Priceless

She was about halfway through the park, past the reservoir, when a young man approached her. He had something in his hand, and she instinctively took a step back in case it was a weapon. It wasn’t. It was a pad and pen.

“I’m sorry, aren’t you Charlotte Williams?”

She nodded, slowed a little. Maybe she knew him?

“I’m Dan Robinson from the New York Sentinel. I was wondering if you had a statement to make?”

She was confused and immediately on her guard. There were a lot of crazy people in the city, and then there were reporters. One had to be careful. Her dad didn’t trust the press, and neither did she.

“A statement about what?” She started walking again, quicker this time.

“About your father’s arrest.” The reporter’s eyes were bright, and he could tell he had surprised her. Her step faltered.

“I think you must be confusing me with someone else. My father is at work.”

“He was at work. Now he is under arrest for embezzlement.”

Charlotte felt and heard her phone ringing in her bag. She pulled it out. It was home. Then another call came in, from Emily. She answered the first one.

Greta’s voice sounded shaken. “Charlotte, where are you?”

“I’m on my way to Janet’s. Greta, there’s a reporter here who says Daddy has been arrested. What’s going on?”

“Come home, Charlotte. Or go to Janet’s if you’re closer. Davis will come and pick you up.”

Charlotte looked up at the skyline. She could see the Dakota.

“I’m closer to Janet’s. Tell Davis I’ll be there in ten minutes. Is it true?”

Greta sounded like she was in tears. “Yes, Charlotte, but we don’t know anything yet.” There was a pause. “Please hurry, Charlotte.”

She hung up. Emily had long ago gone to voice mail, and as she looked, she saw text after text coming in, voice mails piling up, phone calls on top of phone calls. She looked up. The reporter was still there, a tape recorder in his hand now, stretched out to catch her comments, her first thoughts on whatever it was that was happening. She drew a breath.

“Miss Williams? Do you have a comment? Your father is accused of perpetrating a massive fraud, embezzling millions, possibly billions, of dollars. The SEC claims to have been following him for years. What do you have to say?”

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.

Chapter SEVEN

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 study, but I locked the door and told them they had to wait for you.”

Charlotte took a deep breath and tried to fight down her rising sense of panic. “OK. Please tell them I have returned and will be with them shortly. Have you offered them coffee?”

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 eyebrow. “I thought the FBI was holding my father?”

Scarsford looked annoyed at Dale, briefly. “They are, but the SEC began the investigation. I’m the lead investigator.”

Charlotte started to feel the tiniest flicker of anger, deep within her fear. “Gentlemen, let me be crystal-clear. You think my father is guilty of something. You think he is a criminal. But I assume your suspicions don’t extend to me?”

A short pause, each waiting for the other to catch the ball.

“Or do they?”

The cop caught it. “Not at this time, Miss Williams. The investigation is just beginning.”

“I thought your case was watertight? That’s what you’ve told the media. You’ve hung my father before you’ve even begun? That’s not very sporting of you, is it?”

She walked to the window and looked out for a moment, composing herself and pulling together every ounce of inner strength she possessed. She wanted her father to walk through the door, laughing, telling everyone what a good joke this had been. But when she turned back to the investigators, she looked as if she were serving tea rather than an ultimatum.

“If at any time during this investigation I feel I am not being treated with the utmost respect or that I am being deliberately misled in any way, I will cause problems for each and every one of you that will make you wish you had not been born. My father and my family are connected at the highest levels of government, of society, and internationally. Please remember that you have been welcomed into my home and treated with civility. Do me the courtesy of extending the same civility.”

She took a deep breath.

“Now, will whoever’s in charge please answer my simple question: May I see my father?”

Scarsford smiled. “Of course, Charlotte.” “Miss Williams.”

The smile didn’t wobble. “Miss Williams, sorry. Once our people have begun to search your father’s study, I will take you to him myself.”

“Very well.” She extended the key to him. “Here is what you need. Nothing has been disturbed or removed since my father left for work this morning. We have nothing to hide.” She looked Scarsford in the eye. “Can you say the same, Mr. Scarsford?”

He flushed.

Chapter EIGHT

It was actually an hour before they could leave the apartment, and during that time, Charlotte was able to talk to Emily on the phone. Emily seemed more amused than anything.

“It’s just ridiculous, Charlotte! There are photos of your dad on CNN, for crying out loud. And not very flattering ones, either.”

Charlotte made a face. “That’s hardly a problem right now, Emily. When this is all cleared up, I’ll make sure to update their file photo, OK?”

Emily was unchastened. “Well, he looks heavy, is all I’m saying.” She giggled. “Maybe he’ll be like Martha Stewart and get in shape in jail.”

“Emily.” Charlotte’s tone was sharp. “Don’t even joke about it. It’s not funny.”

She could hear her friend pouting. “It is a little bit funny, Charlotte. It’s silly. Why on earth would your dad steal money when he’s so wealthy? The po-po are so stupid.”

Charlotte happened to be looking at Detective Mallory as Emily said this, and she thought she’d rarely seen a man who looked less stupid, but there you go.

“Shall I come and visit you?” Emily sounded giddy. “I can wear dark glasses and cover my head with a shawl and creep in.”

“Don’t you dare, Emily. Stay away so you don’t get dragged in the mud, too. Besides, I’m going to see Dad soon, so I won’t be here much longer.”

“OK, Charlotte. I’ll call you later, OK?” Emily hung up, presumably to call all of her other friends and revel in schadenfreude.

Charlotte was getting a pretty good handle on her anger now, and she found herself irritated by her friend’s lighthearted response to her crisis. Not once had Emily said she was sympathetic or said that she felt bad that Charlotte was going through this or offered to do anything concretely helpful. Oh well. To be fair, she wasn’t sure what she would do if the situation were reversed. She smiled at the thought of Emily’s parents getting in trouble. For what? Shoplifting at Zabar’s? Buying non-fair-trade coffee?

Jim Scarsford, watching her from across the room, saw a brief smile soften her features for a moment, then fade away. Mallory came over and spoke to him.

“We’re good here. You can take her downtown now, if you want. Or keep her waiting some more. It’s up to you. Sometimes if they get worked up enough, they make a mistake, you know, blurt something out in frustration that they wouldn’t have otherwise.”

Scarsford frowned at his NYPD counterpart. “I doubt she knows anything. She’s been away in Paris for the last year, and before that, she didn’t seem interested in anything but boys and clothes. I doubt Charlotte Williams is a criminal mastermind.”

Mallory looked less sure. “She would have been arrested for arson if she’d been anyone else, you know that. Yale hushed it all up because Daddy stepped in and threw money at the problem. If she’d been an eighteen-year-old black kid from New Haven, she’d be in jail still, and where’s the fairness in that?”

All three men had been watching the Williams family for quite some time. Charlotte surely would have been embarrassed if she knew how much both of these men knew about her life. Including her love life.

She stood as Scarsford approached her. It was a pity he was the devil—he was actually nice looking. “Can we go now?”

When she stood close to him, he realized she wasn’t as tall as he’d first thought. He’d been seeing pictures of her day after day for the last several years, and he’d been prepared for her prettiness. What he hadn’t been ready for was the intoxicating mix of reserve and heat she gave out. Very controlled, very elegant, very stylish. But she moved like a cat, and her face was so expressive. He wished for a moment he could take her to bed, really find out what made her smile, what made her eyes close in delight, what made her curl up inside. But that was never going to happen, because he was going to put her father in jail, and that tended to be a dating no-no. Smiling wryly at himself on the inside, he maintained his cool and simply nodded.

ONE OF THE things an expensive Upper East Side education gave you, supposedly, was the ability to make polite conversation with anyone. You might run into a diplomat one day and a king of some small country the next, and a properly educated young woman should easily be able to discuss a variety of neutral topics. But it turned out that riding downtown in a car with a man responsible for arresting your parent was a tough situation to chat your way through.