Chapter 8: The Right Question
The Calloway Group's legal team worked from a building twenty minutes from Desmond's house — a converted Georgian townhouse with no signage outside, the kind of office that did not need to advertise.
Nadia sat at a long table across from two lawyers: a woman named Harriet Vance, senior partner, who had the focused stillness of someone who had heard worse than this before breakfast; and a younger man named Reid Calloway — Desmond's nephew, Nadia's cousin by blood, whom she had met exactly once at a family event she had attended under the pretense of being her father's driver's daughter.
That particular irony was not lost on her.
"Let me make sure I understand the sequence," Harriet said.
She did not look at notes.
"The Isle of Man account was opened fourteen months ago.
The document your father placed on the table last night came from your source inside the Ashgrove accounting firm.
And you believe Priscilla Ashgrove had a copy of that same document before last night."
"The paper stock matched," Nadia said.
"That's circumstantial."
"I know.
But if she had it, she didn't get it from my father's source.
Which means she had her own copy.
Which means she knew about the account independently."
"Or she created the account and retained documentation," Reid said.
"Weston said he signed what she put in front of him."
"People say that," Harriet said carefully.
"It doesn't always mean what they intend it to mean."
"I know." Nadia looked at the folder open on the table in front of her.
"I'm not here to protect Weston.
I'm here to understand what was done to me and what my options are."
"All right." Harriet turned a page.
"The transfers across the four accounts total approximately six point three million pounds over four years.
If the shell company invoices are fraudulent — and based on what we have, they appear to be — then a portion of that money was moved through structures that your husband, as a signatory, is legally exposed to."
"Weston take the exposure," Nadia said.
"Exactly.
Priscilla appears to have constructed a situation in which she controlled the movement of funds while ensuring her brother's name appeared on the documentation.
If this were ever investigated, he would be the first person authorities looked at."
"And she would be the one who cooperated."
"That would be my reading of the email, yes."
Nadia sat back.
"What do I do?"
"That depends on what you want," Harriet said.
"There are several paths.
You can pursue civil action for the misappropriation of marital assets.
You can provide what we have to the relevant financial authorities and allow them to investigate.
You can negotiate a private settlement.
Or you can do nothing, for now, and continue gathering information."
"If I go to the authorities."
"The investigation would be out of your hands.
It would move at its own pace.
Priscilla and potentially Weston would be subjects of that investigation."
"Weston," Nadia said.
"If he genuinely didn't understand what he was signing—"
"That would be for investigators to determine.
Cooperation would help him.
Significantly."
Nadia was quiet.
Reid, who had been mostly silent, said, "There's something else you should know." He looked at Harriet, who nodded.
"The journalist Priscilla met three weeks ago.
We've identified him.
His name is Marcus Fell.
He covers financial crime, as your father said.
But he also wrote a piece two years ago about the Calloway Group's acquisition of three hotel properties in the north of England.
The piece was not flattering."
"Priscilla knew that," Nadia said.
"We believe she approached him specifically because of it.
She was offering him a story about the Calloway Group's finances — using documents she may have obtained or fabricated — in exchange for running it before any legal action could be filed."
"She was going to burn my father's company to protect herself."
"That appears to be the intent, yes."
Nadia looked at the photograph again.
The manila envelope on the restaurant table.
Priscilla's hand resting near it, relaxed, as though she were simply having lunch.
"Can you reach Marcus Fell before she does?"
Harriet's expression shifted slightly.
Not a smile — something more contained than that.
"We already have," she said.
"He called us this morning.
He received a second approach from Priscilla last night — after the gala.
He said the documents she sent him had inconsistencies he couldn't account for.
He wanted to verify them before proceeding."
"He came to you."
"He came to us.
Journalists who cover financial crime tend to prefer not being used as instruments of fraud.
It damages their credibility."
Nadia looked at the table.
At the folder.
At the photograph.
"She sent him documents last night," she said.
"After the gala.
After the private room.
After she heard everything."
"Yes."
"She went home and sent a journalist fabricated documents about my father's company."
"Within two hours of leaving the Kingsley Grand."
Nadia stood up.
She walked to the window.
The street outside was quiet — a woman walking a dog, a delivery van pulling away from the curb.
"I want to go to the authorities," she said.
"I want to do it correctly, with everything documented.
And I want Weston to have the opportunity to cooperate before it begins."
"That's a generous position," Harriet said.
"It's a practical one." Nadia turned from the window.
"If he cooperates, the case against Priscilla is stronger.
And I would rather she face the full weight of this than have it diluted across two people."
Harriet wrote something down.
"There's one more thing," Nadia said.
"The foundation.
The Ashgrove Foundation that has been using the Kingsley Grand at a reduced rate for eleven years.
The one built on my family's name."
"Yes."
"I want to know exactly how much of my father's money passed through that foundation and where it went."
Harriet looked up.
May you like
"All of it," Nadia said.
"Every pound."
