Julian called Cass in the afternoon. She had assured him that things were under control and she had worked out the notebook. He became slightly defensive but after going through the balances, he seemed happier. There were long silences, a lot of confusion from him and then he rang off suddenly.
Cass worked into the night, ignoring Dolores meaningful jealous looks from the doorway when she came to say goodbye at 21.30. Dolores ruminated over what Cass had that she didn’t. Why did Julian give Cass more responsibility over her. Dolores hadn’t eaten since she had found out that he was put into the facility. She had been to the therapy sessions Julian had bought her, but the stress had left her destructive. He had got her the best help. All it had managed to do was get her better at hiding her affliction.
Padding out clothes when she got too thin; mastering hiding food at professional lunches or staving before them so that she could make a show of her eating.
She stopped off at the nearest convenience store and bought all the crappy junk food she could find. It would numb her loneliness, panic and pain. Through her tears and vomit, she blamed him more, “Why couldn’t Julian stop, couldn’t he see what he was doing.”
Cass did not go home until after midnight. Her notes were in her spidery scrawl, crossing outs showing that it was not as simple as the original flow chart given to her by Zubov. She had a stack of printouts of accounts. The money had gone. Not been hidden, just spent. She had worked out Julian’s depravity. Several wifelets, living the same way as his actual wife. He had burnt through £10,000.00 in a couple of hours before leaving to go to Moscow. It went to three women in various countries and one very large payment surprisingly to Caroline. Cass had to go back into the records, but the account was held in trust for Caroline. Cass muttered, “Hypocritical slut.”
His emails were a string of begging emails, threats and illegal Viagra orders. He was now using Cass’ work to bolster the missing funds. She discovered that what the clients were actually purchasing did not match what they thought they had acquired. A house for £2,000,000.00 was actually only a flat for £500,000.00 . He pocketed the difference, placing it into the other client’s accounts when they asked to see their funds. He also made sure that he got use out of these price differences. There were negotiations for him to buy a second yacht, he wanted to call it Rebecca.
There was an angry email from the person who had won the Tuscany house in the office raffle. The house had no planning and was to be pulled down in a matter of weeks. Julian had just off loaded the problem in the most extravagant way possible.
He had recently bought himself a title, and was placing bids on antique auctions.
In his desk she discovered a brochure for Moscow sex tourism, approximately fifty credit cards and two convincing but fake passports. She was sure that he could not pass for a Juan Carlos. She opened another cupboard to find several bottles separately slipped into Prada cashmere socks. She realised that the milk he drank every morning was probably masking a large White Russian to get him going in the morning.
It was a mess. The whole house of cards was tumbling around Julian and he did not know how to stop. Cass realised his arrogance stopped him from asking for help. She was not too sure if he had a sense of shame, after she opened the last desk draw and found a strap on dildo.
He had to keep the Julian Show on the road, keep up the adoration and the facade. If only he could admit he was not all powerful then there could have been a way out months ago. Instead he had pushed the self destruct button good and hard.
It was 0200 and Cass had seen enough and needed to get out of this place, to get away from everything.