The Job (50 page)

“May I now tell you a story?” I asked.

“This guy is a fucking blackmailer!” screamed Jerry.

“Jerry,” Ballantine said, “I’ll say this just once: Shut up.”

He then nodded toward me.

“Okay, Allen. Talk.”

“I’m not here to blackmail you, Mr. Ballantine. I’m here to sell you an idea.

“All salesmanship is storytelling.” Didn’t you write that in The Success Zone? Well, here’s the story.

“Ted Peterson, GBS executive, asshole supreme, meets Jerry Schubert just over a year ago at some cocktail party. Jerry gets talking about this private equity fund idea he’s cooking up, Ted gets interested-because, though he’s a high-flying executive, the guy’s also a jerk when it comes to managing his money, and he’s a couple of hundred grand in debt. They both see a mutual opportunity for fun and profit-especially since Ted is a member of a highly confidential GBS committee in which all the research and development people sit around and talk about products they’re considering buying from small software companies that are about to go public.

“Before you can say ‘insider information, Jerry’s paying Ted five grand a month for this highly confidential corporate info, which he then disseminates among your wide circle of wealthy friends-who, in turn, buy stock in these emerging companies, and turn a nice profit.

“So far so good. But, of course, Jerry has ambitions beyond mere insider trading. He knows that your wealthy friends, Mr. Ballantine, are looking for intriguing investment opportunities-and a way of washing clean a lot of dirty money. So he sets up a private equity fund called Excalibur and asks Ted if he’d like to be the chief talent spotter for the fund. Ted is delighted-the five percent commission could turn out to be a very lucrative sideline for him. And as an additional bonus, Jerry asks Ted to fly around the country on a couple of weekends and meet some of the well-heeled investors Jerry’s bringing into the fund. And much to Ted’s surprise, these guys start handing him briefcases full of money. He calls Jerry.

“What do I do with all this cash?” he asks.

“We’ve opened a fund account in Grand Cayman,” Jerry says.

“Hop a plane and deposit it there.”

“Ted agrees. And every weekend for a month, he does these little trips around the country to rich friends of Jack Ballantine-who love his private equity sales pitch so much they keep handing him suitcases of money. And before jetting back to the bosom of his family on Sunday night, Ted makes a quick stopover at a Grand Cayman bank, which happily accepts deposits seven days a week.

“The fund grows to fifteen million in a matter of weeks. But then Jerry drops a little bombshell on Ted. He doesn’t plan to invest all this money in new emerging companies-because the Excalibur Fund is completely bogus. Instead, he wants him to work out a way of laundering the money… because all the cash he’s been handling is dirty. Drug money dirty. Arms money dirty. Child pornography dirty. Excuse the editorial aside, Mr. Ballantine, but you know some very interesting entrepreneurs… .”

“Get back to the story, Allen.”

“With pleasure. Ted freaks-because he’s now being asked to engage in some serious criminal activity. I mean, compared to laundering drug and porn money, trading a little insider information is Boy Scout stuff. So Ted says he wants out. But Jerry threatens to expose his insider dealing stunts at GBS. Ted buys a tape recorder and begins to record all his business discussions with Jerry. Eventually, after multiple threats-like the one involving your name, Mr. Ballantine-Ted capitulates. And, after a bit of research, he creates a bogus software company in Budapest called Micromagna. They’re allegedly selling word processing programs to other countries in the Eastern Bloc. What they’re actually doing is sending empty boxes of disks to nonexistent, one-man-in-a-phone-booth companies in Warsaw, Bucharest, Bratislava-who, in turn, pay for these bogus goods with cash they’ve received from the Excalibur Fund. It’s the perfect money-laundering scheme-dirty money gets used for alleged legitimate business deals. Nobody actually pockets a penny. The money comes out smelling clean.

“The scheme works brilliantly-but alas, Ted is unhappy with the measly twenty-thousand-dollar payoff he gets for all his hard work. Jerry promises more the next time around-and sends Ted to collect a whopping six point five million from a consortium of your entrepreneur friends down Mexico way. This time they decide to try the banking facilities of the Bahamas. Ted docks in Nassau with the six point five. He engages the services of a local lawyer. The lawyer makes a call to the Bahamian Bank of Commerce. Ted pays the bank a visit and opens an Excalibur account. While he’s there, the bank manager suggests he also open a personal account for any commissions he gets from the fund. On the spot, Ted decides he deserves a healthy commission this time, and tells the banker to shove five point five million into the Excalibur account, and a million into his own personal account.

“Well, Jerry gets a little perturbed when he hears about Ted’s commission, and threatens him and his family with grievous bodily harm unless the money is returned. At this point, Ted plays his trump card. He’s got this extensive library of Ted and Jerry chats-which he will make public unless he gets to keep the million. What’s more, he wants a retainer of fifteen thousand a month just to keep him sweet.

“You should listen to these guys intimidate each other, Mr. Ballantine. They just can’t help but trade threats and counter threats And, I’ve got to tell you, I couldn’t figure out why Ted didn’t just take the money and run-until, of course, I heard the tape in which Jerry assured Ted that he’d do unspeakable stuff to his kids if he suddenly vanished. Even an immoral scumbag like Ted Peterson had to give in to that threat, and stay put in Old Greenwich.”

Jerry was about to yell some disclaimer, but Ballantine silenced him with a dangerous glare.

“So now Ted’s got this big problem. Personally, he’s still six hundred grand in debt. And though he’s got a million in this offshore account, he knows that Jerry will kill him if he touches the cash. And Jerry, too, has a big problem, as the million that Ted has embezzled belongs to his so-called investors-and they are not the kind of gentlemen who like to be stolen from.

“But then I show up on the scene, and Jerry sees a way of eliminating the entire Ted crisis. Before you can say choo-choo, Ted is under that train, I am Jerry’s new delivery boy, and Peterson’s house is twice turned upside down by Jerry’s stooges in search of the tapes-which, as you now know, were kept elsewhere all the time.”

I sat down.

“So that’s the story, Mr. Ballantine-and one which is completely corroborated by all twenty tapes in that briefcase. They really make interesting listening, especially if you’re a Fed….”

Jerry was on his feet.

“I want to say something here,” he barked.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ballantine said.

“Well, I’m going to fucking say it whether-” Ballantine’s face turned malevolent, but his voice remained hushed.

“No, you’re not going to say anything. Now sit down.”

Jerry looked at the door as if he was thinking about making a break for it. Thug Number Two shook his head as if to say Don’t even try. So he sank back into his chair. Ballantine faced me again.

“So that’s the entire story, Mr. Allen?”

I inadvertently smiled at his sudden, respectful inclusion of “Mr.” before my name.

“No, sir. As you yourself said in The “You’ Defense, “In business there is never one actual story. There are many stories.” Now, were those tapes to find their way to the police or the media, the story would emerge as I have described it-with disastrous personal consequences for you.

“However, there is a way of tailoring the story to avoid such a ‘negative’ outcome. And that is to cast Jerry here as the villain of the piece. After all, there’s no documentation linking Ballantine Industries to either Excalibur or any of the offshore accounts. So here’s how you spin it. Jerry set up the Excalibur Fund himself. He brought Ted on board. They opened the account in Grand Cayman. They used Micromagna to launder the money. They had an ongoing dispute about money. Jerry threw Ted under a train. End of story.”

Once again, Jerry was on his feet. Ballantine simply pointed his finger at him, and he sat back down.

“It’s an interesting scenario,” Ballantine said, “but won’t the investors in the Grand Cayman fund be exposed?”

“Why should they be? The money’s laundered, there’s no record of any of their individual contributions, and even if Jerry here names names, what proof does he have?”

“I like that,” Ballantine said.

“But what about the current fund?”

“Now that presents you with a wholly different set of problems, all of which are easily resolved. You go back to your investors and announce that you are returning their money with ten percent interest, because you have discovered that Jerry Schubert, your right-hand man, the guy you treated like a son, has been embezzling a significant chunk of the cash.”

“That is such total bullshit,” roared Jerry.

“Allen’s the embezzler. And I have proof right here.”

He stood up, dug into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he waved in front of Ballantine with maniacal desperation.

“It’s a fax from our lawyer in Nassau, showing that over one million dollars of the money Allen was handling has disappeared from the Excalibur account.”

Ballantine grabbed the fax from Jerry’s hand. After scanning it, he turned to me and said:

“Is this true? One million?”

“Yes, sir-it’s absolutely true. One million is missing from the Excalibur account… but not unaccounted for, as it’s all lodged in a personal account in the name of Jerry Schubert.”

Jerry lunged for me. But Thug Number Two got between us and quickly had him restrained.

“Mr. B.-Jack-he’s fucking lying, I never, never would dream of stealing from you.”

I reached into the briefcase and pulled out the envelope brimming with deposit slips.

“Mr. Ballantine, he asked me to open the account in his name….”

“You piece of shit!” Jerry screamed.

“Inside here you’ll find his bank account book, and copies of deposit slips for everything he asked me to stash in his own personal account. Just for the record, it was twenty percent of all funds. The good news, however, is that I kept careful records of everything that your investors paid in-every time I made a deposit, I ensured that the investor’s name was on the deposit slip. So you won’t find it difficult to refund their money. Just add twenty percent to everything they’re owed … as well as the interest you’re going to pay them, of course.”

“And what am I going to pay you, Mr. Allen?”

“We’ll come to me in a moment. First there’s the matter of Mrs. Peterson. She’s asked me to negotiate with you on her behalf. Now, as you can appreciate, her life has suffered a considerable amount of distress recently. The sole breadwinner in the family thrown under a train. Her house torn apart twice. Nasty men prowling around her kids. And, of course, she is in possession of evidence that could end your freedom forever, sir.

“But take my word for it: All she wants is a quiet life. And a certain amount of compensation for her losses. So here’s the math-and I must say it strikes me as quite reasonable. She gets to keep the million in Peterson’s offshore account-which will essentially get her family out of the debt Peterson left them in and pay the first mortgage still remaining on the house. Then she would also like an additional one million, which she plans to invest in nice safe unit trusts and mutual funds, to provide a reasonable annual income for herself and her two children.”

“And what about the tapes?” Ballantine asked.

“You get to keep this set. The originals stay locked away in a secure place-with instructions to ship them to the Feds should either Mrs. Peterson or myself meet a sinister end. But that’s not going to happen, is it?”

“How do I know you’re never going to use those tapes as a bargaining chip against me again?”

“Because, with all due respect, after today I never want to see you again. And Mrs. Peterson simply never wants to meet you. So …” I pulled out my cellphone.

“Do we have a deal?”

“It’s not cheap.”

“Altogether, you’re going to have to find around three million to cover Mrs. Peterson’s settlement and make up the shortfall to your investors. But, hey, it’s a small price to pay for your freedom, your life. And anyway, what’s three million to Jack Ballantine?”

He shook his head wearily.

“Give me the phone,” he said.

“The number’s already programmed in. You just have to press ‘send.”” He did as instructed.

“Mrs. Peterson? Jack Ballantine here. I have been in extensive talks with your negotiator, Mr. Allen. And I’m pleased to say that I agree to your terms. I’ll pass you over to Mr. Allen now.”

He handed me back the phone.

“Hi, Meg.”

She sounded dazed.

“He really agreed to everything?”

I looked over at him.

“He is a man of his word.”

“You must be amazingly persuasive, Ned.”

“I can only play with the cards I’m dealt. And you gave me four aces. How are Phil and Vinnie treating you?”

“Great-but they’re playing me old Al Martino albums.”

“Well, there’s a price for everything.”

“I think they deserve a reward from my windfall. Would they accept ten grand?”

“I doubt it-Phil’s more ethical than he cares to admit. Listen, I’ve got to go.”

I turned the phone off.

“She’s very pleased,” I said.

“I’m sure she is,” Ballantine said dryly.

“And now, sir-how can I please you? A million? A new job? Both? What’s the price?”

“I want just two things from you. The first is this: At nine tomorrow morning, I’m due to present myself at the Greenwich police station to take part in a lineup, where the maitre d’ of the Hyatt Regency restaurant-a Mr. Martin Algar-is certain to finger me as the guy last seen with Peterson. I want you to persuade Mr. Algar-with some cold, hard cash-to finger Schubert here instead.”

Jerry tried to express his objection to my idea, but Thug Number Two simply bent his arms further up his back.