Chapter Thirty-Three
Nick stared at him in horror as she realised that someone on the street was holding their phone up, either taking a photo or filming the whole thing. Without saying a word she slammed the door shut. Running upstairs she looked out of the bedroom window and could see the two young men talking to each other and laughing. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere.
How the hell did they find her here? A picture of her at the front door of Foix Place destroyed all sense of privacy that she had always tried to maintain for the family. Certainly, she liked the publicity for the estate’s positive enterprises but no one in their right mind could view this as a positive development. Deeply embarrassed she called Ari – as head of the family she needed to know what was going on. It was even possible that the press would be making its way to Hiverton as well.
‘Morning, Ariana. I have bad news, but I am on it. Just thought you needed to know.’
‘Hang on.’ Nick listened as Ari called to Seb to take care of Hector and then returned to the call, every bit the efficient Countess of Hiverton. ‘Carry on.’
‘The FCA have concluded their initial investigations and have apparently found enough evidence against me to proceed to trial.’
‘Nonsense. One of your staff must have screwed up.’
‘I wish, but no, it relates to a period of time when I was a solo trader. Look, that’s not the issue right now. The files are being sent over to me and I will have a look at what they’ve found. Pretty certain that once I see what I am accused of it will be quickly resolved. But that’s not the problem. Someone has tipped off the press; I have two blokes outside my door.’
As she spoke there was another knock on the door. She walked through to the front room only to find a photographer leaning against the railings, taking photos of the interior. Three more reporters were standing around the front door.
‘Bloody hell! Ari, I’ve got a small crowd of reporters hanging around the street and taking photos through the window.’
She pulled the curtains closed, ignoring the shouts of the photographer for any comment and hurried through to the other downstairs window and pulled the curtains shut there as well.
‘Close the curtains.’
‘On it.’
‘ All the curtains. A neighbour was telling me how paparazzi were using drones these days to get photos.’
‘That’s illegal!’
‘Yes, but better they don’t get the shots in the first place than sue them later.’
‘Fair point,’ said Nick as she started to walk around the house closing curtains and switching on lights in the middle of a heatwave. She wiped her hands on her trousers, she was suddenly shaking and sweating. All these people were hounding her, and she couldn’t stop them. She took a deep breath making sure her voice was calm and steady before she spoke again .
‘This was the main reason I called you. The reporter made a comment about my having a title and a luxurious nest. I’m guessing they are going for a fat-cats angle. Given that you’re my sister and my main client I thought they may come after you as well and I’d hate for them to bother the children. Now you’ve mentioned drones I wonder what the hell you can do to stop them. I don’t know how to help you.’
Ari laughed darkly. ‘If anyone sends a drone up into our airspace Seb will just take his shotgun to it. But thank you for the warning, I’ll alert the staff. Now back to you. What can I do?’
‘Nothing, I need to look through the evidence and take it from there.’
‘What do the solicitors say?’
‘They suggest I plead guilty.’
‘Absolutely not!’
‘No, I agree, but as yet, I don’t know what I’m being accused of.’ The door banged again, and Nick flinched – today was going to be a nightmare if the press pack kept this up. ‘I’ve got to go, the email should have arrived by now, keep your phone nearby. I’ll let you know what the problem is as soon as I know.’
Heading to the back of the house she picked up Ohana and hugged her and breathed in her scent as she waited for her nerves to calm down. A panic attack would help no one and she needed to batten down the hatches.
As promised a collection of files were sitting waiting for her to read in her inbox. Rather than open her solicitor’s letter she went straight to the attachments to have a look. She would be able to understand the data far quicker than her solicitor, even though they were experts in the field and employed financial experts as well. But this was her data, this would be like looking inside her own mind.
***
Half an hour later she had a splitting headache. No matter how many ways she interrogated the files or which accounts and trades she looked at they all showed the same thing. A solid week where Nick seemed to be using her client’s money to buy shares for her own company. Some days any profit she made was shared between herself and her client, other days in that week she kept all the profit herself. It was an utter mess.
None of this made any sense. It was insane. As things stood though the FCA had more than enough to accuse her and strip her of her licence to trade. Hell, there was enough here to send her to jail.
A loud knock on the front door jolted her back to reality. Furiously trying to deal with what she had just seen she grabbed a bucket from the kitchen and ran to the upstairs bathroom. Having filled the bucket with water she headed to the landing above the main entrance and peeked out of the curtains. The press pack seemed to have grown, it was intolerable. Nick felt like a fox run to ground – the minute she moved, they would tear her apart. Very slowly she slid open the window above the doorway and took a gleeful delight in tipping the freezing cold water over the reporter.
As the man yelped in protest, she smiled and slid the window down just in time to hear his outraged shout.
‘Letta!’