Capital Bank five years ago and that's when she met DSK. He had been “extremely friendly” at first and she hadn't thought anything about it. Besides, she had thought he was rather too old for her.
Then one evening, around 6pm when she had dropped off her research and was about to go home, DSK invited her into his private office. They discussed International Finance, the new investment opportunities in the emerging economies and then he asked her how she liked working at the bank.
She said she did and that's when he told her that the competition was so tough and there were no guarantees but if she showed keen interest, she would be guaranteed a job.
“Look, I have over five hundred applications on my desk, and we need only thirty five graduates,” he had said, pointing to a mountain of files on his desk.
“You have to use your initiative,” he had told the young woman.
The woman had been disappointed and probably her face betrayed her emotions because almost immediately he had come next to her and touched her shoulders.
“You don't have to worry, I can handle this and guarantee you a brilliant future at this bank if you are willing to........”
And at that moment he had appeared to massage her shoulders, then slowly he moved his hand and slid his “dirty fingers” into her bra, fondling her breasts at which point she had protested and walked out of his office. She never got the job.
Harold shook his head. These guys at The Moonlight could report events as if they were seated in the room watching DSK dip his dirty fingers into the girl's bra! They could transport the reader and make him or her a spectator to the unfolding events.
He switched to the London Herald website and it carried the same story except with less emotion and hype. There was the picture of the unlucky intern who was sexually assaulted five years ago. She looked decent and credible enough.
She had her hair tied back, a grey business suit and white blouse. Then there was another revelation: Donald Solomon Kenyon had admitted he had had “sexual contact” with the hotel maid but insisted the sex was consensual.
Harold shook his head again, picked up his bath robe and headed for a quick shower after which he dried himself quickly and dressed up.
He picked up his leather briefcase, laptop and trench coat and stepped out into the December cold. He walked briskly to the train station where he boarded the next train to London bridge.
He checked his emails on the train to work and realised everyone on the train was engrossed in the DSK story in the Metro newspaper. His picture in handcuffs was sprayed out on the front page and he could see the emotion and excitement on the readers' faces.
Next to him on the train, two young men were discussing the events with one suggesting that the banker could have been set up. “His career is over, and obviously it has ended badly,” one of the men decided while the other speculated that the guy had probably been set up.
He got off the train at London bridge station and joined the rush hour crowds on the escalators. He had just got out of the train station onto borough street when his BlackBerry started ringing.
He fished for it in his jacket and pressed the answer key on the fifth ring.
It was his contact, the same guy who had helped him fix the jailbird interview
the previous afternoon.
“Harold, I have some bloody good news for you,” the contact started.
“It had better be real good,” Harold fired back.
“It is, trust me.”
Harold raised his eye brows and hesitated.
“Are you there Harold?”
“Yes, what's the news then?” he asked anxiously.
“I have this girl, she had sex with Mr Donald Solomon Kenyon four months ago and she's willing to sell the story.”
“What type of girl?”
“Of course, a prostitute or escort, or whatever they call themselves these days.”
“You don't doubt the credibility of her claims?” Harold, the ever cautious reporter asked.
“What does it matter? She goes on live television and makes a false confession, then she's the one in trouble, not us. And we've got viewers already. She makes a true confession, we get ratings and more viewers. Either way, it's a win-win situation for us. The worst that could happen is if we lose her and she sells her story somewhere else.”
“Okay, hold on to the girl, keep her close so she doesn't peddle the story to another TV or tabloid and bring her at 2pm,” Harold said and then abruptly changed his mind, noting that time was everything.
“Actually, bring her straight away. Right now. Thanks a lot. And what's her fee?”
The contact answered and Harold raised his eyebrows again.
“Ah, that's pretty steep you know,” he said in an accusatory tone.
“But, just bring the girl to the studio. See you soon,” he finished his call, crossed borough street and walked on to the Herald TV studios.
At 2pm, the girl was at the TV studios. She was a good looking woman in her early thirties and Harold labelled her a chav as soon as she had begun to speak. She was seated on a sofa, crossing and uncrossing her legs while sipping on a Diet Coke and reading celeb gossip in Hello and at the same time chatting with the TV crew. Her accent, her theatrics and the way she was dressed spoke volumes.
Harold and his research assistant left the TV crew to have a chat with her before they went live and went to have a coffee at the end of the corridor in the recreation room.
“Savannah?” Harold asked his assistant over coffee. “I mean, is that her real name or stage crap?”
“Well, I wish I knew the answer to that. It's an exotic name and she's an exotic looking girl. No wonder DSK fell for her, if her claims are true, that is.”
“Hmm, I thought by now you had figured out that DSK would fall for anything in a skirt. He could chase you down the street if you wore a skirt for instance,” Harold said pointing a finger at his researcher which drew loud laughter and curious stares from other staff who were sitting a few tables away.
They finished their coffees and went back to interview Savannah.
The TV crew had done a good job to make her relax by chatting freely with her, talking about music and fashion, drinking Coke's with her and by the time Harold and his researcher entered the room, she was laughing freely.
At 2:45 pm, the bright lights were turned on. Savannah Irese was seated on the brown sofa sipping on a glass of water. She had requested for another Diet Coke instead of water but the TV crew had explained to her that a Diet Coke or any branded drinks on live TV would be a breach of Product placement laws. She had smiled and nodded in agreement but Harold doubted that she even understood what Product placement was.
The interview began with Harold greeting the viewers, bringing them up to date on the situation surrounding Mr Donald Solomon Kenyon. How he had admitted having sex with the Hotel maid but insisted that the sex was consensual. He also explained to the viewers that there were unconfirmed reports that Mr Kenyon was going to be tested for HIV because he had not used a condom during the sexual encounter and that the hotel maid was from “a high risk” country.
He then went to on to introduce “our guest” in the studios. He explained that Miss Savannah Irese was a model and a former lover of Donald Solomon Kenyon and that they had “dated” for a couple of weeks before splitting up four months ago because Mr Kenyon didn't have the time and had a very demanding job. She hadn't known he was a banker but had suspected that he was a very important and rich person.
“So you were going out with Mr Kenyon for how long?” Harold fished.
“ It could have been four or five weeks,” Savannah answered.
“And in all that time, did you know that he was married and had children?”
“No, we never discussed anything like that. He never mentioned a wife or children. Had he, I wouldn't have gone out with him,” Savannah claimed.
“Did he treat you well? Was he violent or did he ever strike you as a person capable of rape
?” Harold fished.
“Not at all. Donald was like an angel. He was always polite and very understanding. He would even never hurt a fly.”
“So you must be surprised by all this?”
“Of course, I am surprised. I am hoping that he will be cleared of all this and found not guilty.”
“So, for the time you were together, did you stay at his home?”
“I stayed mostly at his Penthouse in Chelsea. But there's a week I spent with him at the Grand Hyde Hotel.”
“That's quite a coincidence because that's the very hotel where a maid claims she was sexually assaulted by Mr Kenyon. Did you by any chance come across that woman at the Hotel or did you see anything suspicious?”
“Not at all. I did not see any woman and there wasn't anything suspicious.”
“Did Mr Kenyon have any weird or peculiar interests?”
“No, Mr Kenyon was a very down to earth guy. We drank wine at his penthouse and watched football games. Both of us were Manchester United fans and I remember when Manchester United won the Carling Cup finals, he didn't take off his Manchester United shirt all night even when we made love.”
Harold smiled and knew this was tabloid fodder.
“I am sure Manchester United fans will be delighted to hear this,” Harold said, and then noticed that actually the chav had a very beautiful smile, and a big bust.
“No wonder DSK couldn't keep his pants zipped up,” he thought, then steered the subject away from football and back to what the viewers wanted.
“So you must have been heartbroken when your relationship with Mr Kenyon