White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller (22 page)

Book 4

Chapter 43

After two weeks, Todd had managed to get the club’s paperwork in order and set up a ledger of what was owing to it. The thugs that lived at or hung around Bandits seemed to have got used to him and didn’t pat him down every day anymore. They were a surly lot when he was around, and their dislike for him was obvious. When they were together, they laughed a lot, usually at the expense of someone they had kneecapped or beaten up. Amon McEvoy hardly spoke to Todd but was never far away, and Todd thought the Irishman would slit his throat as soon as look at him. Twice McEvoy had come into his office and told him to get lost. The first time he had misunderstood. McEvoy had said, “Take fifteen minutes and go get yourself a cup of coffee, kid.”

Todd had replied, “Thanks, but I’m okay I’ll grab one later.”

McEvoy had shouted, “Get the feck out of here. Disappear! I don’t want to see your face for fifteen minutes.”

The second time, Todd had left instantly. There was a coffee shop across the street, and he had sat at the window and watched the same small, unmarked, white van drive down the alley on each occasion. Todd had little doubt the van was delivering drugs destined for Jed Buckley’s safe. Other than this, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Elliot worked with his door closed, and his office was too far away for Todd to hear his conversations unless he was shouting, which he frequently did. Despite this, Todd could still only pick up the occasional word. He heard Ronny’s name being used disparagingly many times and guessed it was Ronny Conroy. The only other name he consistently heard was Mrs. Deacon, usually after hearing the unique Skype call sound.

On the taxi ride to Castlebrough, all Todd could think about was Vanessa’s concern about Lechte being removed as a partner of Montgomery Hastings & Pierce, and she losing her job. If that occurred he would have no indirect contacts to the FBI and SEC and the danger in what he was doing would multiply twentyfold.

As he emptied his pockets at the visitors entrance, Todd wondered whether he was destined to visit Frank Arturo every second Sunday for the rest of his life. He was shown to the same room as last time, except this time there was a pack of cards on the table, and Arturo was watching a fight on a small flat screen television. His eyes never left the screen, and he held his hand up for silence, but as the guard went to leave, he said, “Hang on, Joe.”

Todd and the guard stood there until the round and fight were over. “Mayweather’s a bum, but he can sure box,” Arturo said. “I love watching the guy.”

“He’s a great fighter, Mr. Arturo,” Joe replied.

“Jeez, don’t you know anything? He’s not a fighter’s bootlace. He’s a boxer. He’s a master of the art of self-defense. Pacquiao’s a fighter and when they eventually meet the master of self-defense will win easily. Put your house on it, Joe.”

“Yes, Mr. Arturo.”

“Joe, get me a latte. Todd, would you like anything?”

Todd pinched himself again in amazement at the power of the man now shuffling the cards. “I’d like a mineral water if you’ve got it, please.”

“If he hasn’t, he’ll get it. Won’t you, Joe?”

“Sure, Mr. Arturo,” the guard replied, nervously opening the door.

“Gin today, Todd. I want to talk and don’t want to have to concentrate.”

Arturo was a seriously good gin player, and Todd grinned knowing that he wouldn’t need to fake losing. “Thanks for the compliment,” he replied. It was the first cheeky comment he had ever made to the mob boss.

“Face it. It’s not your game. If I wanted fierce competition, we’d be playing chess. You’re a passable gin player, but that’s all.” Arturo smiled.

It was the first time Todd had ever seen Arturo genuinely smile.

“Have you found out anything?”

“Nothing.”

“And the Irishman is watching you like a hawk.”

“How do you know about McEvoy?” Todd gasped.

Arturo smiled but this time it was just a thin line.

“Do you know who Elliot’s bosses are?” Todd asked.

“No, but it would only take me five minutes to find out.”

“How?”

“Some of my people could persuade Elliot to tell me.”

“No, no, I don’t want that. I’d be no better than him if I did that.”

“Or me,” Arturo said.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yes, you did. Don’t apologize. We live in vastly different worlds. Let’s leave it at that. I’m happy to help you, but I won’t ask again. Now concentrate on your cards. You’re playing worse than what you usually do. Is there anything else worrying you?”

“I have some contacts in my old firm. They’re about to be removed. It’s going to make what I’m doing far more difficult without them.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to them. That trouble making managing partner’s going to get some bad news, while the young lady posing as your girlfriend is in for a pleasant surprise,” Arturo said. “I don’t have anything else to say. Let’s play cards.”

In his third week at the club, Todd reorganized the store and got rid of all the old inventory. When he asked Jed Buckley if he could help with the buying, the thug had fallen over himself saying yes. Buckley hated anything to do with paperwork. Now when he sold drugs, charged interest or collected cash, he just told Todd and left him to record the transaction.

Elliot called Todd into his office at the end of the week to tell him how pleased he was.

“Thanks,” Todd said. “I can streamline operations even further by putting the inventory on computer.”

“If I ever see a computer here, besides mine, I’ll throw it and the idiot who brought it in out the window. Understand?”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Jack. I was only saying.”

“Well, fucking don’t. I want you to do the same in the cool room as you did with the store. Get rid of the old stuff. I gotta tell you it’s a relief that you’re gonna be doing the buying. Jed wouldn’t have a clue what he’s doing.”

One of the five cell phones on Elliot’s desk rang. He picked it up and said, “Hello, Dermott,” before looking at Todd and saying, “I’ll talk to you after. Piss off.”

As Todd went back to his office, he thought about the cell phones. He was nearly sure they were all prepaid, but the one Elliot had answered had a blue cover to separate it from the other four which had black covers. Perhaps the cell with the blue cover was for Elliot’s bosses to contact him and who was Dermott?

Vanessa, for the first time, made the short trip to Flushing to have dinner and see a movie. Most of the night she was withdrawn and over dinner said, “I’m stressed. I feel sorry for Doug, I’m worried about you, and I probably won’t have a job by Wednesday.”

Todd toyed with telling her what Arturo had said but didn’t because he doubted what the mob boss had said. Instead he said, “I have a hunch that everything’s going to work out.”

“Hunches mean nothing,” Vanessa replied. “Come on. Let’s go and see this movie. I like Sandra Bullock, and I could sure use a laugh. Maybe I’ll feel better if it’s funny.”

Nearly three hours later they left the theater and strolled down the street toward Todd’s apartment. He purposely walked on the opposite side of the road to the club as he didn’t want to run into any of the thugs.

“You know we’re not doing anything,” Vanessa said.

“Of course. It’s going to look a bit strange, though. After all, we’re meant to be a couple.”

“We’ll pet on the couch, and then you’ll ask me to come into the bedroom, and I’ll say it’s that time of the month. Problem solved.”

“Feel free to change your mind.” Todd grinned. “I’m joking. I do want to show you the apartment. It’s so cool. Feel free to be suitably impressed.”

At the same time, Todd was showing Vanessa his apartment, Doug Lechte was sitting in front of his television, beer in hand, watching the Knicks and the Lakers. He had lobbied hard on Friday but at the end of the day could muster only ten votes. Cromwell had outflanked him and as managing partner could make promises that Lechte couldn’t. At least three other partners were lobbying for Cromwell and the campaign they had run had been relentless; Lechte had brought the firm’s reputation into disrepute and had to go
.

Only long-serving tax partner Sandra Bishop had lobbied for Lechte. He wasn’t worried for himself. He was more than comfortable. However, he was worried about Vanessa and in his farewell speech he intended to do everything he could to save her. Todd Hansen was another matter. There was nothing Lechte could do to help him, and any contact that Todd had with Grinich and Lord would have to be direct. The meeting wasn’t until Wednesday, but Lechte had cleared his personal items from his office on Friday. A few more days lobbying wouldn’t change anything.

Chapter 44

Phillip Cromwell’s phone rang just after 5:30 A.M. on Monday morning and he answered it with a terse yes.

“Mr. Cromwell, it’s Connie Burgess from WABC. Do you have anything to say about the mayor and The Disabled Children’s Fund?”

“What are you talking about?” Cromwell said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Have you seen today’s
Wall Street Journal?”

“It’s five o’clock.” Cromwell snapped. “Of course not. Get to the point.”

“Reporters for the Journal claim that more than ten million dollars of funds from The Disabled Children’s Fund were channeled into the mayor’s reelection campaign. Did you know that the Fund paid six million dollars to the Muslim community in Brooklyn to help with the building of a hospital for underprivileged and disabled children? The article alleges that more than half the monies donated were spent on advertising for Mayor Johnson and buying the Muslim vote. It further alleges that many functions paid for by the Fund had nothing to do with disabled children and everything to do with getting the mayor reelected. The FBI have just concluded an extensive investigation and are about to lay charges. Do you have anything to say about the alleged misappropriations?”

Cromwell let out an involuntary gasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you ask the mayor?”

“We spoke to the mayor’s wife. She said that the Fund’s audited by your firm, and everything must be kosher. Would you like to comment?”

Cromwell could hear his cell phone ringing. “No,” he said. “I have to go.” As he hung up, the phone started to ring again.

“What’s happening?” Mary asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Cromwell said testily. “Leave the phone off the hook and go back to sleep. I’m going out to buy a paper.”

Ten minutes later, Cromwell spread
The Wall Street Journal
across the dining room table and read the article in detail. The reporters had interviewed the senior partner of Strauss Robinson, who acknowledged that they had drawn up the Fund’s trust deed. However, like the mayor’s wife, he denied having anything to do with compliance, saying, “That’s why the Fund appoints auditors.”

Cromwell called the mayor on his private line and got the busy signal and when he called the mayor’s wife on her cell phone his call went straight through to voicemail.

When Cromwell arrived at the offices just after 8 A.M. television crews and a horde of reporters were in the foyer waiting for him. The cameramen closed in and reporters shoved microphones in his face. He shouted, “Get out of my way,” and then, “No comment, no comment,” as he tried to push through them.

“It’s claimed that there’s more than eight million missing from the Fund. A Fund set up to help underprivileged, disabled children. Your firm was the watchdog appointed to protect the assets of the Fund. What happened? Did you go to sleep?” An aggressive young female reporter asked.

“That’s not the role of an audit−”

“Is it true that these misappropriations were reported to you, and after the mayor complained, you severely reprimanded the employee who brought them to your attention?” another reporter asked.

“Get out of my way,” Cromwell shouted, throwing his arms in the air while the cameras continued to roll.

Despite the early hour, the phones were ringing incessantly, and most partners were already in their offices. Cromwell shoved the door to his office open then slammed it closed in one motion. There was a memo on his desk from Sandra Bishop convening an emergency meeting of partners for 11 A.M. today. His first reaction was to buzz her on the intercom and ask what she thought she was doing. He didn’t though. Instead, he paused. She was the firm’s oldest and longest-serving partner. In his current position, it would be a mistake to disrespect her and besides it was better that she had convened the meeting rather than Lechte. He called the mayor again but got the busy signal and then tried the senior partner of Strauss Robinson, but his assistant said that he was out of the office for the day. The rats were running for cover.

When Sandra Bishop rose to address the partners, she looked more like a stern school principal than the senior tax partner in one of the most prestigious accounting firms in the world. She had a yellow notepad in her hand and was wearing a black suit and white blouse. Even with her gray hair pulled up in a bun she was barely 5’ tall but her height belied her presence.

“You all know why you’re here,” she said.

“Don’t you think you should have spoken to me before you convened this meeting?” Cromwell demanded.

“No! We’re on every television and radio station. Twitter and Facebook have gone into meltdown. We’re on the front page of
The Wall Street Journal.
Clients are jamming our switchboard, and my cell phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning. I guess I’m not alone in that,” Sandra said.

Murmured assents went around the room.

“We’re under siege,” Sandra said, looking at her notes. “Phillip, Gary Jenner is being interviewed by
Sixty Minutes
this afternoon. What’s he going to say? He resigned straight after you tore him apart because of the concerns that his young employee raised about the audit of The Disabled Children’s Fund. What were those concerns? Why were you so critical of Gary? What is he going to say?”

“I’m not on trial here. I resent your attitude.”

“You can resent all you like,” Sandra said. “Did you know that the leaders of Brooklyn’s Muslim community have no knowledge of a hospital for underprivileged and disabled children? And yet The Disabled Children’s Fund supposedly donated six million dollars in respect of that hospital. At best, we’re staring at a significant claim on our professional indemnity policy, at the worst, Phillip, you may be looking at criminal charges. One of the television stations was speculating, given your relationship with the mayor, that you may have colluded with him.”

One of the other partners said, “Then there are the lavish functions and golf days paid for by the Fund that were clearly part of the mayor’s reelection campaign. It’s terrible. We’re going to lose some major clients over this. We have to go into damage control.”

Phillip Cromwell had lost some but not all of his bluster. “It’s just media speculation,” he said. “If there’s legal action brought against us, we’ll instruct our lawyers to defend it vigorously.”

“Don’t you mean your lawyers, Phillip?” Sandra said, picking up her notepad and reading from the top page. “Didn’t you say, ‘If a manager or, dare I say, even a partner makes a major mistake or is guilty of an offense, then it’s that person’s problem. It’s not up to the firm to pay their legal expenses or bail them out. The only legal costs that we should bear are those relating to protecting the firm.’ Isn’t that right?”

Cromwell turned bright red. He had never anticipated his edicts being thrown back in his face. “I-I didn’t mean for−”

Before Cromwell could finish, Doug Lechte stood up and said, “It was poor policy when first raised. It’s still poor policy. Now is the time to unite and show solidarity. Phillip is managing partner, and we must stand by him. The firm is bigger than all of us.”

Muted gasps went around the room. Most partners had been surprised that Lechte had remained quiet for so long, and now they were stunned to see him supporting his nemesis.

Cromwell ignored Lechte and said, “I will review the audit files in detail over the next two days. It may well be just a media beat up. I’ll report to the partners when we consider Doug’s future with the firm on Wednesday.”

“No, you won’t,” Sandra said. “We will appoint a four partner committee today who have had nothing to do with the Fund or the mayor to review the audit files. The committee will report back to a full meeting of partners in seven days’ time. Does anyone have any objections?”

Cromwell started to say something and then thought better of it. The rest of the partners remained silent.

“Good. Now I want to dispense with this rubbish about Doug. We may need him as managing partner while Phillip fights the charges that I’m sure the FBI will bring. In a worst case scenario, Phillip may be imprisoned. Accordingly, the meeting scheduled for Wednesday is canceled.”

“No,” Cromwell shouted.

Sandra folded her arms and looked over the top of her severe spectacles slowly casting her eyes around the room. “Does anyone else have any objections?”

No one said a word, and some of the partners started to stand thinking that the meeting was over.

“The meeting’s not over,” Sandra said, and the partners scrambled back to their chairs. “I want to move a motion that Vanessa Hodge be invited to join the firm as a full partner.”

“I’ll second that.” Lechte grinned.

“No, no,” Cromwell shouted. “The firm’s constitution provides that in the absence of a vacancy, new partners can only be admitted on an annual basis.”

“I have been a partner of this firm for thirty-two years,” Sandra said. “I need a rest. Accordingly, I’m announcing my retirement from the firm conditional on Vanessa Hodge’s appointment. You have your vacancy, Phillip.”

“No,” Cromwell said, hanging his head.

“All those in favor of appointing Vanessa Hodge,” Sandra said.

Thirty-five hands went up.

“All those against.”

Five hands including Cromwell’s were raised.

“I declare the motion carried,” Sandra said. “This meeting is adjourned.”

As the partners filed out of the meeting room, Doug Lechte caught up with Sandra Bishop.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

“Thanks are not required. I merely did what was right.”

“I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Sometimes age and being a woman have certain benefits. I knew that Phillip couldn’t attack me without being seen to be a bully. In his condition, that was too big of a risk for him to take. He’s a good administrator, but he’s naïve. It’s obvious that the mayor and his cronies played him for a sucker. Unlike you, he’s got no street smarts. I was going to nominate you as managing partner until you gave that noble little speech. What was that about?”

“Thank God you didn’t. I couldn’t stand the thought of managing forty disparate partners. It’s a time where we have to unite. Any sign of divisiveness will be picked up by our staff and clients with disastrous consequences. Phillip’s the right person to be managing partner, but we have to narrow his role to the administration of the firm. He has no idea how to relate to clients.”

“It’s more than that. We need to limit his influence on the appointment of new partners or we’ll just end up with a firm of clones like him. What am I doing saying
we
when I’m about to leave?” Sandra laughed.

“That was an incredibly selfless gesture nominating Vanessa and then standing down for her. She will be delighted and eternally grateful.”

“Oh, it wasn’t selfless. I meant what I said. I’m tired. I’m looking forward to traveling around Europe for the next year. I’ll think of you while I’m enjoying coffee on the Amalfi coast,” Sandra smiled.