Chapter 9: Hargreaves
The name on the business card was Gerald Hargreaves.
Phoebe's family law contact — a woman named Suki who had handled three Alderton-adjacent cases in the past two years — recognized it immediately.
"He's careful," Suki said over the phone.
Phoebe had it on speaker, the volume low.
"He never puts his name on the financial documents directly.
He uses intermediaries.
The Channel Islands registration is one of four shells we know about."
"Can he be prosecuted?" Phoebe said.
"If we can connect him to a specific transaction and a specific child, yes.
The CPS has been building a file.
They need a complainant willing to make a formal statement."
Phoebe looked at me.
"I'll make a statement," I said.
"Mum, you just gave birth."
"I know when I gave birth, Phoebe.
I'll make a statement."
Suki was quiet for a moment.
"Mrs.—"
"Marianne."
"Marianne.
I want to be honest with you.
This process will take time.
Hargreaves has resources.
He will likely attempt to discredit you or complicate the narrative.
Are you prepared for that?"
I looked down at the baby.
She was asleep now, her mouth slightly open, her fingers curled against my hospital gown.
"Yes," I said.
Three days later, I gave a formal statement to two officers from the Metropolitan Police's economic crime unit.
Phoebe sat beside me.
Suki sat on the other side.
I spoke for two hours.
I told them about Claire's request.
About the pregnancy.
About the hospital room.
About Evan's envelope and Reeves in the hallway and the figure in the financial document and the text message that said *our people will need to be ready to move quickly.*
The officers were careful and thorough.
They asked the same questions several ways.
I answered each one.
When it was over, the younger officer — a woman about Phoebe's age — looked at the baby in the carrier beside my chair.
"She's beautiful," she said.
"She is," I said.
"Have you named her?"
I had been thinking about it for three days.
I had been turning names over in my mind the way you turn a stone in your hand, feeling the weight of each one.
"Iris," I said.
It was the first time I had said it out loud.
It felt right.
The officer smiled.
"That suits her."
Evan was arrested six weeks later.
The warrant was executed at his office.
His solicitor — the same one who had prepared the transfer documents — was questioned separately.
Reeves was picked up at Heathrow attempting to board a flight to Zurich.
Hargreaves was arrested four months after that, at a property in Berkshire.
By then, Suki's firm had connected the Alderton Group to seven separate cases across England and Wales.
The woman in Kent was one of them.
So were four others who had never come forward before — until they heard that someone else had.
I was not in the room for any of those arrests.
May you like
I was home with Iris.
But Suki called me each time.
