8 Chapter 8

Three months passed like one day. Even Christmas passed unnoticed for Richard, he was so busy.

Passing exams for the second grade of secondary school went like clockwork, it could not be otherwise. But due to the heavy workload, Richard spent a month more than studying the material in the seventh year of the school curriculum.

The boy decided to take a break for a couple of weeks before starting to study next year's program. Moreover, he could afford a longer period of rest, because the guy was already going ahead of his personal schedule. Initially, there was a calculation for a year to study a school course for a couple of classes. But it worked out even better.

The beginning of February was snowy. If you looked out of the window of the young Grosvenor's office, you could see a view of the snow-white expanses, among which stood out paths cleared of snow and a flat road going into the distance.

If Richie was a normal child, he would already be in a hurry to make a snowman, go sledding and generally engage in winter activities in the fresh air. But Richie jerked at the thought of going out into the street. No, Richard would not have poked his nose into the frosty air with greater joy at all, but would have enjoyed the warmth and comfort of the estate, which he successfully did.

Richard sat in a comfortable chair in his office, looking through the documents and photographs that Detective Potter had given him.

All papers were sorted into small folders - a case was opened for each person. Some of the folders Richie put aside on the corner of the table, some he threw into the bottom drawer of the table, as if they were hopeless.

When all the folders were sorted, Richard opened the newspaper to the stock quotes page.

Suddenly, for the boy, there was a knock on the door of the office, after which, without waiting for an answer, the door opened and Gerald entered the room.

At first, Richard was surprised, because usually a servant knocks on him, who does not enter the room without permission. Only the valet allows himself to enter the young master's bedroom without asking, and then only in the morning in order to wake him up. This allowed the boy, before he began to hide behind tricks, without any problems to train mutant abilities.

- Richie, hi, what interesting are they writing?

The boy raised his eyes to his father and answered automatically:

- Nestlé shares at their peak, it seems, is not worth buying them. But the shares of Pepsi, in which I invested ten million pounds, are falling after their peak in December. But I think it's temporary. In April-May, before the announcement of the annual financial statements for investors, stock prices will jump.

"Hmm…" came a significant chuckle from Gerald's mouth. - Lost a lot of money?

Richie lowered the newspaper and held out in surprise:

- What?! A! No, I haven't lost a penny. I took Pepsi shares at $ 9.44, and now they cost $ 9.83. Now I'm in the black by six hundred and forty thousand dollars. I will throw them off in the summer at the peak.

- It pleases, as well as your success in general, - Gerald sat down on the sofa, located not far from the table. - Richie, I follow your affairs and I have to admit that you are doing great. Bye! I hope that this will continue, but, son, you must understand that investing in securities is unreliable. Today they grow, but tomorrow they may fall in price and you will lose most of your capital. So I was very happy with the way you started the business, and I was a little surprised when instead of continuing to invest in the production of your goods, you switched to securities.

"It's easier that way, Dad," Richard shrugged. - I cannot do production and study at the same time. You remember very well the summer when I had to travel all over the world to sign contracts with manufacturers and buyers. Moreover, the staples have exhausted themselves. This is a hype product that won't last long on the market. And to come up with something new and implement the idea, you need at least three to four months. In addition, it is better to produce something at your own factory, and not order from someone.

- Okay, okay, I will not interfere in your affairs, as I promised, - Gerald raised his hands, as if surrendering. "But I know you've made good money. Richie, now you should make a name. Any self-respecting major businessman should be involved in charity work. This is good for the image. I suppose it won't be difficult for you to set aside a small amount for donations.

"Mmm… Let's say," Richard drawled thoughtfully. - I have some spare funds. I think I can spend fifty thousand dollars.

- Sonny, why are you operating with dollars and not pounds?

- Sorry, I'm just used to stock reports, in which it is more convenient to operate in dollars.

"And also, the annual Royal Benefit Party will be taking place again soon. But there I cover the costs. Until then, you, Richard, better establish yourself as a philanthropist.

- Okay ... Are there any specific proposals?

- For example, Richie, you can help orphans.

"Okay, no problem," Richard agreed.

In fact, the victim did not really want to spend his money, but he understood that this was accepted among the elite. If you are rich, but not a philanthropist, they will look at you askance. In addition, charity should bring small benefits to tax deductions. The amount donated can be deducted from income as tax benefits. If you make annual donations for three years, then you can deduct the amount spent on charity from the taxes that will be paid in the fourth year.

For example, Gerald Grosvenor spends at least fifty thousand pounds annually on charity. First, this amount is not included in income. Secondly, in the fourth year, he pays taxes one hundred and fifty thousand pounds less, that is, this money is returned to him.

Richard knew about this, so he decided to increase the donation to fifty thousand pounds. The main thing is to continue spending on charity for the next three years in order to get your funds back.

- Richie, I'll make an agreement with a foundation that helps orphans. But for the first time, so that your activity does not go unnoticed, you will have to be active.

"I don't understand," Richard furrowed his forehead. - Dad, what other activity? I give money to the fund, and they spend it on targeted needs. Is not it?

- This is so, but, son, you must understand that if you just give the money, then no one will know about it. Therefore, you will need to visit a couple of orphans, personally control the targeting of assistance. Then the newspapers will write that the young Lord Grosvenor is engaged in charity work, helping orphans. This will have a positive effect on both your reputation and the reputation of our family.

- Am I going to visit the orphans alone?

"No, no, Richie," Gerald chuckled good-naturedly. - Of course, you will be accompanied by a representative of a charitable foundation, a social worker, a journalist, John and a security chauffeur.

- Hmmm ... - Richard drawled with skepticism. - I can imagine how "happy" the children will be when such a crowd rushes into them. Okay, I agree to everything.

- Fine! Gerald slapped his thighs happily. "I knew that you would understand the importance and necessity of such an action.

"Dad, I've decided I'll spend fifty thousand pounds on charity. Not dollars.

- Okay, I'll take that into account. Son, get ready. I'll try to arrange a trip this Saturday.

***

Saturday came surprisingly quickly. Back on Friday, Richie arrived in London and stayed at 70 Grosvenor Street. It was a forced necessity, because the trips to the orphans were to be made in the suburbs of the capital.

The bedroom door flew open and John stood on the threshold. As usual, he was wearing a perfectly fitted three-piece suit.

The valet immediately noticed that the ward was already awake. He said in an exaggerated, joyful tone:

- Good morning, Mr. Richie. What a wonderful day. Let me remind you that you have a trip to a charity event in two hours. So get up and wash your face soon. Today we will do gymnastics without a coach, and then breakfast awaits us.

"I'm getting up, John.

Richard went to the bathroom. From there he asked:

- John, how will our escorts get there?

- The journalist will go with us, and the representative of the charitable foundation will drive the social worker in his car. The first on our list is a visit to the town of Little Winging in the suburbs of London.

"I don't remember such a town, but the name is painfully familiar," said Richie. - In this fund, couldn't they have chosen the orphans who live nearby?

"I suppose, sir," the valet replied primly, "there's no point in helping orphans living in central London. They are already provided with everything they need.

"What's so special about this Little Winging?"

- A specialist from a charitable foundation said that there were complaints from neighbors that the adopted son in one of the families did not look like the status of the family.

- In terms of? - in the gaze of Richard, fixed on the valet from bathroom to bedroom, bewilderment was read.

"Sorry, Mr. Richie, but I can't say for sure. There, it seems, the family has a son of their own, and he looks more plump and better dressed, and the adopted child against his background is like a goner in rags.

- And why do we need such a difficult case? - Richard was surprised.

- Sir, as far as I understand, helping a child from a dysfunctional family like this will have more resonance in the media. That is, it will have a more positive effect on your image as a philanthropist than an ordinary visit to a foster family.

"In that case, we'll need the help of a constable," said Richard. - I, of course, am confident in the guard's abilities, but if this family is really dysfunctional, then it is better to insure yourself. I would not like to go to the hospital a second time.

- Yes sir. I will convey your wishes to the representative of the charitable foundation. I think the police escort will really be useful.

When Richard and John left the house, a journalist was already waiting for them on the threshold, and a Bentley Eight was parked near the sidewalk.

The girl with shoulder-length light brown hair was not particularly attractive, an ordinary young British woman with dimples in her cheeks, brown eyes, a pointed chin and slightly stooped shoulders. The chest, too, was not the dignity of the girl, it was small, and because of the stoop and the closed green dress, which complemented the black long-length coat, it was difficult to see anything at all. In appearance, the journalist was in the region of twenty-five years, plus or minus two years. Average growth.

"Fiona Bruce, BBC, South East Text News," she introduced herself. "And you, I suppose, are John and Lord Grosvenor?"

"Good afternoon, miss," John replied primly and bowed in a bow. - You're right.

"Good morning, Miss Bruce," Richard said politely. - Nice to meet you. Please, "he pointed to the back door of the car.

- Oh, what a luxurious car! - the journalist admired. - This is the first time I will ride one. As if not to get used to it, - she added jokingly.

"Nothing special," Richard shrugged. - Four wheels, steel body and a smoking hydrocarbon engine. If it weren't for the surname status, I would have driven something greener and more fuel efficient that doesn't gobble up three buckets of gasoline a hundred miles.

The journalist laughed.

"A funny point of view, Lord Grosvenor," she said. - But if you think about it, it really turns out that the status encourages rich people to buy expensive cars.

Richie waited until the journalist got into the car and climbed into it himself. John took a seat in the front passenger seat.

"Quite right," the boy replied to the journalist. - Unfortunately, this has always been and will be in the future. Earlier, rich people bought expensive horses to demonstrate their status, made carriages to order. Cars, yachts and airplanes are now in use. And in the future, wealthy people will buy expensive anti-gravity cars and flyers decorated with exclusive natural materials, which can only be obtained for a lot of money.

The car started to move. The journalist took out a dictaphone, turned it on and asked:

"Richard ... can I call you that?"

"No problem, miss. It will be even more convenient.

- I heard that you are in business. This is true?

- Quite right. I started doing business last June when I graduated from elementary school.

"But aren't you nine years old? Fiona asked in amazement.

- Nine, Miss Bruce. Some people consider me a child prodigy, but in reality I just have a good memory. At the moment, I have already passed exams for the second grade of secondary school.

- Amazing! - the journalist's eyes widened in amazement. "I didn't know that you were not just the heir to the title of the Duke of Westminster and the Grosvenor Group, but also a child prodigy. What are you doing, Richard?

"Miss Bruce, you can just call me Richie.

- Okay, Richie, but then you call me Fiona!

- No problem. Fiona, what exactly interests you? Work or everyday life?

- Both.

- Well ... - Richie paused for a couple of seconds to collect. - My daily schedule is very busy. The morning starts with gymnastics. Then I have classes with tutors according to the school curriculum. After lunch, fencing practice. After lunch, self-study of study materials. At the same time, I pay attention to economic reports and business issues.

- What can you say about your business, Richie?

- After passing the junior school exams, I have free time. And then it was decided to go into business. My father loaned me a small start-up capital. At the same time, the idea was born to create something new. This is how I brought the paperbacks to life.

- Staples ?!

Miss Bruce exclaimed in surprise so loudly that the driver and John shuddered. The journalist's face stretched out in amazement.

- Is this really such unexpected information? - Richard raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Nobody knew about that," Miss Bruce replied. - I am collecting a collection of 'funny bracelets' myself. They are cool.

"Then Fiona, you should visit Japan," Richard chuckled. - There, two competing retail chains ordered different collections of 'funny bracelets' from me based on personal sketches. They are fundamentally different from European and American ones.

- That is, your company is engaged in the supply of 'funny bracelets' not only in Britain, but also covered the markets of Japan and America?

"Exactly noticed," Richard nodded in agreement.

- What about a hobby?

- I like magic tricks.

A large gold coin appeared in Richie's palm. He threw her into the air and she disappeared.

The journalist followed this action with sincere delight.

- See the coin, miss?

"No," Fiona shook her head with a smile.

- And she is!

With that, Richie pulled out a coin from behind the journalist's ear.

Miss Bruce applauded. A wide smile adorned her face.

- Fabulous! Sleight of hand? She asked.

- No ... It's street magic! Richard replied with a grin.

In response, the journalist burst into ringing laughter. Laughing, she asked:

- Richie, what games do you prefer to play?

- Fiona, unfortunately, I have no time for games. My schedule is so tight that I can hardly find time for my hobbies. And now, when I have free time, I decided instead of useless games to spend it helping those in need.

- By the way, Richie, why did you decide to help the orphans? Miss Bruce asked.

"When I was little, my father and I were left alone," Richard began to broadcast with inspiration, trying not to lie, but still present the facts from a beneficial side for himself. - I grew up in a wealthy, but still not quite full-fledged family. I missed the mother's love, which my father, with all his desire, cannot compensate. Therefore, I want the orphans to have a happy childhood. The only thing I can do for this is to help them financially.

The journalist's eyebrows shot up in amazement. She asked:

- So, Richie, you earned your first money, but instead of spending it on toys and sweets, you give it to charity?

- I kept myself for sweets, but on the whole it is true. Charity is a worthy activity. I am Grosvenor, which means I must set an example for people!

The boring and gray morning was occasionally diluted by snow falling from the sky. The executive car drove into Little Winging and turned into Privet Drive. It was a typical middle-class suburban street. Small identical two-storey, three-bedroom yellow brick houses with built-in garage and parking area in front of the house.

Yew Street has never witnessed the passage of an expensive Bentley car. Moreover, it was accompanied by a patrol police car, which joined the limousine at the entrance to the city. The column was completed by an old hatchback Rover.

Naturally, such a procession attracted the attention of all neighbors. People looked out of the windows and imagined, if not the arrival of the queen, then at least the prince. And they were not far from the truth.

A valet jumped out of the passenger seat and obligingly opened the door for the young gentleman.

Two people left the Rover's salon. The driver is an obese man in a black coat over a classic suit and a wide-brimmed hat. And the passenger is a skinny, lean elderly woman with a tuft of gray hair and a wrinkled face, dressed in a red down jacket.

An elderly woman and a plump man approached the boy. They were joined by a constable in a dark police uniform with a baton at his belt.

The obese man introduced himself to the young man:

"Lord Grosvenor, I am glad to see you. My name is Michael. Michael Conor from the charitable foundation. And this is Madame Taylor from the guardianship authorities.

"Nice to meet you, sir, ma'am," Richard nodded politely.

"Oh, how glad I am, Lord Grosvenor," said old Taylor in awe.

The constable stood with an impenetrable face, but in his heart he was in awe of having to be in the company of such a big shot as the son of a duke.

Richard nodded to Mrs. Taylor, jerking his chin toward the front door of Number Four Privet Drive.

- Please, madam.

The old woman from the guardianship authorities briskly squeezed to the door and pressed the doorbell button.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley lived at number four Privet Drive and always proudly declared that they were, thank God, absolutely normal people. Already from someone, and they could not be expected to find themselves in some strange or mysterious situation.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were very disapproving of any oddities, riddles and other nonsense.

Mr. Dursley ran a firm called Grannings, which specialized in the manufacture of drills. He was a plump man with a very lush mustache and a very short neck.

As for Mrs. Dursley, she was a skinny blonde with a neck almost twice as long as it should be for her height. However, this disadvantage came in handy for her, since most of the time Mrs. Dursley was watching the neighbors and eavesdropping on their conversations. And with a neck like hers, it was very convenient to look behind other people's fences.

Mr and Mrs Dursley had a nine-year-old son named Dudley, and in their opinion he was the most wonderful child ever.

They also had in their care Harry's nephew, the son of Petunia's sister Dursley. They considered the boy as abnormal as his deceased parents.

The Dursleys had everything you could possibly want. But they had one secret. More than anything, they feared that someone would find out about him. The Dursleys could not even imagine what would happen to them if the truth came to light.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a boring gray morning on Saturday, nothing, including the snow-covered street, boded anything out of the ordinary.

Mr. Dursley was humming to himself as he was tying his most disgusting tie. He was going to visit the store, buy himself a bottle of whiskey and relax for once after a hard week of work.

Mrs. Dursley, with difficulty seating the resisting Dudley, who looked like a fat pig, with a happy smile, told her husband the latest gossip.

Harry, a small and puny boy in a Dudley shirt that looked like a bag on him, and wide jeans that were tucked up at the bottom and belted with a long belt in almost two turns, silently and quickly ate his breakfast. He tried to eat everything before Dudley had another tantrum, during which he swept everything off the table or turned it over.

Harry was the same age as his cousin. He had round glasses on his face. The boy's forehead was adorned with a lightning scar.

No one except Harry noticed how a procession of cars formed outside the window in front of the house.

At half past eight, the doorbell rang unexpectedly for the Dursleys.

Mr. Dursley straightened his tie and went to open the door. Opening it abruptly, he exclaimed:

- We don't buy anything! Go to hell!

Finding who he was yelling at, Mr. Dursley fell into a stupor. It was the constable, and with him a huge crowd of people.

Harry finished his breakfast quickly and ran into the living room. The curious Dudley was there before. Petunia, with her ineradicable curiosity, was next to her husband even before the children.

"Sorry, sir," Mr. Dursley bleated. - I didn't think that ... But for what reason, uh-uh ...

Mr. Dursley looked around the crowd with a frightened look.

A little blond boy leaked past the adults. He carried himself with the dignity of a lord.

"Lord Richard Grosvenor," he introduced himself in a dry voice full of strength and authority. Richie had to learn this tone when negotiating with business partners to be taken seriously. - Heir to the Duke of Westminster and the Grosvenor Group corporation. Owner of Grosvenor Junior. Godson of Prince Charles. And so that you understand the seriousness of the matter, the queen herself asked me to call her grandmother Lisa.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley were thunderstruck at these words. It seemed that there was a child in front of them no older than their son, but they perceived him as a lord. This was facilitated by the presence of a constable and a prim-looking butler next to the boy.

Mr and Mrs Dursley had absolutely no expectation of such an influential person's visit to Little Winging.

"Sir… you have no idea how pleasant your visit is to me," said Mr. Dursley.

Harry eyed the young lord curiously. He thought:

"I wish I was so! I wish Uncle Vernon would speak to me with the same respect. But this boy is no older than me. "

Richard said in a haughty tone:

"Mr. Dursley, I suppose you won't be so pleased when you know the purpose of our visit.

- Yes, sir ... Lord? What did we deserve ... Uh-uh ... That the glorious Lord visited such an ordinary family?

Vernon was deeply agitated.

"I decided to do charity work," Richard said dryly. - Helping orphans. And I came to Harry Potter.

- Boy! - barked Vernon at the top of his lungs. - Alive here!

"To me? Harry thought in amazement. "It can't be that a whole Lord has visited me!"

Harry slipped past Dudley, who nudged him in the side with an elbow and groaned in a whiny voice:

- Mom, why did the lord come to this freak?

- Dudley, shut up! Petunia hissed through pursed lips.

Mrs. Dursley turned pale and for the first time in her life realized that her baby was not as good as she thought of him. After all, now, in front of the lord and constable, her son can put her and her husband in prison. She gripped Dudley's shoulder tightly and covered his mouth with the other hand.

Dudley kicked his mother in the shin, to which he unexpectedly received a slap on the head. He was so amazed that he was hit that he fell into a stupor.

At this moment, Richard was staring in amazement at the orphan boy. His gaze lingered on the lightning scar and on the bicycle goggles.

- Ha! Just like in that holofilm! - burst out from Richie. - Wait ... SHIT!!!