Greta looked scandalized. “No. They are the police. They think your father is a criminal.”
“All the more reason to treat them with civility, don’t you think?” Charlotte headed up to her room. “Please serve them coffee.” She paused. “On the Sèvres china, please.”
Charlotte walked into her room, closing the double doors behind her with a click. Leaning back, she waited until her head cleared. What. The. Fuck. When she’d burned that building down at Yale, her dad had sent a lawyer to meet her at the police station, and he hadn’t been far behind himself. Every time she’d gotten into trouble in her teens, Davis had shown up, whisking her away. She had never, ever had to face anything difficult alone, or at least not for very long. She felt totally lost and terrified, but she knew she had to pull herself together. She looked around her room and realized that everything she needed was right there. “If you walk into a nest of vipers,” her father had told her, “walk in looking like a million bucks. It’ll confuse the snakes.” A Chanel suit seemed like appropriate armor, with gorgeous shoes for a little “fuck you.” Full makeup but not slutty. Smooth, tight hair in a diamond clip. Everything very under control. Yes, she was a twenty-two-year-old girl, but she was going to act as if she dealt with the authorities every day of her life. Secretly, she wanted her mommy, but dressing up in Mommy’s clothes was the best she could do. It was small comfort, but it was comfort.
As she came down the stairs her knees were trembling, and at one point she stumbled, grabbing the banister for support. She saw Greta waiting below, her face drawn. Charlotte straightened, swallowing her own fear in the hope that she would alleviate Greta’s. Like a swan, she told herself. Calm and serene above the water, paddling like mad underneath.
She made it down the rest of the stairs without falling.
WHEN CHARLOTTE ENTERED the library, she looked like the cover of a magazine, and all three men in the room instinctively got to their feet. The dark suit made her hair glow, and her smooth skin and unusual features were stunning.
“Gentlemen.” Charlotte extended her hand. “I’m Charlotte Williams. I understand there has been some mistake about my father.”
The first man, who was short and somewhat round, introduced himself.
“Miss Williams, I’m Philip Mallory, NYPD. I’m acting as the liaison between the NYPD and the two other agencies involved in the investigation.” His tone was bland, calm. He could probably see her hand was shaking, but he just seemed to file that away.
“The SEC and the FBI?” Charlotte was equally cool. “I assume you gentlemen represent one each?” She smiled, getting them to smile back at her, unable to stop themselves. OK, Charlotte, they’re just men, she told herself, just men. Men love you.
“I’m Jim Scarsford from the SEC.” Taller than the cop, handsomer, and dressed in what Charlotte immediately saw was an Armani suit. She guessed you had to dress like a banker to catch a banker. She smiled briefly at Scarsford and turned to the last man.
“Sam Dale, FBI.” He could have come from anywhere, been anything. Sandy hair, pale eyes, small mouth. His extreme normalness was probably an advantage in his work. Your eye would just slide right over him. His suit was Men’s Warehouse, all the way.
“Can any of you gentlemen tell me where my father is?”
Scarsford cleared his throat. It was unfortunate for him, but the SEC agent found Charlotte attractive and appeared to be struggling a bit to remain focused on the fact that she was a subject in an investigation. “Uh, yes, Miss Williams. Your father is being held at an FBI facility downtown. He is safe, of course.”
“Of course. Why FBI, may I ask? Is he being charged with a federal offense?” Charlotte was impressed with how calm she sounded. She didn’t feel it, but she sounded it. All those deportment lessons finally paying off.
Mr. Dale answered. “Yes, he is. Securities fraud is a crime with far-reaching implications and victims in multiple states. In fact, your father is accused of defrauding investors from more than fourteen different countries.”
Charlotte smiled again, although she feared she might throw up at any minute. “Really? That sounds very energetic of him.” She paused, crossing her legs and settling herself more comfortably, the red soles of her shoes seeming to distract them. Jim Scars-ford started to go scarlet, the color climbing his neck. “My father’s lawyer has been present throughout, I assume?”
The FBI agent nodded. “Yes. Your father hasn’t actually answered any questions or spoken to agents from any of the agencies involved yet, although we hope he will. If he wishes to prove his innocence, he’s going to need to talk to us.”
Charlotte’s expression remained calm. “I imagine he’ll do whatever he deems most sensible.” She stood. “Now, gentlemen, I assume you need something from me, or you wouldn’t be here. How can I help you?”
The cop pulled out a piece of paper. “We have a warrant to search your father’s study. The warrant allows us to remove his computers, his files, and any other materials we consider pertinent to our investigation.”
Charlotte took the piece of paper and folded it without looking. “I’ll need to consult with my attorney, of course. Will you gentlemen excuse me while I call him?”
Once outside the door, Charlotte ran for the bathroom and made it just in time. Resting her clammy forehead on the sink, she unfolded the paper and looked at it. It was, as they had said, a search warrant for her dad’s study. It was signed by a judge she knew, one who’d eaten in their home several times. Traitor. It was probably only a matter of time before they searched the whole place. Her room. Her closet. She retched again and waited there a while until she felt composed.
Wiping her mouth, she looked at herself in the mirror. A little pale. She pinched her cheeks and opened her eyes wide. Pull yourself together, Charlotte. She entered her father’s study and called the lawyer.
“Arthur?” The line wasn’t very good, and it sounded as if he wasn’t alone.
“Charlotte? Are you at the apartment?”
“There are police here, Arthur, with a warrant for Dad’s study.”
The lawyer sighed. She’d known Arthur Bedford all her life, and she’d never heard him sound stressed before. “Your father has been accused of some very serious crimes, Charlotte, and the FBI and the SEC are totally within their rights to search the apartment.”
Charlotte looked out the window. Everyone was carrying on as normal. Tourists were climbing into horse-drawn carriages. Children were playing. Did no one realize the world had ended?
“The warrant only covers the study. I’m in it right now. No smoking guns. No piles of cash.”
Arthur had lost his sense of humor. “Don’t touch anything, Charlotte. Don’t take anything out.”
She frowned. “Why would I, Arthur? The sooner they clear this all up, the sooner we can sue them for defamation of character.”
Another sigh. This was beginning to make her feel anxious.
“Dad is innocent, right, Arthur?”
“Charlotte, I wish I knew.” She heard the sound of louder voices. “Let’s talk in an hour or so, OK?”
She stood there a moment, lightly touching the things on her father’s desk. His laptop was there. A detachable flash drive. Keys to his files. Nothing was hidden, no secrets there. Fine. Let them come.
She collected the key to her father’s study from Greta and went back into the library. She decided to address Dale, the FBI agent.
“My lawyer advises me that my father wants to see me. Will that be allowed?”
Surprisingly, Dale turned to Scarsford.
Charlotte raised one