The Lady Is a Thief (2 page)

 
   
L
ady
Katherine Hardwicke sat at the end of a fourteen-foot long conference table.
Also present were ten of the most mind-numbingly boring bankers she'd ever met.
A display on the screen scrolled through a PowerPoint presentation of the
latest Hardwicke Holdings financial statements. These annual meetings killed
her, but her father wanted her to know everything about the business and sent
her each year to be 'educated.' In his opinion, the heir apparent to the
Hardwicke fortune needed to be fully briefed on their holdings, their
investments, when to cash out and more. Tracing one red nail lightly against
the polished mahogany, she found herself wishing for a brother.

 
   
Or four.

 
   
Her father's old-world sensibilities would
have left her brothers in charge and she could just collect her monthly stipend
from the family trust. The sexist extreme didn't always carry an allure, but
today it did.

 
   
The clearing of a throat dragged her
attention back to the room. “Lady Hardwicke?” The elderly banker speaking was
Fitzhugh. Miles Fitzhugh had been one of her father's personal financial advisors
for over a quarter of a century. He looked down his nose at her, probably still
seeing her hair in pigtails and her polka dotted dresses from childhood.

 
   
“Yes, Mr. Fitzhugh?” She fought to wipe the
glazed expression from her eyes and focused on the man at the head of the
table.

 
   
“I just wanted to make sure you were paying
attention.” If any other man at the table spoke to her that way, she may have
bristled. But Miles just couldn't see her as an adult, so she often granted him
the tolerance due an elder.

 
   
Often, but not always.
“The third quarter decline has been
offset by our fourth quarter earnings. Overall, the annual financial loss
statement is significantly improved over the last fiscal year, but if we
rearrange our investments, withdraw from energy and reinvest in local
economies—particularly the booming green movements and organic foods sections
in the Midwest—we could see a long-term gain within five years.”

 
   
Several of the bankers went from smirking to
studying the portfolios in front of them. Two coughed and a third turned away
to sneeze, while one of the younger, more unfamiliar bankers sitting near the
center of the table watched her. She could almost smell the curiosity in his
expression.

 
   
“Of course, if we remove our investments
from energy, we lose the potential gain in the new hybridization movements
developing in Japan and Germany. Our Italian investment, for example, just
completed a prototype for a solar powered electric vehicle. Our partner in
Norway is working on a refined version of the electric car's battery that would
not need to be replaced annually, but might prove self-sustaining for up to
five years. Instead of pulling out money from any of these projects, we would
see a greater return in facilitating introductions, supporting future
development and reaping the rewards of electric vehicles that are fiscally
sound.”

 
   
Miles' wrinkled face bloomed into a grin.
“We could do that, Lady Hardwicke. But it's a gamble.”

 
   
“True. So let's take it a step further. Two
presentations ago, you mentioned the application of wind farm technology to
greenhouse organics in New Mexico. Why not increase our investment, take the
gains we've made up in the last quarter toward funding not only these energy
and transportation projects, but also the organic food movement? By
diversifying, we can offset losses in one area with gains in another, but
continue to promote cleaner, more efficient vehicles and healthier food sources.”

 
   
Ambrose Bingham rapped his knuckles against
the table. He and Miles were her father's favorite advisors. But if Miles said
blue sky, Ambrose would argue that it was red. They were diametrically opposed
across the board. “Lady Hardwicke,” he began, his voice filled with patient
disdain. “You may think throwing good money after bad in an industry that
continues to report losses twenty years after developing on the fringe is a
'gamble,' but it's a fool's bet. You will lose money in all three areas you've
mentioned.”

 
   
“Huge gobs?”
She
lifted her brows, and leaned back in the chair. Crossing one leg over the
other, she pasted on a patient smile. “Armored car loads of cash? Or pennies on
a spreadsheet accumulating into a respectable tax write off at the end of the
quarter?”

 
   
The Hardwicke family fortune amounted to
billions, not millions. Small, medium, and large investments in multiple
industries, charities, and private start-ups diversified their interests. They
maintained healthy sums in every country they did business and worked
diligently to stay within regulation. But at the end of the day, the final
decisions always rested with her father—or in cases like this, when he
appointed her his representative—her.

 
   
“Well that might take some research…”
Ambrose hedged.

 
   
“No it doesn't.” Miles scented the blood in
the water and leaned in for the kill. “We've already shown a three percent gain
overall each quarter we diversified, offsetting any loss—”

 
   
“But if we removed the losing investments,
those that proved capital losses in the last four consecutive quarters…”
Ambrose fired back and within a minute, the two men began flinging figures at
each other as though old world duelists, trying to cut each other down with the
facts. It didn't take long for the rest of the bankers to jump in, throwing
their support to one side or the other.

 
   
Kit rubbed the side of her nose and tried to
swallow the satisfaction. When they yelled at each other, they ignored her.
Oddly though, one man at the table seemed less interested in the debate than he
did staring at her.

 
   
The new banker.

 
   
Paulson?

 
   
Perkins?

 
   
Parker.

 
   
His last name is Parker. She didn't recall
if Miles used a first name when he'd gone around the table.
Mid-thirties, dark, close-cropped hair, a
strong chin, and very firm lips that quirked into a smile of amusement.
He noticed her attention and flicked a look at the chaos around the table,
before tipping his head.

 
   
She considered accepting the accolade, but
merely widened her eyes in mock innocence and smiled. His grin edged the
corners of his mouth wider and turned him from moderately attractive to truly
handsome. Awareness shivered over her skin and she forced herself to look away.

 
   
Miles rapped the table. The chatter muted
immediately. He rose and planted both hands on the table. “This is a pointless
debate. Our task is to apprise Lady Hardwicke of the facts, present prospectus
reports, and offer our suggestions. Everything else is moot.”

 
   
Grumbling met that statement, but the
bankers leaned back in their chairs as though attempting to soothe their own
ruffled feathers. Miles stared at her down the length of the table.

 
   
“Lady Hardwicke, do you feel that you have
been briefed fully?”

 
   
“To a point.”
She
gave her father's old friend a lazy smile. “But I would like full financial
statements for the Italian and Norwegian investments as well as the proposed
property development in Dubai.” The man to her immediate right jerked at the
last. She could almost smell the surprise and delight at the request. He'd
brought up the construction deals in Dubai at the beginning of the
meeting—nearly four hours before—and been drowned out almost unanimously by the
others.

 
   
Miles frowned.
“Very well.
We’ll have the full reports compiled and sent to your hotel.”

 
   
“Fantastic.” She rose from the chair,
flipped her digital tablet off and slid it into the oversized bag. Every man at
the table rose, but it was Parker's regard she caught herself watching.
Speculation joined amusement in his expression.
“Thank you
gentlemen.
As always, it's been a pleasure. I will see you all again
next year.”

 
   
She slid a card out of her wallet and handed
it to the man on her right—Kevin Donner. “Mr. Donner,” she pulled his attention
as the others gathered their things together, shut down laptops and repacked
their briefcases. “Please send all of your information to me directly.”

 
   
He took the card with a quick thanks and a
flash of relief. Miles hated his plan. She adored the old man, but he would
take his time to review, tweak, change, and force Donner to backtrack on his
suggestions and it would be months before she received anything.

 
   
“Yes, ma'am—thank you ma'am.”

 
   
“You're welcome.” Slipping the strap of her
purse over her shoulder, she made the rounds of the table, deliberately choosing
the side opposite of Parker. Glad-handing was part of the job. She spared a
comment for each man, asking about a wife, a child, or a hobby. She always made
sure to brush up on the little tidbits before every meeting. She knew how to
leave a good impression, reminding even the most staid banker that she cared.
Her father believed in earning respect and courting affection, traits she
practiced from an early age.

 
   
Miles took her arm as she reached him and
left his things for his assistant to gather. Cane in hand, he led her from the
room. A flash of frustration shone in his eyes and his mouth tightened. But the
expression, so fleeting, she might have imagined it.

 
   
“So, Katherine.
How
is your father these days?” Miles tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
She slowed her pace to match his uneven gait.

 
   
“Retired and enjoying it—mostly.”

 
   
“I still can't believe he's stepping down.”

 
   
Didn't
believe or don't like it?
“Monica encourages him to take it easy, but don't
think he's completely out. He reviews every file, every report—and if he wants
changes, he asks for them.”

 
   
“Oh. Good. Good.” Miles patted her hand. At
the elevator, she reached out, pressed the button and dropped a kiss on his
withered cheek.

 
   
“Don't worry, Miles. I won't run Hardwicke
into the ground. Daddy wouldn't let me.” Her tone light, placating and teasing,
but the spike of guilt shining in Miles' eyes told her she read his concern
correctly. He didn't want Daddy's little girl destroying all of Daddy's hard
work.

 
   
“Now, Katherine…you know I trust your
instincts and your education.” The elevator dinged open and they stepped
inside. Whether out of respect for Miles or a desire to not be dragged into the
further conversation, the others left them to the privacy of the elevator.

 
   
Too bad.
She'd
hoped Parker would at least follow.

 
   
The doors closed and Miles shed the
grandfather attitude. “But you lead with your heart and that's bad for
business, dear.”

 
   
She preferred the blunt honesty. “And yet,
we're still showing a profit. Your retirement and fortunes are guaranteed,
Miles. Times are changing. Hardwicke needs to change with them and stay in
front of the cutting edge or risk being sliced in half when it progresses
without us.”

 
   
“Young lady…” His cheeks popped with the
force of his breath and his face flushed.
“My point, exactly.
You want to gamble on every new idea out there and some are downright foolish.
What Donner wants to do is mire us in the Mideast. That's never good for
business.”

 
   
“Ten years ago?
Probably
not.
But Dubai is a capitalist’s boomtown with multiple opportunities
for legacy and investment.” She bit down on the next words. Old fashioned and
mired in the past as he may be, she did genuinely like the old man. “Look, I
asked to see his plans. I want to get a good feel for what he is seeing. Maybe
he's got ideas and connections we don't. I didn't agree to anything.”