by Sofia Grey
Nick stood, and strode up to Jason.
The tension levels in the room rocketed.
Adele was crying softly again, this time with Karl holding her.
“Adele was attacked last night, here in her apartment,” said Nick. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Me?” Jason seemed to be enjoying the conversation. “How would I know about it? Poor Adele. Are you badly hurt, darling?”
“I’m not your darling,” she snapped over Karl’s shoulder.
To Lara’s amazement, Jason blew her a kiss. Nick lunged towards him and stopped inches away.
Lara gritted her teeth, to stop herself from making the situation worse.
Jason was a cocky bastard. He lounged against the wall, hands in his pockets. “I’d be careful, throwing accusations around. You don’t have a spotless reputation, do you?”
Adele paled. “What do you mean?” It came out as a whisper.
He shrugged, then extracted one hand and examined his nails. “That Russian guy, last week? Dimitri? Then you spent Friday evening with Karl. I assume you went home together.” He stopped, a look of innocence on his face. “You said someone attacked you. Are you sure it wasn’t Karl? You were pretty drunk when I last saw you.”
“Someone spiked my drink.”
“Can you prove it? I guess you’ve been to the police?” He smirked.
Lara stepped forwards. She’d heard enough. “The police are waiting for the results of the blood tests, since Rohypnol typically stays in the bloodstream for twelve hours after ingestion. And yes, of course Adele’s been to the police. My sister is a detective in the Met, and she specializes in women’s crimes. As it happens, she’s investigating a series of similar incidents in the city.” She stared at him, challenging him.
The others gazed at her.
It was a complete work of fiction, but Jason’s eyes widened for a moment, and Lara felt triumphant. Score one for her.
“Let me know how the investigation goes,” said Jason, his tone ultra-casual. “Date-rape sucks. I’m sorry it happened to you, Adele.”
Nick was as still as a statue, his fists clenched at his sides. “You should leave now.” He spat out the words.
“Yeah. I’ll see you around.”
Jason left, the door banging behind him, and Lara blew out a relieved breath. “Did anyone else notice he was the first to say date-rape? I was quite specific about not mentioning that.”
Nick turned to her and squeezed her hands. “That was an amazing performance. I never knew you could act like that.”
“Wait,” said Karl. “You made that up?”
Lara nodded. “It scared him, didn’t it?” She turned to look at Adele. “I’ll go to the police with you. You are going to report it?”
“No.” Adele seemed to shrink in on herself. “I can’t. I know how they’ll see me. How court cases go. I can’t go through that.”
“You have bruises, and bite marks. That’s evidence, Adele.”
“Everybody will know. You can’t keep that kind of thing quiet. My career will be over. My parents will hear about it. Everyone will look at me and see the stupid-girl-that-was-raped when she was drunk. No.”
“For fucks sake, we have to do something.” Nick sounded in pain.
“Sure,” said Lara. “But what?”
Adele spoke first. “The girl he took home last week—what if the same thing happened to her? We need to find her.”
Chapter Sixteen
Monday was hectic for Sylvie.
A succession people arrived at the house. Mick and Charlie were first, then their manager, Frankie. Finally their magnificent PA, Judith, along with the studio crew.
There were mountains of gear to be unloaded and set up in the studio, and sacks of fan mail to be replied. Sylvie was seriously freaked out by the volume of fan mail Alex received, and now it seemed she was attracting fan attention too. Thanks to Judith’s efforts, she only saw the requests for autographs or signed photos, but it still took hours to work through them all.
The house had gone from quiet to bursting at the seams. Frankie pinned a massive calendar to the studio wall, much to Alex’s annoyance, and was busy marking it up with the dates they needed to be aware of over the coming months. The days were crammed with interviews, press meetings, photo shoots, and one activity that filled her with trepidation—a video shoot for their next single.
Sylvie crossed off the weekend after next before Frankie claimed it. It was when they had the memorial service and might be picking up Callum.
The noise levels in the studio rose. Alex was playing around with some chord sequences with Charlie, and Mick was setting up his cymbals. Frankie called out dates while one of his minions marked them on the calendar, and a couple of sound technicians tossed instructions back and forth. Everyone was busy except Sylvie.
Everyone had a job to do, except her.
Jesus. She felt inadequate enough on stage. She hated feeling the same way at home. Would she ever fit in? Anxiety pinged at her chest, and when her phone rang, she welcomed the distraction. It was Lara. Sylvie hurried into the corridor to take the call, but it was too noisy for a conversation, so she headed upstairs towards the kitchen.
“Hi,” said Lara. “Do you have a minute. I need to ask you something.”
“Sure. Hang on a second.” Sylvie went into the kitchen and came straight back out again. Another of Frankie’s team, Clare, was busy preparing a mountain of food in there. Sylvie ducked into the lounge, the first empty room she found. “What’s up? Is it Nick again?”
“No.” Lara hesitated. “It’s a work thing, but I wanted to ask your advice.”
“My advice? For work?” Sylvie didn’t see how she could possibly help with anything TM-Tech related.
“You said Jordan was approachable.”
“Yes, he is. He’s lovely. He’s got this stern appearance and doesn’t smile much, but he’s kind and honest.” Sylvie paused. “Do you want me to ask him something?”
“No. I found a problem in the accounts. I wondered what he’d be like if I took it straight to him.”
“Straight to Jordan?” Sylvie was astonished.
Alex popped his head around the door, but she frowned at him and waggled the phone.
He grinned and sidled up beside her. Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, he nuzzled the back of her neck.
“It must be a pretty big problem,” Sylvie continued, “if you want to take it to the boss.”
“It is. And I think he needs to know about it.”
“I’d say, go for it. And good luck. Let me know how it goes?”
“Of course.” Lara sounded troubled, and Sylvie wondered what on earth she’d found. “I’d better go see if Cassie can fit me in this afternoon,” Lara said.
They said their goodbyes, and Sylvie disconnected.
Alex turned her in his arms and grinned down at her. “Mick found this amazing cover of Night Train on YouTube. It’s this skanky band, who can’t even keep time—never mind sing in key...” He trailed off at her frown. “Uh oh. Problem?”
Sylvie shook her head. “I’ve no idea. Never mind Mick, Lara found something she’s taking straight to Jordan.”
Alex shrugged. “So?”
It amused her that he had no concept of how corporate structure worked. “You don’t do that unless he’s your direct boss, and he’s not hers. There are three or even four management layers between them.”
“Jordan’s cool.”
“Yeah, but it’s still weird.”
Alex took her hand and led her back to the studio. “No, this YouTube clip is weird. You have to come see it.”
She knew Alex wanted her to be happy with the band, to feel a part of it, but days like today it was hard.
****
Cassie knocked on Jordan’s door after lunch and asked if he’d see Lara Anderson, acting manager of the Corporate Programme Office. She’d asked for an urgent appointment, to discuss something confidential. He was
free for the next half hour, so he agreed. He hoped it was nothing to do with Nick.
Lara sat at the small conference table, on the edge of the chair as though she wanted to flee at any moment. She clutched a bundle of papers to her chest and gazed at Jordan with wide, dark eyes.
So this was Nick’s wife.
“I’m acting for Tess McLean, in the Corporate Programme Office,” she said.
Jordan nodded. He knew this. He also knew Lara was doing a good job of standing in for her.
“Prior to this,” she said, “I was in the audit team last year, working along with Sylvie Woodrow. Sylvie encouraged me to talk to you directly. I didn’t know who else to take this to.”
She shuffled the papers and brought a printed spreadsheet to the top. “Before the bombing, I found a number of strange invoices that didn’t match up properly. I started to look into them more deeply, because I thought there was something odd about them. But then, as you know, it was chaos for a few months, and most of our paperwork was lost.” She paused, and gazed back at her papers. “Now we’re getting ready to move back into the old building, I was sorting through boxes while packing up the files, and I found some of my original notes and records. So I picked them up again and started to backtrack.
“I’ve not done a detailed audit—only scratched the surface—and I wanted to get some advice from you before I went any further. There are a number of cost centres that don’t match any of the projects we have records of, or any that appear in the future plans. They don’t relate to historical ones, either. I know there are secret projects at TM-Tech, and I figured you’d have access to them. I wanted to see if these align with my odd invoices. If they are secret ones, then that’s fine. The invoices need to be recoded appropriately, and that’s the end of it.”
Alarm prickled at his neck. “And if they’re not?”
“Well...” She chewed her lower lip. “That’s where it becomes a problem. That would mean there are a number of rogue cost centres that don’t relate to any legitimate projects and have had a large number of invoices raised against them. And paid. The ones I’ve seen refer to a consultancy—Devine Consulting—who isn’t listed on the preferred-supplier database. I also can’t find them in the phone book or on the internet. And they’re not registered with Companies House. So possibly, a fake company is raising fake invoices that are authorised and paid by TM-Tech.”
She passed Jordan a printed list. “These are the cost centres.”
There were six numbers listed. “You’re right about the black projects,” he said, “but their cost centres are quite different in construction. They have a two-letter suffix.”
Lara nodded. “So this may be a fraud.”
“It’s a possibility. In terms of value, what are we looking at?” Jordan expected it to be a low figure—a few thousand.
“It’s just under two million pounds.”
What the fuck? How had this been allowed to happen? Jordan glanced at his watch. This was going to take longer than half an hour. “Wait here.” He went to ask Cassie to cancel his appointments for the afternoon, then returned to Lara and closed the door behind him.
“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. Take me through everything you’ve done so far.”
It was staggering. Six rogue cost centres, assigned to non-existent projects, paying more than fifty invoices to a company that didn’t exist on paper. Jordan was impressed with Lara—not only with her initiative and tenacity, but also her bold decision to come to him.
After working through her notes and records, the next step was to look at who authorised the invoices in question. These would point pretty clearly at those involved in this scam, as there’d be no other way for the fake invoices to be paid.
TM-Tech was in the process of implementing an online approval system, but that was a few months away. At the moment, all invoices were hand signed, then scanned and filed, and accessible through the finance system.
Lara used Jordan’s laptop to access the finance application, and then started the process of requesting one invoice at a time, before sending them to Jordan’s personal printer.
“Have you spoken to anyone else about this problem?” Jordan wanted to be clear on who else might know or be involved.
“Nobody.” She typed and clicked rapidly, referring to her printouts to get the relevant details.
“Perhaps we should call in Jason Farnley. As CFO, this falls into his area of expertise.”
Lara froze and stared up at him, a fraught expression on her face. “Umm... can I ask you something?”
“Go on.”
“Have you heard of the what else principle?”
“Yes, of course. If someone has, let’s say, bent the truth on one occasion, you ask the question, what else could they have lied about?”
She nodded. “I don’t feel comfortable involving Jason Farnley. I understand that you need to, but could you please do it without my being present?”
Jordan thought about it. Lara was showing herself to be someone he could trust, and being a good friend of Sylvie was a strong recommendation for her. If she had an issue with the TM-Tech CFO, Jordan needed to know about it. “Okay.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “What’s the problem with Jason? I’d value your honest opinion.”
She squirmed. “There was some trouble this weekend with Jason and Adele. Nick was there, and so was I. We can’t prove anything, and I really don’t like to talk about it. We do know he uses recreational drugs, and plays in high-rolling poker games.”
“Drugs and poker might not be the best out-of-office pastimes for a CFO, but I’d need a bit more than that.”
Her face was bright red. “That’s why I asked you about the what else principle. We think he’s a lying bastard.”
“Lara, I don’t like jumping to assumptions about any member of my staff. You said Nick was there. Should I ask him to join us?”
“He’s in Paris this week.” She looked away and seemed to consider what to say. “We suspect that Jason uses a date-rape drug. That he spikes women’s drinks, and then assaults them.”
“Jesus.” His mind spun. “How did you come to this idea in the first place?”
“I’d be betraying a confidence if I told you. We don’t know what to do about it.” She swallowed and looked determined. “But we need to do something.”
“You need to go to the police.”
“We’ve no evidence.” She huffed a frustrated breath. “It’s all supposition.”
Jordan gazed at her and tried to organize his thoughts. To prioritize. “Okay. We’ll park that for the moment. Let’s carry on with the invoice reconciliation, and we’ll come back to Jason later. For now, we’ll keep this issue within these walls.”
She flashed a relieved smile. “Thank you.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and Jordan continued to collect the printouts.
They worked in silence for another ten or fifteen minutes. When Lara finished, she sat back and stretched her hands. “Shall we work through them now? I’ll log the authorisations.”
Jordan passed her the pile of printouts, and she began to flick through them, jotting names and numbers on a sheet of paper.
She looked up, confusion on her face. “I don’t understand this. It doesn’t make sense.” She turned her notepad, to show Jordan the neat columns of information. A small number of invoices had names he didn’t recognise, but one name kept showing again and again.
Lara buried her face in her hands.
Jordan groaned softly. It had been a good weekend, and this morning was fine. But the afternoon had turned to rat shit.
Most of the signatures were quite clear. Nick Anderson.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex flip-flopped between excitement and stress, and tried to find a middle ground where he wasn’t freaking out. It was Tuesday evening, and he was flying down to Heathrow from Manchester, with Sylvie dozing against his shoulder on the short flight.
They’d been invited by Social Services, to meet
Callum and discuss the child’s future. The invitation was issued at short notice, which pissed Alex off, but Sylvie said they should take it as an opportunity to show how flexible they could be.
The in-flight magazine could have been written in Swahili, for all the sense it made, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He was conscious of trying to keep his body still so that he didn’t disturb Sylvie. She hadn’t been sleeping well and looked pale and tired.
He didn’t know what was causing it. He’d wake briefly most nights, to hear her muttering or whimpering in her sleep. He’d pull her close, wrap his arms tightly around her, and wait until her breathing steadied. Something was bothering her, but despite his gentle probing, she was unable or unwilling to tell him what it was.
The prospect of taking on Callum worried her. It scared him too. The memorial service must be playing on her mind. She mentioned anxiety about the forthcoming video shoot—her first—and now she was fretting about Lara’s latest problem.
Alex sighed. His young wife took the cares of the world on her shoulders, and she couldn’t do that indefinitely. He did his best to distract her. He pleasured her body, fussed over her, and acted the clown, fooling around to make her smile.
Jordan’s advice rang through his head. Talk to each other. If only it were that easy.
How would the meeting with Callum work? Would they sit around, drinking tea and discussing the weather? The latest Disney movies? The boy was eighteen months old. Would he be able to speak yet? Would he be walking? Still in nappies? Alex thought about Poppy, now three years old. She chattered, mimicking Kate and Jordan. She could run about, draw colourful messy pictures, play with complex-looking toys and feed herself. Surely Callum wasn’t that much younger?
Kate was being an angel, as usual. In addition to Alex and Sylvie staying with her and Jordan, she’d lined up three potential nannies to interview on Wednesday afternoon.
They disembarked without issue at Heathrow, but were nailed by the paparazzi as they hurried through the Arrivals Hall. The journos usually lurked here, and Alex usually did his best to dodge them. Sylvie kept up a rapid pace as they side-stepped the cameras, but then they fell afoul of them again. Flashbulbs glared in their faces, and a microphone was thrust next to Alex’s mouth. He scowled, but when Sylvie tugged a warning on his hand, he forced a smile instead. Questions were thrown at them, and he fell back on a series of stock answers.