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She strode along the corridor, deep in thought.

The last few hours had been some of the most stressful of Rachel Firth’s life.

First the phone call from that bloody journalist, then the damning headlines on the Evening News digital feed, then the endless emails from the shareholders.

Firth had worked hard to dampen the fires, claiming to some that it was simply a mistake, to others that it would not come back on Regus, but the damage was done, the company she’d spent fifteen years building from scratch now tainted, appearing grubby, heartless and grasping in the public’s imagination.

Her rear-guard action had been hard-fought, determined, but ultimately fruitless, the major shareholder groups demanding an Emergency General Meeting.

She had less than an hour to prepare for it and made her way swiftly to the boardroom, which would shortly be the scene of argument, accusation and recrimination.

Firth knew her position as CEO was in jeopardy, perhaps even her shareholding too, if the others united to force her out of the company that had been her creation, her baby.

She understood that there would be no place for sentiment in their discussions, the investors simply wanting to protect both the share price and the bottom line.

If the cost of that was her expulsion, so be it.

No, the only way she could survive this was to bat back the accusation, challenging the so-called evidence and distancing the company from her sub-contractors in a concerted show of strength.

A bold, public move, such as the instigation of legal proceedings against Emilia Garanita and her newspaper would also help, alongside a very strongly worded statement lambasting lazy journalism and baseless innuendo.

Rachel Firth had already summoned the lawyers, but she knew time was tight if they were to get all their pawns in place by the time of the EGM this afternoon.

Stepping into the boardroom, she was surprised to see that one of the lawyers had already arrived, taking a moment to enjoy the commanding views of Southampton offered by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Firth’s relief at seeing the cavalry palled, however, as the statuesque figure turned to face her.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded, her face blanching as she stared at Helen Grace. ‘This is a private company. You can’t just waltz in here when you want to.’

Furious, Firth marched to the phone, snatching up the handset.

‘No need to get excited,’ her adversary responded harshly. ‘I just wanted a quick word.’

Helen’s angry assurance sent a shiver down her spine, Firth’s voice shaking as she summoned security, alerting them to the presence of a trespasser, before slamming the phone down.

‘Well, I haven’t got time. And, besides, I’ve got nothing to say to you. You tricked your way into my apartment, claiming that you were a police officer, when actually you’re nothing of the sort.’

Firth had hoped this would land, but to her annoyance, the former police officer seemed unmoved.

‘A necessary subterfuge,’ she replied coldly. ‘Especially when the odds are so weighted in your favour.’

‘That’s a bloody joke,’ Firth hissed back. ‘Fifteen years I’ve spent building up this company, fifteen years without a single peep of complaint from anyone. And yet one phone call to your pal Garanita and suddenly I’m the crook?’

‘If the cap fits …’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Firth responded fiercely, jabbing a finger in Grace’s face. ‘I’m not the law-breaker here, you are. Impersonating a police officer, trespass, libel. I’m going to make sure they throw the bloody book at you.’

‘Be my guest. I’ve got plenty of good stuff to share with them, about your operations, about your workforce …’

‘No, no, not another word. I’ve done nothing wrong, we have done nothing wrong, and the evidence will prove that. I don’t know why you’ve got a particular vendetta against me, against my company, but time will show that your disgusting allegations are utterly baseless.’

‘So how do you explain this?’

To her surprise, Helen Grace now stepped forward, shoving her phone into the executive’s hand.

Part of her was tempted to tell the ex-copper where to go, but the other part had to see.

Peering at the footage that now played on her accuser’s phone, she saw Helen being pushed roughly up against a brick wall, a brutish, shaven-headed man shoving a gun in her face.

Firth stared at it, aghast, the victim now providing a running commentary.

‘That was earlier today. I was followed to the newspaper’s offices and afterwards these two thugs jumped me. This is from H. Samuel’s own feed, logged at ten fifteen this morning.’

‘So you got mugged,’ Firth blustered, trying to muster a response. ‘I’m obviously sorry about that, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.’

‘These are the same thugs I saw loading your workers into the van outside the hospital last night. The same guys …’

Firth felt sweat prickle on her neck, her heart racing now.

‘They’re not my workers, I’ve already told you that …’ she insisted weakly, shocked at how swiftly things were spiralling.

‘Don’t think that contractual niceties and legal loopholes will get you of this, Rachel. These people ultimately work for Regus, they are your responsibility. Besides, if you’re so innocent, why was I targeted this morning? I take it you sent them?’

‘Of course not,’ Firth replied, panicked, her mind racing. ‘I would never do something like that. It’s an outrageous suggestion.’

‘But you must have spoken to your sub-contractor, right? Must have warned them that I was onto you?’

‘No, no, I never called anyone,’ Firth insisted, hesitating just too long to earn a bitter smile from her accuser.

‘So, if I was to look at your phone log, I wouldn’t find any numbers connecting you to whoever employs these thugs?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Give me your phone then. Show me.’

For a moment, caught in the tractor beam of Helen’s fierce determination, Firth was about to comply, before she came to her senses.

‘No, no, you have no right to demand anything of me. You are an ordinary citizen with no authority to ask me for a goddamn thing …’

Right on cue, the door opened and two towering security guards entered, their expressions earnest and intimidating.

‘You took your bloody time,’ she fired angrily at them. ‘Get her out of here.’

Annoyed, her adversary scowled as one of the guards grabbed her by the arm.

‘This isn’t over, Rachel.’

‘Get out. Just get out!’ Firth screamed.

Helen allowed herself to be frog-marched to the door, pausing briefly before she departed to add:

‘Good luck with the EGM, by the way.’

Then she was gone, hauled down the corridor and away.

Biting her lip, Rachel Firth felt tears threatening.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

And how on earth was she supposed to remedy the situation?

She’d had no idea she was getting into bed with such violent crooks, but who would believe her now?

The connection between her initial conversation with the former police officer and this thuggish attack was an easy one to make.

It made her look like some kind of criminal gang leader, protecting her empire at all costs.

Why hadn’t she taken better care of this?

Why hadn’t she asked more questions of the people she employed?

She knew the answer, of course. Money. The cash had poured in, confidence in her, in her company, growing year on year, so what was to be gained by rocking the boat?

If she’d had doubts, she’d suppressed them in the interests of her opulent lifestyle.

But now all that was threatened, her ruin imminent.

Looking down onto the street below, she saw Helen Grace being led to an awaiting police car, but neither the look of weary resignation on her face, nor the embarrassment of the former officer being led to her old stomping ground in cuffs, afforded Firth any satisfaction today.

It was she who was staring down the barrel this morning.