Nicole Richie - Priceless

“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?”