Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him and stood tall. “I have absolutely no doubt that my father is completely innocent and that his name will soon be cleared.”
“It’s your name, too, Charlotte.” The reporter was very still, hoping she would say something that would make his editor proud.
But instead, she said something that would have made Miss Millie proud. “A name is just a label, Mr. Robinson. It doesn’t tell you anything about someone’s character.”
And then she turned on her heel and walked away.
Janet opened the door, smiling, her arms open wide. She had her hair piled on top of her head, antique chopsticks holding it up, rhinestone cat-eye spectacles glinting. She really was one of a kind.
“It is so wonderful to see you, Charlotte. Give me a hug, for goodness sake. I want to hear all about Paris.” Then the elderly woman paused, looking at her young friend more carefully. “What has happened? Are you all right?”
Charlotte pushed gently past her and went into the kitchen, where she knew there was a TV. “Can I put on the TV, Jan? Something bad has happened to Dad.”
Janet gasped and rushed after her, finding the remote underneath a fluffy gray cat and switching on the TV. The cat was annoyed and stalked off, tail twitching.
“Calm down, Brutus, you weren’t watching anyway.”
Janet McTavish was, as her name suggested, originally from Scotland, but four decades in the United States had softened her accent considerably. She and her favorite pupil stood and waited for CNN to tell them what they needed to know. And then, suddenly, there was a photo of Jacob Williams, and the announcer was talking.
“Today, Wall Street was thrown into disarray when one of its giants, Jacob Williams, was arrested for securities fraud. Spokesmen for the SEC and the FBI issued the following statement.”
The video cut to a press conference, where a man who didn’t look very threatening was talking about Charlotte’s father as if he were a criminal.
“For more than five years, the SEC and the FBI, working together, have been building a case against Mr. Williams, who has held the confidence of some of our country’s leaders, many of our major banks, and thousands of individual investors. At times, we didn’t think we would ever gather the evidence we needed, so complicated was his web of transactions and funds, but now we are confident that we have a watertight case against him. He is being held without bail in Manhattan, and a preliminary arraignment is scheduled for the morning.”
Janet took Charlotte’s arm and guided her to a chair, displacing poor Brutus again, who simply left the room in disgust.
“Goodness, child, you’re as white as a sheet. Let’s get you some whiskey.”
Charlotte silently shook her head.
“A cup of tea, then?”
Another shake.
Janet snapped her fingers in Charlotte’s face. “Charlotte, wake up.” Charlotte jumped. “Your father is innocent, and there has been some mistake. You need to pull yourself together so you can help him.”
There was a knock at the door, and suddenly, Davis was there. “Miss Charlotte? Are you ready to come home?” He coughed, which was about as distressed as Davis ever got. “I’m afraid there are journalists and photographers at the building. We will be unable to avoid them.”
Charlotte shook herself. She was young, but she was tough. She turned to Janet. “I will take that whiskey, thanks. Davis?”
“I’m driving, Miss.”
“Of course.” She thought for a moment. “Did you already contact Mr. Bedford?” Mr. Bedford was her father’s lawyer.
“He was the one who alerted us first, Miss. He is with your father downtown.”
“What about Marshall?” Michael Marshall was her father’s partner. He’d been with Jacob a while, although he played a less public role than her father did.
Davis looked pained. “I haven’t been able to reach Mr. Marshall.”
“Maybe he’s also been arrested?”
Davis shrugged, something she’d never seen him do before. For some reason, that small gesture of hopelessness on his part worried her deeply.
Charlotte looked around Janet’s kitchen, cluttered and small yet as beloved to her as the stately kitchen in her own apartment. She’d had many of her happiest times in this place, singing with Janet, learning what her voice could do. She guessed those times were over for a while. If not forever.
“I’m sorry, Janet. I guess I need to go home.”
Janet gave her a quick hug. “Oh, for goodness sake, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m sure it’s all an error somewhere or just someone jealous over some money. It usually is. You’ll be back to see me next week, I expect, and we shall laugh about it.”
Charlotte got up and walked through the living room to reach the door. The faded sofa, the enormous Steinway grand that dominated the room, the rich ruby and blue of the Oriental carpet, all precious sights she’d missed in Paris. She felt as if she were sleepwalking. Brutus regarded her balefully from the top of the piano, but his sister, Cleopatra, purred at Charlotte’s feet. She bent to stroke the soft black fur, and it was as if someone else’s hand was doing it. Somehow, the gentle purring of the cat reminded her that the world wasn’t over; there was just a problem to be dealt with, and it would all be all right. The cat looked up and slowly blinked her big amber eyes affectionately. Charlotte straightened and turned to Davis, feeling the blood returning to her fingers and toes, her mind clearing.
“OK, Davis, let’s go face the hordes. The apartment first and then downtown.”
Davis smiled briefly, relieved to see that she was taking charge. “Yes, Miss.”
But when they got home, they found downtown already waiting for them.
CHARLOTTE STAYED VERY calm as she pushed through the photographers and reporters at her building entrance and paused in the lobby to talk to the building manager. Jacob Williams was not the first resident to provoke media interest, and the manager was sanguine.
“Miss Williams, rest assured that no member of the press will be allowed into the building without your prior permission and that no photographers whatsoever will be given access. You’ve known Davy and Felipe since you were a child; you know their discretion can be relied upon.”
Charlotte did know. The two doormen had seen many a drunken return to the apartment and had never so much as made a peep, not to her and certainly not to her father. Their discretion wasn’t because of the Christmas bonuses each resident gave them, either; it was pride and honor. Or it could be a total lack of interest in the goings on of their spoiled tenants, but she preferred to think it was honor.
She smiled at the building manager. “I know, Mr. Rockwell. I am very grateful to all the staff. We will, of course, cover any additional expenses you incur … “ She let her voice trail off politely, but her message was clear. Spare no expense. Keep them out.
Mr. Rockwell nodded. “This is your home, Miss Williams. You will be secure here, and when Mr. Williams returns, we will all be glad to see his reputation restored.”
All of this made Charlotte feel much better, at least until the elevator opened onto the triplex foyer and Greta was waiting for her.
“There are gentlemen in the library, Miss. They wanted to enter your father’s