The High Court hearing room smelled of old leather and polished oak, a heavy, formal scent that seemed to press down on the proceedings. Arbitrator Eleanor Finch sat at the raised bench, her gaze sharp behind spectacles, the very picture of procedural authority.
“Ms. Pembroke,” Eleanor Finch said, her voice clear. “Mr. Pembroke’s affidavit alleges a substantial offshore deposit, £45,000, made to an account in your name during your first year of university.”
I gripped the edge of the polished table. “Arbitrator Finch, that account does not exist. I never opened it, nor did I ever possess such funds.”
Arthur, seated beside his solicitor, watched me with unblinking eyes, a faint, cold smile playing at his lips. He had anticipated my denial.
Eleanor Finch tapped a stylus against her digital tablet. “The petition includes an account opening form, dated October 2009, bearing your purported signature, and a corresponding wire transfer confirmation from a financial institution in the Cayman Islands.”
My jaw tightened. He hadn’t just made the claim; he had manufactured the evidence. The meticulous forgery, the careful timing – Arthur had played a long game.
“This is a fabrication, a blatant attempt to discredit me,” I stated, my voice ringing with frustration. “My uncle has waged a public smear campaign designed to interfere with the Holbrook merger. These documents are part of that strategy.”
Eleanor Finch held up a hand, cutting me off. “Regardless, the existence of such a document, however contested, casts a shadow. Therefore, due to the gravity of these allegations, and pending a full investigation into the authenticity of these records…”
She paused, adjusting her glasses. My stomach tightened.
“…I must issue a provisional suspension of your corporate auditing authority for a period of forty-eight hours.”
A cold wave washed over me. Forty-eight hours. My career, my reputation, all hung by a thread.
“However,” she continued, her gaze unwavering, “this provisional suspension will be lifted immediately if you can produce the original, hand-signed physical trust deeds pertaining to the Pembroke Estate, dated 2009, from the City Registry Vault. They must be presented here, in this courtroom, by close of business in two days’ time.”
Arthur stirred, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor passing through him. His eyes flickered towards his solicitor.
“Without those physical documents,” Eleanor Finch concluded, her voice stern, “the injunction against your professional practice will become permanent, and a full investigation into the alleged fraud will commence.”
The gavel struck, a sharp, final sound. The clock had started.
+ There are no comments
Add yours