She looked down at the laminate. ‘This is Stefan’s?’
He shrugged. ‘Like I said, elegant.’
Lara threw down the pass and moved away from Sachs, trying every door she came to. All locked. Or maybe they required face recognition or a magic word or something. Sachs followed her, his movements unhurried. He wasn’t a particularly big man, but he could certainly overpower Lara.
And then there was nowhere else to go. Sachs was between her and the lift bank, only the open window frames behind her.
‘You don’t have to do this, Michael,’ she said as calmly as she could.
Sachs smiled.
‘Correct. Which is why I have a loyal roster of specialist staff.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Speaking of which, Mr. Schmitt should be hear any time now.’
‘Schmitt? Who’s Schmitt?’
‘I don’t know what his real name is, but that’s what Jonathon Meyer called him when he introduced us. Schmitt is the man who snips off all my loose ends.’
Sachs picked up an office chair. ‘Here, have a seat while we wait.’
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘SIT DOWN!’ he roared, banging the chair down. Lara sat, painfully aware of the open space only a few feet behind her. Lara knew she had to do something – anything. Ask questions, hope for an opening. Make him think he’s won.
‘So this is what it’s all about?’ she said, as Sachs sat down opposite her. ‘A building?’
‘Not just “a building”, Miss Stone. A legacy. Something that will stand for centuries. Carnegie Hall, the Tate Gallery, the Guggenheim, all owe their existence to the proceeds of industry; steel, sugar, mining, but who remembers that?’
Sachs nodded to himself. ‘But you’re right, the project was far more expensive than I ever anticipated. So I couldn’t let your friends Helen and Sandrine derail my sale of Sachs Capital.’
‘What happened?’ croaked Lara. She knew it might be the last thing she ever heard, but she desperately wanted to hear it, to know if she had been right.
‘I asked Jonathon Meyer if he knew a man who could fix the problem,’ said Sachs. ‘He did – and it was shockingly easy. I mean, this Helen girl walked around the slums of Haiti with a big camera,’ he said incredulously. ‘It was almost as if she had a death wish.’
His mouth curled into a sneer.
‘And then there was poor Sandrine Legard and her history of mental health problems. A suicide was plausible, which was fortune for me.’
Lara felt fury flood through her, but she knew she couldn’t rise to his bait. Keep him talking.
‘But what about Jonathon Meyer? He was your friend.’
‘Was, Lara,’ snapped Michael. ‘Past tense. He tried to blackmail me, said I owed him for shutting up that ImpactAid girl, wanted me to bail him out. Now does that sound like a friend?’
Lara pictured Pandora, white and glistening in the Côte d’Azur sun, the ultimate status symbol of the super-rich.
‘But Meyer was successful,’ she frowned. ‘I saw his yacht…’
Sachs gave a snort. ‘Meyer was operating a Ponzi scheme to plug the black hole in his accounts.’
‘A black hole? I thought Jonathon was a financial genius?’
‘Well, shit happens,’ hissed Sachs, spittle flying towards Lara.
‘What did he want from you, Michael?’
He was pacing around now as if he was unravelling it in his own head.
‘When Jonathon realised he needed more investors to plump his pot, he figured that the best way to attract them was to go public with his client list. Money follows money. But most of them always wanted anonymity so he begged me not just to invest but be open about our relationship. He knew that my involvement would attract others. When I said no, he used Helen Groves as leverage.’
‘Let me guess, you used Schmitt to get rid of Meyer.’
‘What goes around comes around,’ he said, his voice dripping with menace. ‘Besides, Schmitt didn’t mind. I pay that psychopath better.’
There was a sound behind them: the ping of the lift arriving.
‘Ah, here he comes now…’
Lara’s heart was beating hard. There was the sound of footsteps now. Light heels tapping against concrete. Female.
Not how she’d imagined Schmitt. But as she turned she saw Victoria Sachs. Her peacock-green trench coat was belted at the waist, her black umbrella still glistening from the rain. She propped it up against a desk and walked towards them, plucking off her gloves. Concern fluttered across Michael’s expression at the sight of his wife.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to see this in person.’
A flash of Michael’s wolf-smile again as he checked his watch.
‘Oh don’t bother, Schmitt won’t be coming,’ said Victoria briskly. ‘Not up here, anyway. In fact, I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere for a while.’
Lara watched the woman’s face. Something was wrong here she thought, hope flowering in her chest.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Michael. ‘We agreed…’
‘No, Michael,’ she snapped. ‘We did not agree. We did not agree to anything. I let Helen Groves down, I admit that. I dealt with it badly. I tried to ignore her allegations and then I panicked and came to you for advice. If you recall, I told you about the problems we were having in Haiti. But I did not ask you to kill anyone. That was all your doing.’
‘I see,’ he snorted. ‘The furious back-pedal. The let’s-pretend-I-didn’t-know-how-you-would-deal-with-this.’
She shook her head wearily. ‘For the record, let me say this, Michael. You’re many things, but I never, for one moment, thought you were a murderer.’
‘For the record?’ repeated Michael, just as Victoria turned and called out: ‘Chief Inspector Fox? Would you care to join us?’
Lara gasped as the policeman walked out, accompanied by two uniformed officers. Sachs jumped to his feet, his face a mask of shock. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘I told you what Lara had said to me at Claridge’s. I suggested we invite her here, because I wanted you to tell her what you’ve done. Then, I did my homework too, Michael. It was easy to find out who was investigating Sandrine Legard’s death and Detective Fox was only too happy to come along as a witness to your confession.’ She pointed to one of the cameras. ‘And before you think about denying anything, all that smart-tech stuff you like to crow about? It’s been recording everything.’
With a roar, Michael lunged at Victoria, but Fox and his two colleagues restrained him easily.
One of the officers wrenched Sachs’s arm up behind his back. ‘Mr. Sachs,’ said Fox. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of murder, you do not have to say anything…’
Michael ignored him and twisted his head towards his wife. ‘Victoria!’ He yelled. ‘What did you do?’
‘I outplayed you, Michael,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ve always been such a bore boasting about your so-called achievements, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist telling Ms. Stone how clever you were. If you can call murder clever.’
As Sachs was hoisted upright, his face turned dark pink with fury.
‘It’s those bitches’ fault. That Scottish one, that French bitch and her,’ he said, stabbing his finger towards Lara.
Lara couldn’t hold it in any longer. She drew her fist back and punched him full in the face.
Blood running from his nose, Michael twisted to look at Ian Fox.
‘You saw that! That was assault. Actual Bodily Harm.’
‘Fake news, mate,’ said Fox, and bundled him towards the lift.
Epilogue
The atmosphere in the Chronicle boardroom was electric. It was standing room only: departments heads, the legal team, even Charlie Avery was there for once. Although they had listened in silence as Alex and Eduardo, assisted by Stella, outlined the investigation into the deaths of Helen Groves, Sandrine Legard, Jonathon Meyer and the scandal of child labour in the Kanjomo mine, there was
a palpable hum of energy throughout. Everyone could see this was a sensational story – and for now at least, the Chronicle had the exclusive. Part of the appeal of working at a newspaper was knowing what was really going on behind the magic curtain, but this was even better: right now, the people in this crowded room were the only people in the world who knew this information. In the modern world of instant news, it was rare. No wonder they were sparking.
‘Okay, okay,’ said Darius as Alex finished. ‘So let me get this right: Michael Sachs ordered three murders to protect the sale of his company?’ He gave a low whistle. Alex didn’t doubt that Darius could smell glory, prizes, perhaps even a prestigious job offer from The New Yorker or The Washington Post. Or perhaps Darius had been reminded of the reason he got into journalism in the first place. Perhaps. He could only hope.
‘Obviously there’s two stories here,’ said Alex. ‘The investigation into Meyer’s death led us to the mines, but what is happening at the Kanjomo mine is a fairly distinct thread.’
Darius turned to Eduardo.
‘Look, I know Le Caché shares its stories between various international outlets but we’d like the exclusive on the mines expose.’
Alex raised his eyebrows to Eduardo. It was tricky, but it was really Eduardo’s call. Alex had played a part, but this wasn’t his story and neither did he expect Eduardo to give much credit to Stefan given he was currently being interviewed by Ian Fox in connection with the death of Sandrine Legard.
‘Twenty-four hours exclusivity on the mine story,’ said Eduardo, after a moment’s thought. ‘I have an arrangement with El Pais in Madrid and we have Le Caché journalists working on the ground in the DRC, but I can give you “first dibs” on the Kanjomo investigation as long as you credit Le Caché.’
Darius also thought for a beat, then said, ‘Done.’ Alex smiled to himself, knowing that Darius would have already cleared both conditions with Nicholas. Still, it looked decisive in front of the troops. He turned to Frank Benson on the news team.
‘The mines angle feels like an extended item for the Saturday edition. Do you agree?’
Frank nodded. ‘That would work. In fact we could do with another 48 hours for photographs and field interviews.’
Darius turned to his deputy.
‘Alex. We need to run the Michael Sachs story straight away. The police are involved, so we have to expect leaks. I think we should lead with Jonathon Meyer. It’s stronger, sexier, and the French journalist was good-looking, yes?’
‘Sandrine,’ said Alex. ‘Her name was Sandrine Legard.’
Darius bellowed at Gary McTavish who was already halfway out of the door.
‘Gary, get more photos of the French bird. And Monaco, we want to see those big fuck-off yachts, the readers love that.’
Darius could be pompous and self-interested, but it was amazing how efficient he could be when his superiors were in the room.
He looked back at Alex.
‘I assume you want to write this one?’
The offer actually surprised him. A few days ago, Lara had accused Alex of being jealous of ‘proper’ journalists like the Le Caché writers who were on the frontline gathering news first-hand. And yes, Alex could admit how much he wanted to run back to his desk, pull together all the facts and file it in time for the first edition going to press. His reporting days had been such a heady, exciting times. The taste of black coffee and lassi at the Press Club in Peshawar, the sweet smell of jasmine outside his apartment window and that buzz of finding and writing stories that mattered, his fingers on the keyboard, tap, tap, tap, racing to meet a deadline for a newspaper six time zones away.
‘No, Darius. I won’t be writing it,’ he said. ‘It’s not my by-line. It’s not my story either.’
Alex waved to Stella, who was waiting by the door. She went out for a few seconds, then returned. There was a pause, then a gasp as Stella led Lara in. There was surprise among the staff, but it was fleeting. No one was really shocked to know that Lara Stone was behind the story. No one except Darius, that was.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Lara, you’re on sabbatical.’
‘Officially,’ she smiled. ‘But you know I can’t stay away from you, Darius. What’s a girl to do?’
There was laughter and Rob from the news desk gave her a wink. Alex could tell everyone felt the same way: The Chronicle was a better place with Lara Stone.
‘Lara put everything together on the Meyer story,’ said Alex, meeting Lara’s eye. ‘She chased every lead down, despite no one believing her, including me.’
He saw a tell-tale flush of her cheeks. Despite her talent, Lara was genuinely a team player.
‘I was just following Sandrine’s tracks. This is her story. Stella helped too.’
Darius waved an impatient hand. ‘Christ, put whatever by-line you like on it. Are you going to write this bloody story or not? Because by my calculations you have less than eight hours and we obviously need half of that to run it past legal.’
This part was key: men like Michael Sachs didn’t roll over easily and his lawyers would be bullish, murder charge or no murder charge and Alex felt a jab of anxiety. Until the papers were physically in newsagents, no story was a given. He’d seen it happen plenty of times: stories quashed at the final moment by injunctions on a whole host of legal grounds. But this one had to happen. This one was personal: Sachs had murdered Sandrine and threatened Lara, there was no way he would let him get away with that.
As he walked back to his office he saw Charlie hovering by his door.
‘Can we have a word?’
Alex blew out his cheeks.
‘Sure.’
It had to happen at some time, he couldn’t avoid Charlie forever. Alex had spent days debating how to play it; he knew full well that the situation made Alex’s position vulnerable, but he wasn’t prepared to make any concessions. If they were going to fire him, he was going down swinging.
Alex gestured to a chair, but Charlie didn’t sit, as if he was nervous, ready to make a quick getaway. Shrugging, Alex perched on the edge of his desk.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ said Charlie without preamble. ‘About Alicia. I never meant it to happen this way. I’ll be honest with you Alex, it was a flirtation that got out of hand. And then…’
He winced. Clearly talking about this stuff – feelings, relationships – was difficult for Charlie.
‘And then?’ prompted Alex.
‘…And then it turned out we liked one another.’
Alex was taken aback by his honesty. He hadn’t suspected that Charlie Avery, confirmed playboy, was capable of such things. Alex let out a long breath.
‘The heart wants what it wants, Charlie, I get that. I just wish there hadn’t been the overlap.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry. It took me by surprise. We were wrong, both of us, Alicia and I.’
Charlie sounded genuinely contrite and Alex was even more surprised to find that he wasn’t terribly upset. When Alex thought of Alicia, there was annoyance and irritation of course, but beyond that there was a blank. No feelings of sadness or loss. And certainly no sense that he had lost the love of his life. He felt… free.
Impulsively, Alex put out his hand. Charlie looked at it, unsure how to react.
‘No hard feelings,’ prompted Alex and Charlie shook it gratefully.
‘That’s good – great in fact,’ he nodded. ‘Because I meant what I said in Monaco. You are the editorial future of this company.’
Alex shrugged. He wasn’t into games or office power-plays, but he realised that Charlie had just handed him a bargaining chip. In fact, that was the reason he had invited Charlie along to the presentation.
‘It’s not just me that’s the future, Charlie,’ he said folding his arms across his chest. ‘I think it’s time to reinstate the investigations team with Lara back as head of department.’
He felt Charlie’s resistance the moment he had said it.
‘Alex, I don’t know. My father feels qu
ite strongly about this. He’s not convinced that investigations represent value for money.’
‘And you know what? I agree with you,’ said Alex. ‘But here’s the thing – so does every other media company. Everyone’s closing their investigations departments across the board. Which gives us a huge opportunity.’
‘Which is what?’
‘We own it, Charlie. We make investigations our bedrock, the thing that sets us apart from everyone else. The Chronicle: We Own The Truth.’
Alex waited, watching Charlie turn it over in his mind, trying out the script Alex had just given him, seeing how it sounded coming out of his mouth. He would sound like a visionary – a man with a plan. And most important: Alex knew that Alicia would approve.
‘Charlie, you’re the managing director of Avery Media Group. You’re the future here.’
He saw Charlie nod, stand up a little bit straighter in his Tom Ford suit. Why should Nicholas call all the shots, that was what he was thinking.
‘You saw the energy in there,’ said Alex, pressing his advantage. ‘Without stories, real stories, we’re nothing. Not serious players anyway. You didn’t see people light up like that when Jen-Z from GirlFriday launched her new fragrance, did you?
Charlie laughed. ‘Jen-Z has her own fragrance?’
Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Charlie, we put it on the front page.’
‘God, did we?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Charlie nodded decisively.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Lara was sitting alone in the investigations room when Alex found her. Situated in the basement, the room was almost dark, lit only by the screen in front of her. Alex pulled up a chair beside her.
‘So what do you think?’
The front page splash was laid out on Lara’s screen.
Billionaire Murders Three:
Suspect Charged.
‘It’s good,’ she said. ‘As good as I could make it, anyway.’
Alex reached out in the dark and held her hand.
The Yacht Party Page 28