The CEO: White Collar Crime Finance Suspense Thriller

by Peter Ralph

  “When the market picks up the buying companies will sell the apartments and payoff their loans to the new company, which will then repay Mercury.”

  Norman looked bemused and slowly shook his head. “That’s so convoluted.”

  “Come on, we need a credible name. Something like, Custom Credit, Esanda, or Mercantile Credits. You know what I’m looking for.”

  “More like Estate Mortgage,” Norman laughed, “but the prestigious name still didn’t save it from going belly up. What you’re proposing is illegal and very dangerous. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

  “No. What about Balmoral Finance Proprietary Limited? It sounds classy.”

  “If it’s available, I’ll get it for you. You know Mercury’s auditors are going to want to see documentation and confirm the loan at balance dates.”

  “You can prepare whatever they require and get our stooge director to sign it. Don’t worry about the auditors, I can handle them, and anyhow, the amount of the loan will be immaterial in relation to Mercury’s total assets.”

  “Who’s going to sign cheques on Balmoral’s account?”

  “No-one.”

  “No-one?”

  “That’s right. Get our stooge director to set up internet banking for Balmoral, and that way you’ll be able to log into the account at any internet café and transfer monies without there being any trace of who actually authorized the payments.”

  “Will Balmoral hold mortgages over the apartments it’s financing?”

  “No. I don’t want some smartarse reporter doing title searches and finding out that Balmoral’s financing the purchase of all of the pre-owned apartments, or the cat will be out of the bag. Balmoral will actually hold the titles, but there won’t be any mortgages registered against them.”

  “I don’t like it, Doug, but I’m not at any risk, so I’ll do it. How do I get paid?”

  “I want you to review Mercury’s tax position, because I’m certain that you can reduce our liability. It’s something that the former management would’ve never considered, so I think you’ll find plenty. When you submit your invoices, just inflate them to cover the work you do for Balmoral. You worry too much,” Aspine chuckled. “Oh, and set up a Hotmail address from an internet café and check it daily but don’t use your computers. I’ll make sure requests for finance are channeled to that address.”

  “Is that all? I need to get back to my office.”

  “No. Make sure Balmoral makes an interest payment to Mercury at the end of every month. I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. I think that covers everything,” Aspine said, shaking Norman’s hand warmly. “Thank you.”

  Aspine was on his way back to the office when his pleasant musings about the demotion of Anthony Keen were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile.

  “Doug, it’s Phil Kendall. Have you looked at our proposal?”

  “Is Colin Sarll still employed by the bank?”

  “No. He took early retirement.”

  “Aspine laughed. “Is that what the bank calls it when it sacks someone? How’d he react when you told him?”

  Sarll had broken down and cried when he’d been dismissed, and at fifty-four, knew that he’d never get a job at another bank. Kendall had no intention of letting Aspine have the satisfaction of knowing this. “He said that he’d been considering early retirement, and that the misunderstanding with you just brought it to a head.”

  “Is that right?” Aspine said, sounding miffed. “What about the credit for interest?”

  “I’ve authorized a credit to the company’s account of one hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars. Is your wife happy with the new credit card?”

  “Yes.”

  “And have you considered our proposal?”

  “We’ll keep our banking with you, Phil, but if I find out that little prick’s still employed by the bank, or any of its subsidiaries you can consider the account lost. Do you understand?”

  “Doug, I told you he’s taken an early retirement and won’t be back.” Kendall smiled, knowing that Aspine had wanted to hear something far more bloody.

  “Good-bye Phil,” Aspine said, punching the steering wheel hard. Sarll, had got off far too lightly, and Phil Kendall had spoilt a perfect day.

  Kelly followed him into his office with an armful of lease documents for execution. She had done a fine job negotiating the lease of luxurious new offices in Kew. The lessor had agreed to fit-out the offices to her demanding specifications, which included partitioning, floor coverings, sophisticated audio-visual equipment, and French antique furniture. Aspine’s new office was going to be twice the size of the one that he now occupied, and overlook a green, heavily treed park. The boardroom was similar to Donald Trump’s in The Apprentice and Aspine smiled, knowing that it would drive Harry ballistic. “You’ve checked the documentation?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ve run it past Sly & Vogel?”

  “Yes.” She sighed, in exasperation.

  “Settle down, Kelly. I just want to make sure the documentation reflects what we discussed. You’ve done an exceptional job and I’m very pleased. When do we move in?”

  She felt herself blushing, as compliments from Douglas Aspine were rare. “Thank you. I’ve organized to have the files boxed and transferred by mid-November, so we’ll be fully operational on the 1 December.”

  “About seven weeks. That’s good, because I’m sure looking forward to getting out of this shit hole. Have you found a tea lady yet?”

  “Not yet. Don’t you like my coffee?” She laughed. “I had a very skilled teacher, you know.”

  He smiled. This was the most relaxed that she’d been since the death of Bert Stuart. “Keep the next few weeks free. We might be heading to Switzerland and the West Indies.”

  “Fantastic. Will I have time for sight-seeing and shopping?”

  “It’s business, Kelly, but you can pack your bikinis,” he said, running his eyes up and down her trim body. As he was ogling her, the phone rang in her office.

  “Excuse me. I’ll just take that.”

  He cursed the phone. He’d got no response to his overt hint, when even a giggle or a smile would have told him all he needed to know.

  “Douglas, it’s Mr Milgate from Blayloch & Fitch. He said it’s urgent.”

  - 19 -

  “HELLO, DUNCAN.”

  “Doug, we think it might be in your interests to invest in Philco Coal, but your investment can’t exceed a hundred thousand dollars. We don’t want heavy buying tipping the market off before our other clients are set.”

  “Jesus, I don’t have a loose hundred thousand. How certain are you about this stock?”

  Milgate sounded miffed. “Philco’s shares are trading at $2.20. We expect them to be $3.50 within three weeks.”

  “You’ve got inside information?”

  “That would be illegal, and this firm always acts within the law.”

  “Put me in for twenty thousand shares, but don’t commit more than forty-four thousand dollars.”

  “You’re a most unusual man. Our clients always want more, never less. Some have even been stupid enough to buy more through other brokers, but we always find out, and dispense with them as clients.”

  Aspine smiled, at what had been a less than subtle warning. “I’m not big into the stock market. You’ll never have to worry about me,” he lied.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that you’d do anything like that, Douglas. I’ll be in touch.”

  As he finished the call, Kelly said, “Wes Bracken’s been holding for you. He said it’s urgent.”

  Everything’s urgent he thought. “Yes, Wes, what’s the problem?”

  “Fiona Jeczik’s doing another exposé on you and Mercury tonight.”

  “How do you know? What’s it about?” Aspine said, trying to keep calm.

  “Channel Sixteen’s been running ads all day about how big business is screwing the consumer. Our accountant’s wife works there, an
d she knows it’s about Mercury, but doesn’t know what Jeczik has. Do you have any idea?”

  “Not the slightest,” Aspine responded, feeling nauseous. God, why did the bitch have it in for him so badly?

  “If I find out, I’ll come back to you.”

  The house was strangely quiet. Mark was sprawled out on the couch watching The Simpsons. “How are you, Mark?”

  “Good, Dad.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Mum and Jemma are shopping and Trevor’s out driving his car.”

  “Flick the television over to the Channel Sixteen news.”

  “Why can’t you watch it in the study?” Mark protested.

  “Because I’m going to watch it here, and that’s all there is to it.”

  As the Channel Sixteen news came on Mark looked sullen and uninterested.

  Five minutes later the solemn face of Fiona Jeczik appeared on the screen. “Today we have a shocking story about corporate greed; a story that will turn your stomachs, and which culminated in the death of a good man.”

  Aspine felt his chest tightening as he waited for the bitch to resurrect the death of Bert Stuart.

  “This is the story of an elderly couple who were conned by Mercury Properties into buying an apartment, which they couldn’t afford. After they realized that they’d been duped, they tried to cancel the contract but Mercury flatly refused. Their names are Eric and Cynthia Cartwright and, because of the pressure that Mercury exerted, Eric suffered a stroke and was hospitalized four weeks ago. Sadly, he passed away this morning.”

  Aspine groaned, but this time the bitch had gone too far, and he’d instruct Max Vogel in the morning to sue her and Channel Sixteen for defamation. She couldn’t prove that the sale of the apartment and the stroke were in anyway related.

  The camera panned to the tear-stained wrinkled face of Cynthia Cartwright. She was incoherent and rambling about Brad Hooper, and how he had insisted they complete the purchase. “Were you ever told about the cooling off period?” Fiona asked.

  “No, we only found out about it after it’d expired.”

  “And had Mr Cartwright been in good health?”

  “Oh, yes, he had a full check-up only three months ago. It was only the worry of not being able to pay for the apartment that caused the stroke,” Cynthia said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  The camera panned back to Fiona Jeczik shaking her head and rolling her eyes in disgust.

  Cynthia Cartwright had merely surmised and what she claimed could not be proved. Aspine savoured the thought of the writs that he’d have issued in the morning. His initial nausea had passed and he was now focused on vengeance. As he pondered this, the bitch reappeared after an ad break, and sitting opposite her was the young, innocent Rob Sorenson.

  “You used to work for Mercury, Mr Sorenson.”

  “I resigned this morning.”

  “You resigned in disgust?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you take us through the sale in detail?”

  “Certainly.”

  Aspine could feel the nausea returning. He badly needed a drink but was riveted to the screen. All thoughts of legal action and vengeance left him.

  “Prior to Mr Aspine’s appointment, how much commission would you have made on a sale like this?”

  “Nothing; I was on a fixed salary.”

  “And how much would you make now?”

  “I would’ve been paid nine thousand dollars on settlement.”

  “Nine thousand dollars,” she said, shaking her head, and slowly drawing out the words through a thin, mirthless smile.

  “Is it true that Mercury’s sold six hundred thousand dollar apartments on deposits as low as one hundred dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is it true that some salesmen have loaned clients the deposit out of the commission they expect to earn on settlement?”

  “Yes.”

  The camera panned back to a close-up of Fiona’s Jeczik’s anger contorted face. She had a piece of paper in her hand. “I’d like to read the letter Mercury eventually sent to Mrs Cartwright, cancelling the contract and refunding the deposit after they found about Mr Cartwright’s stroke. Dear Madam, Despite your failure to meet your contractual obligations, we have decided to waive our contractual rights. Your deposit for one thousand dollars is returned herewith. Bradley Hooper, Sales Manager.”

  Aspine’s migraine was pounding, and he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. God, could Brad have written a less sensitive letter? He cursed, knowing that he couldn’t sack him because he was imperative to the scheme to prop up apartment prices.

  “Dad, are your salesmen crooks?”

  He’d forgotten Mark was lying quietly on the floor.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Is it illegal to pay commission?”

  “No, Mark, it isn’t. I’m not feeling well. Can you save your questions until after?”

  “Why does that lady hate you?”

  Before he could respond, the phone rang, and Mark jumped up to answer it. “I’m home to no-one.” His father said.

  He heard Mark say, “No, he’s not home.”

  “Who was it?”

  “That Brad Hooper guy. Is he a crook, Dad?”

  The phone rang again. Aspine stood up and went over to the liquor cabinet, took out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and stumbled down to his study. He did not take a glass.

  The following morning the market wiped 50 cents off Mercury’s share price, and the switchboard lit up. Two of Melbourne’s most prominent talkback jocks picked up on the Cartwright story, and ran tear-jerking interviews with Cynthia. Hundreds of irate citizens called in, attacking Mercury, Brad Hooper and Aspine.

  When Aspine walked into his office, Brad was already there. He looked nervous, and his usual chirpiness was missing. “I phoned you last night. Why didn’t you return my call?”

  “Brad, after that bitch read that letter you composed, I wanted to kill you. There was no way I was going to talk to you until I’d cooled down.”

  “Are you going to sack me?”

  “What for, doing your job? Not likely but, if you ever write another important letter, you’d better let me see it.”

  “There are a lot of people on talkback radio calling for my head.”

  “And mine,” Aspine grimaced. “It’ll blow over, but we’re going to have it tough for a week or so. There’ll be reporters after you, but I don’t want you to talk to them. Look, take this week off? By the time you get back, everything will have been forgotten.”

  By midday, Mercury’s shares had fallen another 30 cents. “Mr Lappin is insisting that he talk to you,” Kelly said.

  “Hello, Selwyn.”

  “Douglas, I’ve phoned four times.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been flat out.”

  “Many of our wealthier clients have, at our suggestion, already bought shares in Mercury. We’ve received a lot of concerned calls this morning.”

  Aspine smiled. The clients who’d already bought would be the most influential: the special ones who were tipped off before the buy recommendation was published, ensuring they bought at the lowest price. No wonder Lappin was nervous. “It’s a storm in a teacup. There’s nothing to worry about. Most of what was reported is unfounded.”

  “Are you going to sue?”

  “What, and drag it out for years? No.”

  “Are you going to sack your sales manager?”

  “That’d be tantamount to admitting we’d done something wrong. No, I’m not going to sack Brad.”

  “Is there any good news that you can release to the market, that’ll negate the bad publicity?”

  “That’s an excellent point. I hadn’t considered it, but there may well be something. Leave it with me.”

  “Let me know before you announce anything to the market?”

  “Wouldn’t that breach the listing rules?”

  “I’m not asking you to read me the release verbatim. I’m just i
nterested in the subject matter. Phone me before you make any announcement, Doug.”

  “Kelly,” Aspine shouted, “tell Kerry Bartlett to come and see me.”

  Ten minutes later Kerry knocked nervously at his door. “You wanted to see me.”

  “Take a seat, Kerry. Have you got figures to the end of the third quarter?”

  “No. I’m still working on them.”

  “But you have a fair idea of what the result will be?”

  “Yes. Operating profit before tax will be between ninety-four and ninety-seven million.”

  “What’s that as a percentage increase over the same period last year?”

  “About forty per cent,” Kerry replied, looking down at his feet.

  “Fuck,” Aspine growled, placing his hands on his forehead, slowly pushing them through his thick hair. “So we’re between seven and nine million dollars short.”

  “Yes.”

  “Kerry, you know how important it is for us to increase profit by fifty per cent for the full year. What do we have to make in the last quarter to achieve it?”

  “Forty million,” Kerry whispered.

  Aspine stood up and walked around the desk, placing his hand on Kerry’s shoulder. “Don’t be concerned. Sales in the last quarter are going to be strong. We could easily make forty million, but that’s not the problem.”

  “No?”

  “It’s that Jeczik woman and the lies that she’s been telling about Brad and the company. It’s putting pressure on our share price, and some of our investors are getting nervous. The brokers would like us to make an announcement to the market today.”

  “An announcement?”

  “Yes, they want me to confirm the fifty per cent profit increase, but it’s so close to the end of the year that I can’t afford to be wrong, or I’ll lose all credibility.”

  “Bu-bu-but you can’t d-do it because yo-you don’t know.”

  “I can if you’ll help me.”

  “I-I’ll do any-anything I can, Doug, bu-but I just don’t know how I can help.”