How to Slay at Work, page 18
I’m taken aback by how vehement she is. ‘Sorry.’ I put up a hand in apology.
‘I always kept my distance. There was something off about them, although I couldn’t quite articulate it back then. It’s like they were pretending, playing at being our friends, waiting for us to become valuable. Like assets-in-waiting.’
I nod. ‘That’s exactly what Liam is like.’
‘Yeah. So when I was thirteen, I started to get into make-up. My parents and grandmother had left me some money and I was given an allowance each month. Enough to buy clothes and phone credit and fund a weekly trip to Boots. It was the highlight of a life that was… well, I was an orphan. In a children’s home. So… you know.’
I don’t know. Her experience is so far removed from my own I can’t even begin to imagine. But I nod anyway and she continues.
‘It wasn’t make-up for me though. I loved doing it for other people and when I was fourteen I joined the local Youth Theatre. I was the one who did everyone’s make-up before shows and I loved it. But it was hard to lug everything around, all that make-up was heavy and I didn’t have parents to drive me around, I had to take the bus. So I got inventive. I bought a small fishing tackle box and had a friend help me make a series of smaller containers that fitted perfectly inside. We even begged the Design and Technology teacher, Mr Drummond, to let us use this machine he had to mould little plastic pots. Whenever there was a show, I would spend hours figuring out exactly what I needed to take, leaving everything else behind. Streamlined. Simple.’
‘PALETTES.’
She looks at me. ‘Yep.’
PALETTES is the cornerstone of the Serendipity brand. The thing that gave them a unique selling point to stand out against the competition. PALETTES lets you design your very own, entirely customised, make-up kit. All in a small and easy to carry case. If you want to change your eyeshadow, you just order a new quad of colours and snap it into place inside the main case. The combination capability is endless, and there are three ranges that are compatible with any case, so the system is saleable to teens as well as young professionals and even the more luxury end of the market.
‘He stole your idea,’ I say.
‘Oh, no,’ she says. ‘When Connor first saw the case he told me it was genius. He and Liam were looking to start a business. They wanted to prove to their parents they weren’t losers, that they could make something from nothing. Mummy and Daddy Weedon thought they needed to get a grip, get real jobs, and stop messing around. I overheard their father giving them this huge lecture once, about family and responsibility and being proper men. It was painful to listen to.’
She stops talking for a moment to adjust her position, wincing as she moves her ankle slightly. ‘Anyway, Mr Weedon Senior refused to help them start the business. They needed some cash to make prototypes to try to tempt some investors, but of course neither of them had anything in savings and no solid employment history to try to get a loan.’ She smiles. ‘In the story they tell, they went to Vegas and hit a winning streak, making money from slots and roulette and blackjack to fund the R&D. In truth, they begged and cajoled a teenage girl into giving them her dead parents’ inheritance.’
‘You gave them money?’
‘I gave them everything I had – almost five hundred thousand pounds – in exchange for a fifty percent share of Serendipity. Even the name was my idea. It means an unplanned fortunate discovery. Any time something positive happened to me, I would wonder if it was because I was an orphan. If perhaps this good thing was why all the bad stuff had happened before. That perhaps all the shit would turn out to mean something. I was fifteen and obsessed with the idea that things didn’t just happen randomly, that there must be order and purpose in life, if only we could figure out what it was.’
‘What did they do?’ I ask.
‘They cut me out. Took the name and the idea and all the money I had and built the third biggest beauty brand in the world.’
‘So you want to make them pay?’
‘Oh, no, Freya. I want to make them suffer.’
The look on her face causes a cold shiver to run down my spine.
‘They stole my future. The person I was meant to be. For years I’ve been scraping by, trying to carve out a place for myself in a world that has failed me time and time again. Do you know what Connor said when he told me I wasn’t going to be part of it any more?’
I shake my head.
‘He told me that I was a stupid, stupid girl. That no one gave a shit about me. I got angry, started screaming at him, fists flailing. He told me to calm down and shut the fuck up. So I said I’d tell everyone what he did. He laughed.’
‘Did you? Tell someone?’
‘I tried. But the next day, I was walking up the driveway of Weedon House from the bus stop down the road. I heard a car crunching across the gravel. It pulled to a stop. I didn’t look behind me but something in my subconscious told me it was Connor. He dragged me by my hair into the woods that surrounded the house and threw me into the mud. He started kicking and punching, telling me I was a worthless little bitch. Told me that if I said another word he would make sure I didn’t talk again. He stuffed wet leaves into my mouth until I was sick.’ Her voice is level as she talks, the tone even, almost robotic. It’s as if she’s relaying a movie she watched from a distance rather than remembering something real. But then her whole demeanour changes and she leans forward, squeezing her eyes shut, the next sentence coming out in nothing more than a whisper. ‘And then he told me that Liam was with Lissa. Making sure she knew to stay silent too.’
‘Lissa?’
‘She was my best friend. She still is. More of a sister, I suppose.’ Millie opens her eyes again. ‘I want them to suffer for what they did to me. But I want them to die for what they did to Lissa.’
28
There is an anger inside Millie, one she can barely contain. I can hear it in her voice and see it in the way she’s sitting, the set of her jaw, the flash in her eyes. Neither of us speaks. I watch the anger grow and shift, morphing into something bigger, something more powerful.
The desire to rip it all down.
To let the world burn.
I think I’ve been wrong about Millie. I thought she was weak. I thought she was a little bit lazy. I thought she wasn’t the brightest. In fact, when I first interviewed her for the analyst role I was convinced she wouldn’t get the job.
‘Another pretty fool who wants to work in Beauty because it sounds so terribly super fun,’ I’d said to Lucas, disdain dripping from my words and turning into a parody of the kind of person I thought Millicent Brooks was.
‘Perhaps she would be an asset?’ he’d replied.
The look I gave him would have withered anyone but him. ‘Really?’
He sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Just hear me out,’ he said, raising a finger. ‘Someone who’s a bit half-hearted. Maybe she makes the odd mistake. Doesn’t check things as well as she should.’ He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘You see where I’m going with this, right?’
I smiled at him. That was why I’d asked him to apply for a job at Serendipity; sometimes he could be a real asset. I hired Millie to be a patsy in reserve. Waiting in the wings for a time I might need someone a little less than capable, someone to pin a mistake on. She doesn’t realise how many times I’ve used her to create an alibi, like in New York when she went to pick up my necklace while I was with Jim Handley.
But now? I think perhaps I was too harsh in my judgement, or that I was given poor information to begin with. Lucas shouldn’t have underestimated her. I’m going to make damn sure he knows about his slip in judgement and what it almost cost me. Insist he keeps an even closer eye on her – if that’s possible.
Imagine if she hadn’t fallen into that animal trap? Imagine if she’d fled and gone straight to the police? It could have all been over. I deleted the video from her phone, but I’m assuming she streamed it somewhere as she recorded. I’m almost certain there’s another copy, somewhere out there, drifting in the ether. I shiver at the thought. I need to keep her on side.
I lean forward, stretching out my right hand. ‘Millicent Brooks, I think we are going to make an excellent team,’ I say as we shake hands.
The deal struck, we begin the process of getting home to London. Oh, and dealing with the whole Lawrence Delaney issue. With Katerina and the children away, I decide to leave him exactly where he fell. One call to Lucas and he agrees to hop on the next flight to tidy up any loose ends.
‘You need to make sure he’s found before the children come home,’ I tell him. Well, it is part of the code and there’s no point in having one if you don’t even try to follow it.
‘I’ll get a burner and call it in to the emergency services. Claim to be a hiker who got lost and stumbled across his house. Then I’ll get out of there before the police show up and want to chat.’
‘Excellent. And do a sweep while you’re there. Make sure nothing got dropped on the route between the house and hut.’
‘Of course.’
After I end the call, I notice Millie is staring at me. ‘Who was that?’ she asks.
‘A friend who’ll help to ensure we aren’t linked to the Delaney house.’
‘We?’
‘My friend will check you didn’t drop anything in the forest, or leave any fingerprints by the house.’
‘Who is this friend?’
‘Just a friend. Someone I trust very much.’ I don’t name Lucas. Now isn’t the time for her to find out the truth about him. ‘Now,’ I say, standing up. ‘Do you think you can walk on that?’ I motion to her ankle. ‘There’s an S-Bahn station at Possenhoffen, but it’s about a twenty minute walk.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She’s stoic. I can tell from her gait that it’s incredibly painful, that every step is agony. But she doesn’t complain. I’m impressed, to be honest. And it takes a lot to impress me.
We’re booked on the 15.50 flight from Munich to Heathrow, so there’s plenty of time for us to get back to the hotel to shower and change before we meet back in the foyer. Neither of us has slept and even I am starting to feel the effects a little. I read an article a decade ago about high performing people who only need a limited amount of sleep. Marissa Mayer, former CEO of Yahoo, reportedly only slept between four and six hours a night. If she could do it then so could I, and I’ve trained myself to function on an average of five hours a night, punctuated by occasional all-nighters. It has revolutionised my professional and personal lives.
Millie is obviously used to far more rest, and she yawns every few minutes while we’re having brunch. We haven’t spoken much since we left the hut as the sun began to rise this morning, just occasional platitudes and banal observations.
‘Isn’t the weather nice?’
‘The S-Bahn is so much more efficient than the Underground.’
‘This pretzel roll is delicious.’
Millie yawns again after she sips her coffee, covering her mouth with her hand. Then she tips her head to one side and looks at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘You don’t have a sympathetic yawn response,’ she says.
‘Because I’m a cold and heartless bitch,’ I reply, keeping my voice neutral. It’s not the first time someone has pointed it out. It’s always held up as an empathy test, but it’s total bullshit. Pseudo-science that people trot out to convince themselves their dog yawns when they do because Fido loves them.
Millie laughs softly, but she doesn’t mention it again. Not even when her repeated yawning at the airport causes everyone we come into contact with, from security to the staff at the gate, to mimic her.
I get home early in the evening. I’ve still not slept, but I stay up, waiting for Lucas. He arrives at my flat a few hours later, coming straight from the airport once he’s landed.
‘We have a lot to discuss,’ I say as I open the door and motion for him to enter.
‘I bought you a gift from Austria,’ he says, handing me a small wrapped liquor bottle and a bar of Zotter chocolate featuring a squirrel on the wrapper.
‘Austria?’
‘I could hardly fly in and out of Munich could I? What if I’d bumped into you at the airport?’ He sounds a little pissed about the extra effort and it irritates me.
‘You didn’t need to buy me a gift.’
‘Of course I didn’t. But yet, here we are.’ He smiles.
‘Is it an apology?’ I ask.
The smile melts from his face. ‘I suppose you think I failed to do the proper due diligence on Millie?’
I shoot him a look that says that’s exactly what I think.
‘Respectfully,’ he says without even an ounce of deference, ‘you were the one in Lawrence Delaney’s house, chasing him with a fucking gun. Which I’m presuming was how you were intending on killing him. Sounds messy.’
We stare at each other, standing in my hallway. An impasse reached.
He’s right. I’m right.
He’s wrong. I’m wrong.
I’m not going to apologise. He isn’t either, not beyond a token gesture at least.
He can ruin me. I can ruin him.
I hand the bottle back to him. ‘There are glasses in the kitchen.’
He takes it with a smile. This is how we solve our disagreements now. With frosty acceptance and a shot of whatever alcohol we have to hand. We are dysfunctional and absurd but this is my only relationship that makes any sense at all.
I nibble the edge of a piece of the hazelnut-flavoured Zotter chocolate as Lucas pours us another shot.
‘Prost,’ he says as he hands it to me.
‘Prost,’ I reply before drinking it. It’s sweet and strong and surprisingly good. ‘What is it?’ I ask, motioning at the round bottle.
‘Marillenschnaps? Basically apricot brandy.’ He shrugs. ‘It’ll do. Anyway, I’ve been looking at that story she told you.’
‘And?’
‘It seems to check out.’
‘So she definitely lived at this Weedon House?’ I’m curious that he hadn’t realised the connection to the Serendipity brothers.
‘It wasn’t called that. Not officially, anyway. The legal name was The Youth Trust, a registered charity operating out of the Weedon House estate. That’s why we never realised.’
‘But Connor and Liam worked there?’
‘For the Trust, yes. Connor was a non-exec director, Liam some kind of strategy consultant. They didn’t exactly take a hands-on approach and then quit to set up Serendipity.’
‘What about Millie’s claim that PALETTES was her concept?’
‘No way to prove that either way.’ Lucas stands up and stretches, cracking his neck and then his shoulders.
‘What about proving the money was hers?’
‘Now that is interesting.’ He moves over to the bag he always carries, pulls out a folder and passes it to me. ‘I was able to get access to the initial incorporation documents.’
I take the folder. ‘He didn’t name her as an investor?’
‘Of course not. But there was no confirmation of the source of the funds. Liam and Connor claimed the money was a combination of personal savings and some winnings in a US casino. But they never filed a tax recuperation claim.’
‘A what?’
‘US citizens pay tax on casino winnings, but we don’t in the UK. The casino will deduct the tax from a big win automatically, but if you’re British you can claim it back when you get home. You just need to fill in a few forms.’
‘I’m bored of this story,’ I say. Who gives a shit about tax treaties?
‘Here’s the thing,’ he says, his voice animated as if trying to reignite my interest. ‘If what they claim was true, that they won a massive amount on a slot machine, then the casino would have taken forty percent of it. Tens of thousands of pounds. Hundreds of thousands maybe. They would have claimed that tax back.’
But they didn’t. ‘There was no casino win,’ I say with clarity.
‘Nope.’
‘Because the money came from Millie.’
‘That is one plausible explanation for it.’
‘Interesting,’ I say. ‘Any sign of a bank transfer?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not that I can find, but I doubt Liam and Connor would leave that evidence to be traced.’
He has a point there. I doubt we’ll ever know for sure, but at least it seems to fit. ‘And what about this Lissa?’
‘She lives with Millie. Works in fashion PR or something. A bit ditzy, known for getting drunk and some ill-advised liaisons.’
‘Anyone we know?’
‘Just people she picks up in clubs, or on dating apps.’ He sounds judgemental, even though he can hardly claim a moral high ground. ‘Apparently she struggles to form lasting relationships.’
I’m not sure I can blame her. ‘So you think Millie’s telling the truth?’
‘Probably.’
‘Probably? I need to know she definitely has the appropriate motivation. That she needs my help. We’re in a mutually assured destruction scenario.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘A what?’
‘When you both stand to lose everything if one of you talks.’
‘Oh. Like us?’ He gives me his best wolfish smile.
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you think she’ll actually do it?’ he asks, stretching his frame along my sofa, making himself a little too comfortable.
‘Do you?’ I ask in reply.
He pauses, tapping his fingers against his lips. ‘There’s a fire in her.’
I let out a short burst of laughter. ‘A fire?’
He winks.
‘Killing takes more than fire,’ I tell him pointedly.
‘It does.’ He pauses. ‘I’m not sure,’ he says eventually.
‘Neither am I.’ I’m forced to agree with him. ‘I think she thinks she’ll do it.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say simply. I need more time to think through the repercussions. The what-if scenarios. What if she does? What if she doesn’t? ‘For now, just watch her. Tell me what she’s up to. I’m assuming that won’t be a problem for you?’
