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  BelTech had all started innocently enough. Because Everyone Deserves a Second Chance was a principle Kate could sign up to, despite the wanky italics above the reception desk. A nurse unfairly accused of negligence here; a Rotarian who lost his head and punched a traffic warden there – imperfect humans who needed the historical mud to stop sticking to their search results. Unfairly accused or guilty as charged, they needed to move on. In either case, Kate had managed to convince herself that she was just a techie who went around fixing photocopiers. But in her more honest moments she knew that her entanglement was far knottier than that. As the digital security expert and key-holder of every password in the building, Kate had access to any file received by Charles. She had, from time to time, taken an unsanctioned peek at what the company was up to. Restless and greedy, Charles had recently begun to exploit his father’s contacts in the delightful world of arms procurement. Kate told herself that she was there to keep him honest. The fact that she knew perfectly well that Charles was the least honest person she’d ever met was a nuance to be set against the other thing she knew about Charles: he was a chump and a nitwit. Guys like Charles, she thought, were never the problem.

  ‘Kate, as you know, I didn’t always see eye to eye with Luke and his amusing ideals or whatnot. But you liked him, which must count for something, and he was obviously a perfectly all right guy.’

  Kate nodded sympathetically. ‘Wow, Charles. If I’d thought you felt that strongly about him, I’d have asked you to deliver the eulogy.’

  ‘Well, as you know I missed the funeral because I was advising Prince Andrew on a certain matter. You wrote a card to say that you understood.’

  ‘I certainly understood.’

  ‘In fact I scanned it and I have the copy right here …’ Charles opened a drawer and started to look for the piece of paper Kate knew he had just invented.

  ‘Charles, don’t worry. I remember the card.’

  Charles slammed the drawer shut. ‘Good.’

  She watched as he tried to remember the speech that he’d rehearsed. There had been times, in the early years, when she could walk into his office without knocking and interrupt Charles Hunt in his only creative moment: acting out his part of the telephone call he was about to make. The unnaturally deep voice for clients, the cajoling bonhomie, the CBeebies-level empathy, the name-drops audible from orbit.

  She picked casually at an imaginary piece of spinach between her lower teeth. He was going to have to be nice. Very nice. He needed her to find the Nestor Petrov file but still hadn’t worked out how to ask for it.

  Charles said, ‘Your colleagues insist that the quality of your work has remained unaffected by the Luke situation, so I’ve tried to turn a blind eye to your timekeeping. Sometimes you don’t come in till after four o’clock.’

  Kate said, ‘Right, yes. Just to check – the “Luke situation” being that my partner of twenty-eight years recently dropped dead while unloading the dishwasher? That situation?’

  ‘Bingo. And then obviously there’s the matter of your dishevelled appearance.’

  For the first time in nine months, Kate nearly laughed. She’d caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror that lunchtime. She looked like Suzi Quatro after two months on a desert island being chased by dogs. She said neutrally, ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘But that’s not the issue.’ Charles produced a plain Manila folder from his drawer and left it on the desk, significantly unopened. He looked at her as if he had just landed a royal flush.

  Christ, he’s going to do this like he’s in a Bond movie. Not yet. Keep it together.

  Kate took her nail out of her teeth and peered at the folder. ‘What have you got there, Charles? Not your latest rejection letter from the MCC, I hope.’ Charles didn’t even like cricket but she knew it bugged him that there was at least one club in England that considered him beyond the pale.

  ‘A-ha, no, something even more depressing, I’m afraid. It’s the message you sent to Mr Petrov.’

  She kept her voice steady. ‘So many Petrovs. The tax evader?’

  ‘You know which one.’

  ‘Oh! The paedophile. I thought I did quite a good job there.’

  ‘You’re a techie. It’s not your job to talk to clients. And where did you get his contact details?’

  ‘Hmm. Lucky guess?’

  Charles kept a lid on his rising temper. Kate could see that he’d worked out that she’d been spying on him for years but could scarcely admit it to himself, never mind say it out loud. He opened the folder and took out a single page of A4, handling it as if wearing surgical gloves, then placed it before him and launched into his speech.

  ‘As you know, the allegations have been made by women interested only in money and publicity. Mr Petrov came to us in good faith and, as always, I set out a comprehensive ORM strategy. His charitable works would be emphasised. Personal testimonies of his good character would become prominent through all platforms. His website would be remodelled and links to it would increase by five hundred per cent via the usual methods. Original copy would be produced in both Russian and English, focusing on Mr Petrov’s impeccable business record and exemplary family life. All allegations of sexual conduct with minors would be cleared from at least the first three pages of any search engine enquiry, except where the integrity of his accusers was called into question. The moral character of these women would be brought into legitimate disrepute. Unfortunate information about the personal lives and questionable mental health of those journalists pursuing the story would be disseminated through the usual channels. Mr Petrov would be given a clean sheet, or as close as is possible. That’s what he paid us to do.’

  Kate re-crossed her legs and cocked her head to one side. ‘Did we not do that, then?’

  Charles picked up the sheet of paper and read. ‘“Dear Mr Petrov, I only work here but I’ve had a few thoughts. You clearly belong in prison. I can’t guarantee that’s where you’ll end up but if you do, I hope you get bum-fucked by burly Cossacks on a daily basis. My considered reputational advice is as follows: try not to be such an appalling shit in future. Love, Kate. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”’

  Kate looked out of the window and frowned. ‘I agree it lacks a certain lightness of touch.’

  ‘Mr Petrov is extremely unhappy.’

  ‘Not enough kisses?’

  ‘Kate, don’t be so—’

  ‘I know the bum-fucking thing is a bit homophobic but I thought he wouldn’t mind, what with his thrillingly right-wing views on the subject. If you like, I could—’

  ‘Kate!’ Charles slammed his hand down on the desk. She waited for him to regain his composure, which wouldn’t take long because he was already rubbing his reddening palm on his trousers. In a second flurry of violence he tried to toss the page at her but it flapped across his sleeve and landed in front of him again, face down. He looked beyond her, calming down and visibly recalling a line that he had practised. ‘You know, it surprises me that a woman of your intelligence would do something so very stupid.’

  Kate nodded. ‘That’s funny, because it surprises me that a man of your intelligence doesn’t live in a skip.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Charles, smiling thinly and swivelling his chair again. Somehow he regarded Kate as his intellectual equal and put this kind of thing down to ‘banter’. She could say literally anything to him and he would contrive to take it as a compliment. For years, this had suited them both very well.

  Kate took a breath and waited for his next move. At the same time, she remembered how her hand had trembled as she stole the Petrov file.

  Last week, as was her habit, Kate had idly hacked Charles’s inbox and scrolled through his correspondence. But then something in her attitude had changed. She’d felt a numb, out-of-body understanding that her life was about to end. What was she doing here? What had she ever been doing here?

  There was something new. There was one particular man in the emails – a London-bas
ed billionaire. She recognised his celebrity: Nestor Petrov was a Premier League football club owner and a regular fixture on comedy panel shows where his fiftysomething good looks and hokey eccentricities had endeared him to millions. Or at least to a couple of TV producers and the board of a struggling football club.

  The more she read, the more curious she became. By its nature, BelTech relied on discretion but the two men were having a veritable secrecy jizz-off.

  Petrov: ‘the deeply sensitive matter we discussed in person’, ‘the heinously missing file’, ‘the urgent need to rectify this delicate aberration’.

  As for Charles, Kate had to concentrate to get past his usual feat of making his own English sound like it had gone through Google Translate: ‘our deepest regret vis-à-vis that the matter remains hitherto unresolved’, ‘our most talented people operating 24/7 to alleviate the discomfiture’, ‘the file will be located with premium haste’.

  What file?

  Kate opened Petrov’s first contact – his original submission to BelTech.

  His lawyers complained that he had been recently accused of historical sexual harassment and assault in the early 1990s when he first moved to London. He wanted a skin-job and a make-over. He wanted to be on the right side of fake news by employing Charles to create it.

  There wasn’t much in her stomach but Kate very nearly threw up. Hiding in the dungeon of her grief, she hadn’t turned on the news for months. But now she read the reports and testimonies of the women accusing Petrov. She believed them. She was no judge or jury but she was entitled to a private opinion: this man was a menace. He needed to be arrested, not protected. That Charles could countenance working for such a person was a new low. But there was more.

  From what she could make out, Petrov or someone working for him, had accidently shared a highly compromising file with BelTech which Charles had promptly lost. She understood his panic. She had built the company’s bespoke file-sharing system and no one else knew where to start looking if something went wrong. A deeply unwise way to operate a security system but Charles had taken little interest and Kate simply didn’t trust anyone else with her turf. It took her roughly ninety seconds to figure out what had happened and locate the encrypted file while glancing nervously over her shoulder.

  It looked like a standard AVI file, lasting four minutes and forty-two seconds. That day, Kate waited until everyone else in the office had gone home before playing the video.

  Four minutes and forty-two seconds later, Kate Marsden was staring at her monitor in a state of shock. Her discovery had implications that could topple some of the few civilised governments left on the planet. And Charles was up to his neck in it. She was furious with herself that she had slept through her years at BelTech, all the while kidding herself that she was innocent.

  She dreamed of Luke every night and the moment of waking had become unbearable. She had made her plans. But first, she would atone for her part in this rolling shitwagon. An apology for the dozy waste of her extraordinary gifts. She owed the world a parting shot or, more accurately, a parting kiss.

  Petrov was coming down, she’d decided. And Charles with him.

  Kate waited for Charles to address the more urgent source of his agitation. He eyed her warily and picked up her Petrov email again. ‘“PS, I loved the video you sent Charles. Highly creative. Although I have different feelings about semolina.”’ He looked at her for an explanation and attempted to inject a casual jokiness into his tone. ‘What the hell’s that about?’

  The attempt at levity was embarrassing but Kate joined in, chuckling lightly. ‘Oh, that! Yes, that was an absolute scream. I was just tidying up the server and came across a funny video Mr Petrov had sent.’

  Charles had gone very still. He said through scarcely parted lips, ‘Funny … video?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Nothing important. I was just having a bit of a clear-out and I think I deleted it. Can’t remember.’

  ‘You deleted it.’

  ‘Think so.’ Kate suddenly feigned alarm. ‘Oh Charles, don’t tell me you hadn’t seen it! Oh, I feel awful. You really missed a treat.’

  Kate sat back and watched with fascination as Charles tried to process the new information. He literally didn’t know what to do next. At length, he just carried on with what he was going to do in the first place. He gestured to the Petrov email: ‘Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this as a resignation letter.’

  Kate’s fist tightened over the memory stick. ‘I understand.’

  Charles looked at her carefully. ‘I’m not minded to give you much in the way of severance pay, but I suppose …’ Kate saw this was the opening gambit in a protracted haggle. She had no intention of being bribed into returning the file.

  ‘No,’ she said sharply, ‘I don’t want anything beyond what you owe me up to this moment.’

  ‘Really? I mean … yes, I see. Well, that’s …’

  ‘And what you owe me is this.’ She produced her own piece of paper. A handwritten list, folded neatly into quarters. She reached across and left it in front of him.

  Charles unfolded the page. He mumbled out loud as he read in confusion. ‘Camden Women’s Refuge, 50K; Index on Censorship, 50K; CALM, 50K; Save the Children, 50K …’ He looked at Kate with genuine fear. ‘What the fuck is this?’

  ‘You’re going to give two million pounds to charity. Specifically, 50K to the forty charities listed.’

  Charles gaped at her and blinked rapidly. ‘Have you completely lost your mind?’

  ‘I think that’s quite likely, yes.’

  ‘And why the hell would I do that?’

  ‘Oh, I know that one. You’ll go along with it because if you don’t I’ll spill the beans about some of the things we’ve been doing around here. And then you and Mr Petrov will go to prison.’

  Charles gave a strangulated laugh. Kate smiled back at him sweetly. He rose from his desk and started pacing back and forth. ‘No one will believe you.’

  ‘I’ve seen evidence.’

  ‘Evidence isn’t what it used to be.’

  ‘Agreed. And that’s down to people like us. Time for a change, Charles.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Really? Let’s find out.’ Kate got her phone out and pressed a contact.

  ‘Who are you calling?’

  Kate held the phone to her ear. ‘The Guardian.’

  ‘Stop … doing that.’

  ‘Oh, hello. Features desk, please. Sorry? Oh yes, well, she’d be great but it doesn’t have to be her.’

  ‘Stop! Okay, just fucking stop!’

  Kate cancelled the call. Charles realised he was fiddling with his shirt sleeves in agitation and put his hands in his pockets. Then he took them out again and picked up Kate’s list, shaking his head in disbelief. He tossed it aside, turned to the window and then back again to face her. Kate popped a piece of chewing gum in her mouth, enjoying the show.

  ‘This is outrageous. I mean, for a start, why me?’ he whined. ‘If you love these people so much, why don’t you give them two fucking million?’

  ‘I haven’t got two million. But I have left my house to Shelter. I’ve made my will and everything’s in order.’

  Charles stared at her, the gravity of the threat finally beginning to dawn on him. If there was one thing more dangerous than Kate Marsden it was Kate Marsden with nothing to lose.

  ‘Okay, you can have your job back.’

  ‘Don’t want it,’ Kate said, chewing. ‘It’s a shit job.’

  ‘Well, what do you want then!?’

  ‘I’ve told you. You’ll use the secret account – I’ll be watching the transfers. You’ve got till this time tomorrow.’

  Charles rapidly swept his parting. ‘Look. Come on. Hey, there. Look.’

  Kate just chewed at him.

  ‘Remember the old saying? Everyone deserves a second chance? That’s what ORM is, right? We all make mistakes and it ends up on the
internet and people need help to de-emphasise that. Hmm? That’s all a reputable Online Reputation Management company is.’

  ‘Cool. Except we haven’t been reputable for years, have we, Charles? Kind of ironic when you think about it.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You were there at the start, Kate. Remember that nurse we helped? Accused of misconduct? She was a woman! And black! Yeah? The good old days? Everyone deserves a second chance, Kate.’ He now closed his eyes for special emphasis. ‘Everyone.’

  She looked at her old colleague with something approaching fondness. ‘Some people do,’ she said evenly. ‘But not you and not me.’

  Something in Charles’s brain finally lit up. He greeted the insight with abrupt rage. ‘You can’t prove anything. Your access to the system is revoked. Effective immediately.’

  ‘Charles, you don’t know how to do that.’

  ‘Effective immediately!’

  He picked up his desk phone and stabbed a button. ‘Colin, I’m revoking Kate’s credentials immediately. I want you to … no, not Kate from accounts, Kate Marsden. I want you to lock her out of the system and deny her access to everything. And I mean everything … Colin, are you listeni—? Yes, Kate Marsden! … Don’t give me that IT bullshit, Colin, I’m not talking Chinese here. Just make it so her computer doesn’t work. Throw it out of the fucking window if you have to.’ Charles slammed the phone down. He sat and leaned across his desk, snarling. ‘You needn’t think you can blackmail me.’

  ‘Charles, it was only last month you asked me to hack MI6. It’s not fair to tell Colin to lock me out of the system. Colin has talent but we both know that guy couldn’t lock me out of a Ford Focus.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with. You don’t fuck with a man like Nestor Petrov.’