Chapter Thirty-Two
Two days later, Nick felt that her world was gradually getting back under control. She had found some basic offices for her and the team and whilst there was no fancy view or executive kitchen, it was warm, dry and convenient. Based in Stepney it was neither the City nor Canary Wharf and she knew the staff would feel a bit out of place, but for now it was all that was needed. She’d find a better location once she was up and running again and screw Harrington’s.
She hadn’t called Gabe. Everything seemed so fragile at the moment – she wasn’t certain she could cope if he had betrayed her after all and was simply pretending to like her to spy for his family. However, she missed his lazy smile and his funny face. She missed the way he jumped up when she entered a room and looked delighted to see her. And she missed their conversations and games; he had been a friend, and she had hoped something more.
She had also got back into a routine of early morning runs before Ohana woke. The heat was already too much for her but at least she had the garden to play in. Kicking off her trainers, Nick closed the front door behind her and went to see if Ohana was awake yet – today’s run had been longer than usual, and Nick felt a bit guilty as Ohana sprung up and started wagging her tail. Clearly, she’d woken some time ago. As she opened the dog crate her phone began to ring. She was expecting it to be from the researcher she had hired to track down her grandmother. However, as she picked up her phone, she saw it was from the solicitors she had hired to help her with the FCA investigation.
‘Nick, I have some bad news.’ Gareth Glebe was a reserved man at the best of times. If something was bad, it was more likely to be awful.
‘Is the report delayed?’ That was all she needed, she just wanted to get back to work. The longer she was out of the workspace the more likely it was that rumours would start.
‘No, not delayed. They have submitted their findings and they have informed us that they have enough evidence to proceed with a case against De Foix Investments.’
‘That’s impossible.’ Nick stood up and started pacing. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong. I went back through the records and it’s squeaky clean. As expected.’
‘The matter under investigation happened eighteen months ago.’
Nick stopped and looked at the phone. ‘But I was a one-woman show back then?’ Nick hadn’t bothered looking that far back. Any irregularity that the FCA had heard of would have been committed by one of her staff and it was their trades that she had focussed on.
‘Nevertheless, that is the focus of their investigation. Which, of course, means that the source of liability becomes that much tighter.’
‘You mean me.’
‘Yes. I’m afraid so.’
Nick took a deep breath.
‘Okay, well, if anything, this makes it easier because I know I haven’t done anything. For a while I have to admit I was worried that someone I had employed had made a mistake or worse yet had acted knowingly. But this is easier.’
‘Except they wouldn’t be proceeding with a trial if they weren’t confident of their evidence.’
‘Let me get a pen.’ Nick walked back to the study and sat down. ‘Exactly what do they think they’ve found?’
‘They say they have seen proof that you used a client’s funds in order to purchase stock for yourself.’
‘Rubbish!’ Mixing funding pots was a cardinal no-no in the financial world. Since the Wild West days in the eighties boom, no one was allowed to use money that was not their own for financial gain without being explicit about it.
Nick had read and studied the financial markets of the eighties and was in awe and horror of the ease with which an individual could bring down a bank, but she had learnt her trade in the tightly regulated markets and wouldn’t dream of being so reckless. Besides which, having grown up with barely a pot to pee in, she knew the value of every penny that someone gave to her to trade on their behalf. She would never play fast and loose with their trust.
‘Can you send over the “evidence” that they’ve found? This won’t take long to dismiss. I don’t know what they’ve found as there isn’t anything.’
There was a pause at the other end.
‘What?’ asked Nick. She was aware she had snapped, but she was annoyed; this was ridiculous.
‘Obviously, they sent us the evidence that they are going to use to proceed, and the issue is that it looks viable.’
‘I don’t understand. ’
‘We have seen the records and they show you clearly used client funds for your own transactions.’
‘But—’
‘We are your solicitors, and we will of course continue to represent you, but I have to inform you, the evidence is pretty conclusive. Unless you can find an explanation for these transactions, our advice to you will be to plead guilty.’
Nick reeled.
‘But – no, that’s rubbish. Send everything over. I feel like I’m punching in the dark. I haven’t done anything wrong so let’s not be running around with “guilty” suggestions. Hold your nerve and wait until I’ve had a look.’
‘Of course. As I said, we are here for you and will work in whichever way you instruct us.’
He paused but Nick had the feeling he hadn’t finished speaking.
‘Gareth, is there more? Of course there’s more. When is there ever not more? Spit it out.’
‘The story has been leaked to the press. I would say deliberately. The FCA don’t post their news bulletin until lunchtime. Someone already has the story.’
The FCA lunchtime press release was a dry old stick full of yawn-worthy articles, God knows, she read it every day to see if anything interesting was happening. News of her investigation was certainly going to cause a stir, but she had hoped she had a few hours to get ahead of the announcement and maybe even find the error in the evidence before it went public.
‘Is anyone interested in the story? ’
‘We’ve already had ten calls this morning. Your new location will obviously buy you some time. But expect the odd reporter to track you down by tomorrow.’
‘Fine. Although by tomorrow this will be a non-story. Email the stuff over and I’ll get back to you with an initial comment within the hour.’
Hanging up, Nick walked through to put the kettle on. She was tempted to take Ohana out for a quick stroll, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Until she saw the files and read through the nature of the accusation, she wouldn’t be able to settle. The FCA weren’t fools, if they had found something they would be thorough in making sure it was credible. What the hell had they found? When was it from? Was it possible that she had made a mistake? It seemed so unlikely, but she had to accept every possibility. Was it during the early months of taking over the Hiverton accounts – had she screwed up then? Or maybe when Ari and the boys had fallen in the river? That had terrified her, had she slipped up somewhen in the following days?
There was a knock at the front door, and she was grateful for a reprieve from her frantic thoughts.
A young man in a pair of trainers and a hoody stood on the doorstep.
‘Nick Byrne?’
Nick paused. Had the solicitors chosen to courier the files over instead of email? She nodded, looking for his satchel.
‘Care to comment on today’s allegations that you stole your client’s money to feather your own luxurious nest?’