“That’s not possible. Try again please.”
Arizona Mackintosh smiled sweetly at the waiter hovering beside her with a card payment machine. The waiter obliged, re-inserted her credit card and braced himself. He’d seen this many times before and it often became heated. It must always be a problem with the card machine, never anything to do with the possibility the card owner was broke; no-one wanted to lose face in the Wolseley.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, lowering his voice to protect her blushes. “It’s been declined again. Do you have any other cards?”
“Here, use mine,” spat Ricardo Batrez, Arizona’s Head of Development and brunch partner, flinging his AmEx across the table. How dare that idiot draw attention to their table like this!
“Thank you, sir.”
The two diners sat in uncomfortable silence as they waited for the machine to churn out a payment receipt.
“That’s all gone through,” nodded the waiter before handing back the card and turning on his heel as fast as he could.
“Damn people,” Ricardo pouted. “The quality of wait staff has gone down here I think,” he declared in a thick Guatemalan drawl.
“Thank you, Ricky, darling. I must call the bank; there’s clearly something wrong with my card.”
“No, no, I’m sure it’s fine, darling,” Ricardo fluttered his hand, dismissing her worry. “Now, what was I saying? Ah yes, I think we need to let Carla go. Her designs haven’t been hitting the mark the last two seasons and we could replace her with a younger – cheaper – graduate. Someone fearless, with fresh ideas.”
“Oh, but Ricky, Carla’s been with us since the first season; couldn’t we look at giving her some training or a different development opportunity? She does have talent and she’s been so loyal.”
“See? Arizona, darling, this is precisely why you hired me. I get it. Lure is your baby, you are sentimental. But to grow, sometimes you have to let go.”
Arizona pouted, sadly. Carla had been one of her first hires, it would be heart breaking to see her go. But Ricky was right; this was partly why she’d hired him. Not only to take the reins while Arizona supported her sister going through rehab, but to inject some new life and ambition into her fashion brand.
“But it’s Carla,” she tried again.
“So, give her a great reference,” Ricardo sighed. “Carla will be fine. You have to trust me, Arizona. If you don’t trust me one hundred percent …”
“I do, I do,” Arizona held her hands up. “Fine. Carla goes.”
“Perfect. I will talk to her.”
Arizona pushed an uncomfortable feeling to the back of her mind. She was in the business of selling clothes, not making friends, after all.
“Where are we on the autumn/winter collection?”
Ricky fluttered his hand again. “Oh, it’s ticking along.”
“Yes, but when do I get to see it? It’s May already, we’ve usually had some samples through by now.”
Ricky’s leg started tapping under the table. “The first set is on its way, darling. I spoke to Natalia myself.”
“Fabulous. I need to see them personally so I can make sure we create the same character and feel across all our marketing materials. We should start briefing the design team on that now.”
“Of course, I will talk to Shannon first thing.”
“Shannon?” Arizona asked, surprised. “Why not Cat?”
“Um,” Ricardo’s leg tapping became more vigorous. “Cat left.”
“What?” Arizona was stunned. Cat was her Head of Creative and long-time friend, although with everything Arizona had been dealing with of late, she’d let that friendship slip a little. “Since when? I never had a resignation letter from her … She hasn’t said a word to me!”
Ricardo threw up his arms in despair. “Arizona, daaahling. Tell me about it. She just walked out, no notice, nothing.”
“That’s not like Cat. What on earth happened? I must call her.” Arizona flung open her Fendi handbag and fumbled around for her phone.
“No, darling, please.” Ricardo reached across the table to put a hand on her arm. “It’s no good, you won’t reach her. She’s gone back to Denmark.”
“Why? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, I think, but she is no longer on that number. I’ve tried it. I’ve tried everything.”
“What about Michael? Does he know anything?” Michael was Lure’s CFO and Ricardo’s boyfriend. He generally kept himself to himself but that didn’t bother Arizona; as long he was good with numbers, he could be a total recluse for all she cared.
“Of course not!” Ricardo exclaimed, a little too eagerly. “He’s knows as much as I do. Which is nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Arizona couldn’t disguise the hurt she felt. She and Cat had worked together for years. They met while working at a high street fashion retailer, where Cat was a creative director and Arizona a digital merchandiser. When Arizona got access to her trust fund at twenty-one and created Lure, her dream fashion brand, she invited Cat to join the business. Cat, bored of the corporate life sapping the creative energy out of her, jumped after one short conversation. Not only had Arizona given her a chance to nurture a new fashion line from birth, she would allow Cat to influence every part of the operation and production chain. Arizona didn’t buy that Cat had just upped and left without an explanation to anyone.
As they left the Wolseley, Ricardo still cursing about the waiter’s appalling behaviour, Arizona made an excuse to make sure they went their separate ways.
“I need to pop to Fortnums, Ricky. My mother’s visiting this weekend and I’m completely out of the Queens Blend.”
“Absolutely darling. I will see you at the office later, yes?”
“Yes. And let me know how you get on with Clara. I do hope she doesn’t take it too badly.”
They air kissed and Ricardo turned back towards Green Park tube station. As soon as he reached the platform, well out of Arizona’s sight, he reached for the small silver vial hanging at his collarbone, lifted it discreetly to his nose and took a long, deep sniff.
Arizona strode purposefully along Piccadilly towards the grand department store draped in its signature eau-de-nil facade. As soon as she got inside, she ducked into a corner and pulled out her phone. Arizona was generally too busy for Facebook, so she eyed up the counter of intricate fondants as she waited for the Messenger app to download. As soon as it had, she ignored all the other messages waiting for her and searched for ‘Cat’.
“Cat, my lovely. I just found out you left?! What’s going on?” She typed. “I don’t have a number for you anymore, please call me. Axx.”
She slipped her phone into the pocket of her Marni pants and wandered over to the biscuits. She hadn’t completely lied to Ricardo; her mother was indeed visiting but the tea cupboard was fully stocked. Some chocolate and macadamia biscuits however, wouldn’t go amiss. Just as she reached the shelves lined with tall rainbow coloured biscuit tins, she felt a buzz in her pocket. Pulling out her phone she looked at the screen. It was a withheld number.
“Arizona Mackintosh.”
“Don’t you dare insult me.”
“Cat?” Arizona looked around fearfully, as though the whole ground floor of Fortnums could hear Cat’s voice at the other end of the line.
“You know exactly why I left. I don’t know why the hell I’ve called you, actually. You make me sick.”
“What? Oh my God, Cat. What’s going on? Why are you so angry?”
“Are you kidding me?” Cat was incredulous.
“I promise you, Cat. I have no idea.”
“What do you mean, you have no idea? Ricardo said you signed all this off.”
“Signed off what?” Arizona’s head was spinning.
“Come on, Arizona. The ridiculous quantity of spring/summer stock? The laying off of half the digital team? Asking all your staff to go a month without pay?”
“What?” Arizona’s mind became a blur. None of this was true; what had Ricardo been telling Cat? He’d always been jealous of Cat and Arizona’s friendship, but surely, he wouldn’t have fabricated this just to come between them?
“That’s ridiculous, Cat. I would never do that.”
Cat paused. Was it possible Arizona hadn’t been aware of any of this? She’d been absent from the business for several weeks now, but everyone had understood; the health of her beloved sister had to take priority.
“Zee,” she said, quietly now. “Is this really the first you’ve heard of it?”
Arizona’s hand began to shake as she clutched the phone to her ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cat. I know I haven’t been around much lately, with Serena’s rehab and everything, but I haven’t been asked to sign off anything like this. Ricky mentioned wanting to let Clara go today but that’s all. You have to be mistaken.”
“Zee, you need to speak to Ricardo. And fast. If he hasn’t told you about any of this, then God knows what he’s not telling you about your finances. I wouldn’t trust him and Michael if I were you.”
“Our finances are fine,” Arizona replied, swallowing a sudden sense of unease. “Our P&L has never looked better. We’ve got several hundred thou in the bank. The investors are happy …”
“When was the last time you checked the balance, Zee? When did you last see the investors?” Arizona did a mental calculation. Had it really been five months? She’d been so focused on her sister’s recovery, she hadn’t noticed how quickly time had flown.
“I’m going into the office later; I’ll talk to Michael then. I’m sure everything’s fine. Give me some time to get my head around things again, then will you come back?”
“I’m not coming back while Ricardo and Michael are there, Zee.” They’re dismantling your business, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Arizona needed to see for herself.
Arizona felt conflicted. Cat was her long-time, loyal friend and an incredibly talented creative. Ricky had fast become her right-hand man and Michael, with his glowing references from other fashion houses, was surely the best man to manage her finances.
“Give me some time, Cat. I’ll call you when I know what’s what.”
She hung up and dialled Ricardo’s number. His answerphone picked up. He must still be underground, she thought.
“Ricky darling, it’s me. Something’s come up. I’m not going to make it in this afternoon, but I’ll be along in the morning. Please can you arrange a meeting for first thing – you, me and Michael. Call me if you need anything.”
She left the biscuits on the shelf and walked out of Fortnums.
Arizona snuck into her own offices at 1am the following morning. She’d been pacing the floor of her Mayfair apartment, keys in hand, the anxiety of not knowing what lay before her gnawing at her stomach. She unlocked the door to Michael’s office and cast an eye over the accounts folders. They were exactly as she’d left them, thankfully. She reached for a folder labelled For reconciliation, pulled it from the shelf and sat at the desk. She looked around for a pen she could use to highlight any potential holes; for all his possible faults, Michael was exceptionally neat and tidy. She pulled open one of the desk drawers and to her horror, found herself face-to-face with three small bags of white powder, a rolled up fifty and a handheld mirror coated in a layer of sticky white particles.
Arizona knew instantly what it was. She hadn’t grown up with a sister forever dabbling in drugs to not know cocaine when she saw it. Not that she was an angel herself; she’d just avoided it since her sister’s health had deteriorated, on principle. But each to their own, she’d always said. Just not, she thought to herself, enraged, on my business premises.
Being careful not to leave a trace, she took out her phone and photographed the contents of the drawer. Opening a second drawer she found a pen and leafed through the bills and invoices, many red and most unopened. What the hell’s been going on?
She switched on the desktop computer and entered her password. Clicking open the accounting software she pulled up the last six months’ reports. Immediately it became clear the accounts hadn’t been reconciled at all.
She logged into the online bank account and stared, horrified, at the four-figure balance. There’s not enough here to even pay the rent on this building, she thought, nausea rising in her throat. Her eyes scanned the transactions. Outgoings, one after another, with very little revenue compensating for them. Half the recipients she didn’t even recognise. The ones she did recognise made her sick to the stomach. Michael had spent a fortune on entertaining – fancy restaurants, clubs, champagne bars, giant orders from Berry Brothers & Co. He had literally been dining out at her expense.
Feeling her stomach convulse, Arizona covered her mouth with her Hermes scarf and ran to the toilets. She felt the bile rise up and fly out of her like a machine gun. Her eyes streamed as she sank onto the floor and wiped her mouth, uncaring, onto her sleeve. Michael had spent all her money and Ricardo was covering for him. What was it Cat had said? He’d got rid of half the digital team. And now he was handpicking other loyal members of her team and axing them, one by one, as if just those salaries combined could make even a dent in the meagre balance she’d just faced on the screen. It hit her then, as though she’d run into a brick wall. Everything she’d invested her trust fund – her life savings – in, everything she’d worked for – her brand, her reputation, her team, her legacy – it had all slipped through her fingers.
In the fogginess of the toilet cubicle, a cloud parted in her mind. It was corporate misconduct, she realised. She could sue. It could take a long time and wouldn’t necessarily make a difference to the bottom line, but she couldn’t let them get away with this. Gathering the small amount of strength she had left, Arizona scrambled to her feet and made her way back to the office. Grief could wait. Right now, she needed all the evidence she could gather; those bastards were not going to know what had hit them.
Once she’d noted down, printed off and photographed every scrap of evidence she could find, she did the thing she’d been dreading the most. With shaking fingers, Arizona pressed a number into her phone and listened to the drawn-out rings, louder than usual in the eerily quiet Lure offices. Then someone answered. She could hear a throat clearing, the click of a light switch and the shuffle of a duvet.
“Charlotte Matheson speaking.”
“Lottie, it’s Arizona Mackintosh. I need your help.”