decide what I should and shouldn’t know. “Like I said, ma’am, I’m simply following orders.”
I raise my brows. “So you’re saying someone else ordered these new requirements?”
“I don’t think I said that exactly, ma’am.”
“You really don’t need to keep referring to me as ma’am.”
“I’d feel more comfortable doing so. Ma’am.” He is proving harder to crack than I anticipated. What is he keeping from me?
“Mr. Jameson,” I say, walking around to the front of the desk.
I perch on the edge, allowing my Louboutin heels and my dress, which has ridden up several inches, to highlight my toned calves.
“We both know you are excellent at your job and that the palace is already very secure. Which begs the question, why the sudden need for extra security?”
He rises to his feet and clears his throat, looking everywhere but at my legs. “Ma’am, I can assure you, it’s only for your protection.”
“I truly am grateful for your dedication. But I would still like to know who issued the command.”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”
“I am the queen, for god’s sake. You work for me.”
“Well—” He hesitates. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean? Palace security falls under the royal household, which is headed by the lord chancellor, who answers to me.”
Mr. Jameson coughs into his fist. “Forgive me for the correction, ma’am, but palace security is conducted by an outside firm.”
“An outside firm? What are you talking about?”
“I really don’t know the details.”
“And you’re refusing to tell me the name of your employer?”
“My career will be in jeopardy if I do so, ma’am.”
“Well, I don’t want that.” I straighten to my full height. “But you can tell your boss that I will get to the bottom of this.”
I’ve been advised by my doctor to lie low for the time being, and Maisie has canceled or postponed all of my engagements for the next month. This leaves me with more leisure time than I’m used to—more than enough for a little sleuthing.
My sitting room has become dull, so Maisie and I are settled in the conservatory, which has exploded with poinsettias in the past week.
The late autumn sunshine is pouring in through the glass walls, and I discard the cashmere wrap Maisie insisted I bring along.
She’s almost as bad as the nurse she fired.
She stops clacking on her laptop and looks up. “I think I found something.”
I sit upright on the bench. I’d almost given up on this pathetic search. We’ve been in here for nearly an hour, with only a few leads and more than enough dead ends.
Carrying her laptop, Maisie moves to sit beside me. “We already know that palace security is managed by Eastport Allied, because it’s cheaper than keeping our own staff.”
I nod. That information only took about ten minutes to track down.
“And whenever I try to figure out who owns Eastport Allied, I keep coming back to a shell company.”
“CEEL Acquisition Corp.”
“Right. It is a dead end, which is its entire purpose, but when I looked at the address on file, I got somewhere.”
I stare at her screen, but it’s a confusing mess.
“It turns out there are several other companies that use the same address,” she says.
I beam at her. “You’re brilliant.”
“I know.” She clicks a few more times until she finds what she’s looking for. “Most of them are shells too, but there is one that isn’t.”
A flashy web page pops up, displaying a massive tower in downtown Wesbourne, all glass walls and steel. The slideshow changes to reveal the interior, which includes a dog-grooming facility, a therapeutic yoga garden, and the biggest pool I’ve ever seen.
“This is the Atlantis, Wesbourne’s tallest, most expensive, and most drool-worthy high-rise,” she announces. “That last bit is just my own opinion.”
“It’s impressive,” I say. “But what does this have to do with palace security?”
She clears her throat. “All of the shell companies, including CEEL Acquisition Corp., use the Atlantis as their listed address.”
“Is that legal?”
“It is if their business is conducted there or if the owner of the shell company lives there.”
I sigh. “There must be a hundred flats in that place. How in the world will we know which one belongs to the owner?”
Maisie grins and holds up her index finger. “Tell me I’m brilliant again.”
“Not until you solve this.”
“Tell me now, because once you see this, you’re going to be too preoccupied to remember.”
I frown and move to grab the laptop from her.
She snatches it back. “We can find the owner of CEEL because the Atlantis is also registered to the same address.”
“Obviously. Where else would it be?”
“Let me finish. The Atlantis is also owned by a shell company.”
“God, this person really wants to remain anonymous.”
“You can’t really blame them. They are protecting the royal family, after all.”
I roll my eyes. “More like suffocating. But seriously, just tell me who it is.”
“The shell company for the Atlantis? CeEl Capital Corp. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence.”
“Definitely not. But I don’t see how this isn’t just moving in circles.”
“Oh, it is. It definitely is. That’s why it took me so long to figure it out. What they didn’t anticipate was my utter genius.” She pulls up another page, this one listing the available amenities and businesses housed inside the Atlantis: restaurants, a health spa, and the like.
“What am I looking at?” I ask.
“That’s the list of businesses owned by Atlantis Holdings Inc.”
“Oh god, another shell?”
“Nope. This one is a holding company.”
“Maisie, I swear to god, if you don’t get to the point soon—”
“I found out who bought Atlantis Holdings Inc. last year.”
“It is, I’m assuming, the same person who owns Eastport Allied?”
She nods. “Just promise you won’t shoot the messenger.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t get this over with.”
“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The computer screen switches to an overview of a basic database. I skim the contents until I get to the section naming the owner.
My blood runs cold in my veins.
That son of a bitch.