Another venture Richie ordered established as quickly as possible was a small company dedicated to manufacturing laboratory glassware. The business itself would be tiny, and the equipment required relatively inexpensive, but that was not the point. The company would generate profit margins well in excess of one hundred percent even if it somehow managed to operate at a loss.
How?
Through creative accounting, of course.
A company called Metal Glasses would manufacture laboratory equipment from effectively free platinum. Officially, the platinum would be purchased from a shell company registered in an offshore jurisdiction. In reality, Richie would simply create the precious metal himself in his spare time and sell it at above-market prices in the form of finished products that did not require serial markings or traceable certification.
***
Another July day blessed Britain with warm sunshine and clear skies. Richie, however, had no time to enjoy the summer weather. He had far too much work to do.
A sudden telephone call caught young Grosvenor at the London house just as he was preparing to walk to the office and check on the hedge fund's progress.
"Hello?" he answered, picking up the cordless telephone.
"Kid," came the gravelly voice of Detective Potter from the receiver, "you can celebrate. I've found a few special people to serve as your bodyguards."
Richard did not immediately understand what he meant. However, the emphasis placed on the word special quickly clarified matters.
"Mr Potter, have you really found candidates for my bodyguard team?!" Richard asked eagerly.
"Exactly!" the detective replied proudly. "It wasn't easy, but I keep my promises. Interested in meeting them?"
"Of course," Richard answered immediately.
"In that case, you can catch them today at noon in the Leaky Cauldron," the detective said. "Or we can arrange a meeting at a time that's more convenient for you."
Richie quickly reviewed his schedule and realised he could postpone several tasks and free up some time at midday.
"Today works perfectly for me," he replied. "Would you be able to accompany me?"
"Of course, lad!" Scott Potter said. "What kind of question is that? It's my job."
"Mr. Potter, сould you tell me a little about them?" Richard asked.
"They're young. Recently graduated from a certain private school you're familiar with," the detective replied, taking care to avoid any direct mention of magic over the phone. "After graduation, the girl spent a year training with a special police tactical unit, while the lad completed the full three-year programme, worked six months as a trainee, and another six as a constable. Recruiting the pair was nothing short of a miracle. The young man has already seen the less glamorous side of police work and personally experienced the tiny salary and complete lack of prospects. In short, they're decent kids. The pay and future opportunities caught their attention. Run them through proper bodyguard training, and they'll turn into something worthwhile."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I'll see you at noon in the Leaky Cauldron."
Precisely at twelve o'clock, Richard stepped into the Leaky Cauldron.
About half the tables were occupied. Scott Potter was immediately spotted at a table in the far-right corner of the room. Sitting opposite the detective were two young people.
Closest to the aisle sat a blue-eyed brunette around eighteen years old and approximately five foot six in height. Her hair stuck out in every direction like stiff, thin wire. Richard noted her sturdy build, briefly glanced at her modest chest, and found her choice of clothing somewhat surprising. She wore a tight black shirt covered in steel studs, along with matching black trousers. Her footwear consisted of heavy combat boots with thick soles—the sort favoured by English football hooligans and alternative subcultures. A wand holster hung from her belt.
The young man appeared to be around twenty, perhaps slightly older. He was of average height, with a stocky, athletic build. Brown eyes studied Richard carefully. He wore a classic black suit—nothing expensive, but respectable quality nonetheless. A dark blue tie completed the ensemble over a neatly pressed white shirt. His dark chestnut hair was cropped short, barely an inch in length.
The moment Richard approached the table, Detective Potter stood up. The young woman and the young man immediately followed suit.
"Allow me to introduce," Scott began, "Earl Richard Grosvenor, your prospective employer. Richie, this"—he gestured towards the young woman—"is Miss Nymphadora Tonks."
Richard watched with surprise as the colour of the girl's hair shifted to purple.
In a pleasant voice, she said:
"Sir, it's a pleasure to meet you. Just call me Tonks."
"Very well, Miss Tonks," Richard replied with a friendly nod. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well."
"And this," the detective continued, moving his hand towards the young man, "is Mr Hector Proudfoot."
"Mr Proudfoot," Richard acknowledged with a polite nod. "Pleased to meet you."
Hector looked surprised, evidently not expecting his prospective employer to be quite so young.
"The pleasure is mine, sir," he replied.
Richie sat down beside Mr Potter. The others followed his example and resumed their seats.
"Well then, let's begin with you, Hector," Grosvenor said, getting straight to the point. "Tell me about yourself."
"What exactly would you like to know, sir?" Proudfoot asked.
"Your background, political views, attitude towards ordinary people, hobbies," Richard listed.
"Sir, both of my parents are wizards," Proudfoot began. "They're both half-bloods. We lived in Manchester in an ordinary house among Muggles. I'm quite familiar with the Muggle world. I don't have anything against Muggles. I attended Hogwarts and was sorted into Gryffindor. I graduated four years ago with four Outstanding N.E.W.T.s. I don't really have any hobbies. Politics doesn't interest me."
"Any bad habits? Drinking, smoking, drugs?" Richard continued.
"No." Proudfoot shook his head. "I don't drink, I don't smoke, and I find drugs disgusting."
Richard carefully watched Hector's reactions, and so far the young man did not appear to be lying.
"Hector, how do you feel about spending a great deal of time protecting someone as young as me?"
"Perfectly fine, sir," Proudfoot replied with a shrug. "If it's true that you'll be paying five hundred Galleons a month, I won't find a better job anywhere."
(End of Chapter)
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