My mobile buzzed on my desk and I glanced at the screen. Unknown number. I wouldn’t normally pick up, but I needed a distraction.
“Andrew Blake.”
“Hi, Andrew, my name’s Aryia Chowdhury and I’m writing a book.” I was just about to cut her off and when she added, “About your grandmother. I should correct myself. I’m writing a book about women of the last century who tried to shape their respective industries, and I’m planning on including your grandmother’s founding of Verity, Inc., as well as your mother’s stewardship.”
My hand gripped the phone so hard, it was a wonder the screen didn’t splinter.
“I was hoping I could set up a meeting to talk about it with you.”
“What was your name again?” I wanted to get a complete background check on whoever was writing about my grandmother.
She repeated her name and then offered more information. “I’m a freelance writer. I’ve written for most of the broadsheets but most often contribute to The Guardian. Verity, Inc. fascinates me because of its drastic transformation since it was founded.”
My stomach began to curdle. I didn’t need to hear this from a perfect stranger. And I certainly didn’t want a perfect stranger telling thousands of other perfect strangers how something so great had turned into the laughable publication Verity was today.
“Do you follow the fortunes of Verity and Goode publishing now? Do you feel any familial connection to the publication?” she asked.
“Is this an interview?” I snapped. I had no interest in being interviewed on the hoof. I needed more information about what this Aryia Chowdhury was doing, and what she intended to say about my family.
“Sorry, no, I got carried away. Could we arrange a time to speak? Perhaps I could take you out to lunch or come to your office or—”
“You’ll need to speak to my assistant. How did you get this number anyway? Never mind.” I didn’t know why I was asking. Everything was for sale. “Call my office and they’ll set something up.”
“I look forward to it,” she said, just before I hung up.
This was the last thing I needed. My grandmother hadn’t been dead a year, and now this writer was poking around, ready to tell the world how her work had been wasted because of all that Verity had become. It was bad enough that I knew how my grandmother, mother, and Verity’s important, groundbreaking work had been pushed out to make room for page upon page of celebrity non-stories. Now whoever read this book was going to think my grandmother’s life had been wasted.
I sighed and swung my chair around so I could see out the window. My grandmother’s passion had been the work Verity, Inc. had done. She’d loved it and always been so full of life whenever she talked about it. I didn’t want anyone who read about her not to know that. She’d been passionate and dedicated—a trailblazer. Meanwhile, the people behind her were working hard to cover up the path she’d plowed.
I’d have to talk to Aryia. Tell her what the real story was. I needed to be the person who made sure my grandmother’s legacy was one of honor and honesty. Of uncovering the truth and pushing for answers. In short, her mission in life had been the exact opposite of everything her magazine had become.
My heart hung in my ribcage like a hunk of concrete.
I stood and stalked across my office and swung open the door. “Get Douglas. I need both of you in here.”
Sofia glanced at the clock, probably wondering why I’d finished my “yoga practice” before midday. At least she had the good sense not to say anything.
Less than two minutes later, a grumble of voices was followed by my office door opening and Douglas and Sofia appearing.
They took seats opposite my desk.
“Douglas, you need to get this checked out by the lawyers, but we’re going to set up an offshore company owned by some other companies in a country where you don’t have to disclose owners or directors. We’re going to add layer after layer after layer of companies and directors until no one can trace the original company back to me. Then, when we have that in place, the original company is going to make an offer to buy Verity. When Goode requests a meeting—as we know he will—Sofia is going to pose as the buyer.”
I glanced at Sofia and then at Douglas and then back at Sofia. Her expression was blank.
“It will be expensive,” Douglas said.
I didn’t reply.
“And complicated,” he added.
“I want it done within the week.”
“Then we better get to work,” Sofia said. “Douglas, if you work on the structures, I’ll work on the offer letter so it looks completely different from last time. I’ll also rent office space, organize phone lines, and set up what looks like a viable office. I’ll get business cards, an internet address, and I’ll update my LinkedIn page. Luckily, I didn’t update it when I started working here, so they won't be able to trace me. If it’s okay with you, Andrew, I’ll use my real name. The fewer the lies, the better. Right?”
Was it me or did she emphasize the word “real”?
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” I said. “I want to submit an offer by the end of the week.” Douglas and Sofia stood and headed to the door. “And if Aryia Chowdhury calls to request a meeting, set something up but push it out a couple of weeks.”
If I had my way, I’d have signed contracts with Goode to buy back Verity before I ever sat down for the interview.
Twenty-Two
Sofia
I thought I’d thought of everything, but now that the cell phone I’d put in the name of Andrew’s shell company was ringing, I panicked. I didn’t have a receptionist to answer the call on my behalf.
“Breathe,” I heard Andrew’s voice say in my head. I answered the phone. It was a cell number. No one expected a receptionist to answer a cell number.
“Sofia Rossi.” Unlike Andrew’s gruff, bordering on rude telephone manner, I tried to sound bright and confident.
“This is Mr. Goode’s office.” I knew that already. They were the only one with the number. “I’m calling to set up a meeting between you and Mr. Goode.”
“Wonderful. Let me bring up my diary. When is Mr. Goode free?”
“At the moment he’s in the U.S. on business and he’s not expected back until the twenty-second.”
The twenty-second? Could she mean three weeks away? Andrew was impatient for this deal to be done. He’d been stalking the office like a caged lion since we’d put in the offer yesterday. There was no way he’d survive three weeks. As far as he was concerned, he’d wanted to submit on Friday—but I’d convinced him we should wait for the office space we were leasing to be furnished, just in case Goode investigated more closely.
Waiting three weeks just wasn’t an option.
“I’m in New York on business this month,” I said. “Perhaps we could coordinate something while I’m over there?”
“Please hold.”
Would Andrew kill me for organizing a meeting three thousand miles away? No, this was the right thing to do. He’d gone to so much time, money, and effort to set up this shell company.