Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Oliver
“This is a complete and utter fucking cock-up,” Alfred, my Home Secretary, says as we stride down the dimly lit hallway towards the cabinet briefing room.
“It’s what happens when two cock-ups get together, fuck, and then make a whole lot of super cock-ups,” Toby, my chief of staff, adds.
It appears my advisers are stuck in a cock-up conundrum. Unfortunately, I’m lacking a better word to describe the current situation.
“Ten members of the royal family arrested. It’s unheard of,” Alfred continues as we walk into the briefing room.
Senior members of my cabinet are gathered around the large table for an emergency meeting.
It’s Saturday, and I received the phone call from the Commissioner of Police this afternoon and another call from the Queen soon after, so it was five p.m. before I called a situation-critical emergency meeting, telling the cabinet to drop whatever they were doing and dash straight to Downing Street.
Bernard, the Deputy Prime Minister, looks like he’s dressed for playing squash.
I’m assuming Helen, dressed up in fishnet stockings and a red corset with a plunging neckline, was on her way to a fancy dress party.
At least, I’m hoping she was on her way to a fancy dress party, or else I might not be able to look at my Secretary of State for Education in quite the same way again.
All the cabinet members stand and do their usual “Mister Prime Minister” nod to me as I approach the table, which is something I still haven’t got used to in the three years since I’d been elected.
Toby thumps the folder he’s carrying onto the table as he plonks down in the seat next to me.
“So, what’s your analysis of the situation?” I ask him in an undertone among the shuffling noises of the other cabinet members.
“The monarchy will struggle to survive this,” he replies in a low voice.
I don’t think Toby is being overdramatic. My instant political judgment matches his. It’s hard to see how the monarchy will be able to emerge intact from the fallout of this scandal.
I take a deep breath as I scan all the faces at the table waiting for me to speak. “Okay, before we decide exactly how to respond, we need the full facts. Thomas, can you get us up to speed with everything you know so far?”
Thomas, the liaison between Scotland Yard and my government, nods and then begins speaking rapidly.
It’s not a pretty story.
Scotland Yard has suspected for months that members of the royal family have been involved in illicit dealings with a Middle Eastern business syndicate, taking bribes to orchestrate meetings with key movers and shakers in the UK.
But no one could have predicted how many of the family were actually involved in the scandal and the other underhanded dealings they were also intertwined in. It seemed like pulling one thread had unraveled the entire garment.
Every current working member of the royal family has been implicated, from Albert, the Prince of Wales, down to Princess Chloe, who has always seemed more interested in her reflection and social media followers than anything else.
But apparently, she’d taken time away from posting about what she had for breakfast to participate in the family business of bribery.
“Can members of the royal family be charged with a crime?” Bernard asks.
“Yes. Only the actual monarch is covered by immunity under law. Although no arrests can be made in the monarch’s presence or within the surroundings of a royal palace.
Scotland Yard assures me they were mindful of this, and Her Majesty reinforced that none of the arrests were made within a royal establishment,” I say.
Bernard frowns. “What did Queen Katharine say to you about the whole thing?”
“She informed me she’s instructed every family member caught up in the scandal to surrender their right to the throne,” I reply.
“Even before they go before the courts?”
I nod. “I’m told the evidence is quite conclusive. But the Queen can’t actually remove her family members from the order of succession. It requires an act of Parliament.”
“Which is where we step in,” Toby says grimly.
“How swiftly can we push this through?” Cornelia, my Secretary of State for the Environment, asks.
“As quickly as we can manage. We can expedite the legislation, introducing it simultaneously to the House of Commons and the House of Lords. We can get it passed in a few days if we must,” Bernard says.
I nod. “I’ll chat with Matheson. I think it’s vital we present a united front on this.”
Harry Matheson is the Leader of the Opposition, the Conservative Party, and is commonly known as the biggest and ugliest thorn in my arse.
But the public will be baying for blood once news of this breaks, and I can’t imagine Harry will go against public sentiment just to thwart my government.
“I’m assuming we’ll face no opposition from the House of Lords?” Cornelia says.
“I can’t imagine anyone would want to stick their neck out to defend the indefensible,” Toby replies.
Alfred turns to me, his eyebrows folding together. “What about the monarchy? Who’s the heir to the throne now?”
“Callum Prescott,” I say.
Toby wrinkles his nose. “Who?”
I look over at Rosalia, my Foreign Secretary.
When the Queen told me the name, my response was identical to Toby’s.
I’d met quite a few minor royal family members in my three years as prime minister, but I’d never come across a Callum.
I’d tasked Rosalia with doing the research.
I was keen to hear what she’d managed to turn up in the thirty-minute timeframe.
She clears her throat. “Callum Prescott. He’s the son of Prince Michael. He’s the result of Michael’s short-lived marriage to Sophie Prescott, the American actress.”
Prince Michael had been the youngest of the Queen’s four children.
He’d been the rebellious one, constantly stalked by the British tabloids every time he left the palace because you could almost guarantee he’d provide a great headline for the morning papers.
He’d died as the result of a skiing accident at a young age after a life lived constantly on the edge.
“Callum grew up in obscurity in California. It looks like Sophie did everything she could to keep him away from the monarchy, including insisting he use her maiden name and not letting Callum use the title of prince after she and Prince Michael divorced.”
I can see my own shock reflected on the faces of all the other cabinet members.
The heir to the throne is an American.
This just gets worse and worse for the royal family. Because if there’s one thing the British public isn’t a big fan of, it’s an upstart Yank.
Rosalia quickly taps away at her laptop, and suddenly, a photo of a guy in his mid-twenties fills the screen at the end of the briefing room.
Good god. Callum Prescott is an incredibly handsome guy, but everything about him screams American. His dark-blond hair, his green eyes, his tanned skin, his chiseled cheekbones, his wide smile.
No one on this side of the Atlantic has teeth that straight and white. We just don’t seem to have the genes. Or perhaps skilled enough orthodontists. Maybe if the former government had invested more in NHS dentistry, our smiles could match the Americans.
“He’s twenty-five. Educated at Berkeley, he took five years to get his undergraduate degree because he chopped and changed his major so many times. He started doing a master’s degree in history and then dropped out. He’s currently working in an insurance call center,” Rosalia continues.
“And he’s going to be the next king of the United Kingdom?” Alfred’s question sounds almost rhetorical.
“Apparently so. He’s been picked up by Scotland Yard and flown here to see the Queen.”
I take back control of the meeting. “Cheers for that, Rosalia. Obviously, this is a fluid and evolving situation. We need to have a statement prepared for when this gets out. I want all of us singing from the same hymn sheet.” I eyeball everyone around the table.
You’d think my hardest job would be dealing with the opposition, but after three years in government, I can honestly say most of my gray hairs are due to the behavior of my own MPs.
“What’s the particular tune on our hymn sheet right now?” Alfred asks.
“That we are devastated to learn of the actions of members of the royal family and will introduce legislation to immediately remove them from the line of succession, but let’s not forget that we’ve had a monarchy for over a thousand years in England and we fully support Queen Katharine and the new heir to the throne. ”
“No matter what we say, there’s going to be a national debate about whether Britain in the twenty-first century needs a king, especially an American king,” Alfred points out.
I don’t disagree with him.
Toby’s gaze drifts up to the picture of Callum Prescott, who is smiling his happy, perfect smile from the screen at the end of the table.
“Do you think he has any idea of the hornet’s nest he’s walking into?” he asks.