I’ll screw Kaspar to the wall, he thought with satisfaction. Let’s see how that arrogant son of a bitch handles his new role. Inmate Jordano. That has a nice ring to it.
All of his plans were working out, although he did regret having to kill Julie Monroe.
She shouldn’t have threatened to back out, he thought. It would have ruined everything, and he couldn’t allow that. He didn’t feel the same way about shoving Jerry Haskins off the garage roof. That guy was an asshole.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His raging hatred for Kaspar couldn’t be quelled, but he tried to temper it for today. His total attention needed to be on the meeting with the federal prosecutor and the SEC investigators. For the last two nights he had gone over what he planned to say, trying to make it sound perfect. He had waited a year for this moment. He took a deep breath. He was ready.
Chapter 43
Friday, November 14
Harry was worried. Elizabeth Caldwell’s mother hadn’t called the prior night, like she promised. He checked several online search engines to find any Elizabeth Caldwell who lived in the Boston area and seemed to be the right age. But no luck. His frustration was growing. He decided that he’d call Mrs. Caldwell tonight if he hadn’t heard from her by then.
Sandy called up from downstairs, “Hurry up, Harry. We’re going to be late!”
He and Sandy had the appointment with Jeremy’s doctor, so Harry had decided to work from home. But he also knew he was avoiding Nora. After the episode yesterday in the driveway, he wasn’t sure he could be around her without blowing up. He couldn’t face one more confrontation with her. At least not today.
“I’ll be right there.” Harry finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it into his pants. He slid into his brown loafers and headed downstairs.
Sandy was waiting for him at the kitchen door, an impatient look on her face. She glanced at the clock, and then back at Harry. The silent glare spoke volumes. Sandy marched out the door and Harry followed.
*****
Dr. Snow ushered them into the office.
“Please sit down,” he said, pointing to a small leather couch. The doctor fell into his chair, causing it to squeak loudly. He looked, not unkindly, at Harry and Sandy. “How are you two doing?”
Harry and Sandy glanced at each other, unwillingly to breach with words the dark chasm that a tenuous bridge of hope for Jeremy spanned. Harry cleared his throat.
“We’re doing as well as can be expected, Dr. Snow. Each day is a challenge.”
The doctor nodded. “Understood. Each family has to find the best way to survive this kind of situation. Some families have a confidence, or call it faith, that everything will turn out well. Others rail against the injustice of the disease, and the unfairness that their loved one has been dealt. Some families keep their emotions bottled inside, suffering silently. Others will cry and pull their hair out.” The doctor looked at them sympathetically. “I’ve seen all types, and I can’t say if one is better than the other. You just need to find your own level.”
Harry nodded. He wasn’t sure he could speak just now without breaking down.
The doctor picked up a folder from his desk and opened it. “Let’s discuss Jeremy’s situation. You know that the form of leukemia that he is suffering from, acute lymphoblastic leukemia, is one of the more aggressive types. Jeremy has been undergoing chemo treatments for about three weeks now, and we are starting to see some improvements in his white blood counts. That’s a positive sign.”
Sandy reached out to hold Harry’s hand. The tissue in her other hand was ready if tears came. So far, she was keeping her composure.
“However, this disease is persistent. We often see remission for a period of time, but the recurrence rate is high. Given Jeremy’s age, I think the chances are about fifty-fifty that he’d suffer a relapse within five years. Given these odds, a bone marrow transplant would be ideal.” The doctor paused. “I received your blood test results earlier today and I’m sorry to say they aren’t encouraging. Neither of you are a good match for Jeremy.”
Sandy turned to Harry, tears spilling from her eyes, running in a steady stream through her mascara. Her clenched fist covered her mouth. “Oh, god, Harry. What do we do now?”
Harry pulled Sandy towards him. She buried her face into his shoulder and cried harder. Harry couldn’t find any words to console her. He looked to the doctor for support.
“We spoke several weeks ago about a bone marrow transplant, Dr. Snow. If we can find a suitable donor, how much will that improve the odds?” Harry felt like he was discussing a horse race, not his son’s life.
“A successful transplant will greatly improve Jeremy’s chance for long term survival. Many bone marrow recipients live full and productive lives.” Dr. Snow paused. “You told me last time that you hoped to find Jeremy’s birth mother. Have you been able to locate her?”
“Not yet, but we do know her name. I’ve spoken with her mother and explained the situation, and she will try to convince her daughter to help Jeremy. I hope to hear from her tonight.”
The doctor seemed pleased at the news. “That’s encouraging. Once you have her consent, let me know immediately. It takes some time to prepare for the bone marrow procedure. We’ll want Jeremy to be at the correct stage in his treatment, and the donor needs to be in good health – no colds, or recent flu, or anything that might lessen the strength of her immune system. We don’t want any negative factors that might hamper the success of the operation.”
Sandy blew her nose loudly, and wiped her eyes. She looked resolutely at Dr. Snow, and took a deep breath.
“We will convince Jeremy’s birth mother. She has to help him. What mother wouldn’t?”
*****
When Harry and Sandy pulled into the garage later that day, both of them felt spent.
After finishing at the hospital, they had picked up Jeremy from Sandy’s sister’s house and grabbed some Chinese food for an early dinner. Jeremy was unusually quiet, and said he wasn’t hungry.
Harry didn’t push it.
“You can eat later. We can reheat the food in the microwave whenever you want it.” Jeremy nodded and headed up to his room.
Sandy pulled some plates out of the cabinet. Harry grabbed a couple of beers and helped carry the food into the family room where they could eat in front of the TV.
Harry made a plate of food for Sandy, then helped himself to some Szechuan chicken, lo mein, and fried rice. As he put the first mouthful in his mouth, the telephone rang. He and Sandy looked at each other, hope and despair grasping simultaneously at their hearts. Harry walked to the bar and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Wainright?” the unfamiliar voice responded. “This is Judith Caldwell, Elizabeth’s mother.”
“Yes, Mrs. Caldwell, how are you?” Harry looked at Sandy, who held a fork full of food motionless half way between plate and palate. Harry’s mouth felt as dry as the Sahara.
“I’m fine, thank you.” There was a brief pause. “After we spoke the other day, I called Lizzie. I told her about your son’s illness, and how she could help Jeremy. She wanted a day to think about it. Lizzie just called me back.”
Harry could feel the tension coming through the phone line, into his hand, up his arm, and into his brain.
“I’m afraid Lizzie said no. She can’t help you now. She is awfully sorry, but she just can’t do it.” Harry could tell that Mrs. Caldwell was on the verge of tears. “I did my best to convince her. But she won’t change her mind. I’m very sorry.”
Harry tried to find his voice. “Can I speak with her directly, Mrs. Caldwell? She may be Jeremy’s only hope. I’m sure that I could convince her. She can even meet Jeremy, if she would like to.”
“No, I’m afraid she won’t speak with you. I tried everything, but she can be very stubborn. I will pray for you and your family. Goodbye, Mr. Wainright.”
Harry placed the phone down softly. He couldn’t turn around to fac
e Sandy. But he could hear the sobs.
Chapter 44
Friday, November 14
Nick sat in the corner of the Meridien hotel lobby. The black granite-topped tables that spread out in front of him in haphazard order contrasted sharply with the white ceramic tiled floor. The tables’ incongruous alignment looked like misplaced squares in a game of checkers with the Mad Hatter. The lobby’s spacious interior was supported by massive pillars wrapped in gold fluted moldings. The vaulted tin ceiling, decorated with gold inlay along its inscribed borders, provided an aura of elegance. The room resonated with muted and indistinguishable conversations, and the occasional squeak of wheels from a suitcase being lugged to the front desk.
Nick jiggered his foot under the table in nervous anticipation of the meeting with the informant. Pete Mitchell sat to his right; Sarah Monetti and her paralegal were on his left. One chair remained empty.
“Where is this guy?” Pete said under his breath. “It’s almost ten after twelve. I hope we aren’t getting stood up.”
“Just pulling our strings,” Nick replied. “Because he knows he can.”
Nick loosened his tie a bit. He took a sip from his water bottle to keep his lips moist.
Sarah Monetti gasped, “Oh my god. I don’t believe it.”
Nick followed her glance across the lobby, where a broad shouldered man was making his way confidently towards them. “Oh shit. I don’t believe it either.”
Jack Walsh reached their table moments later.
“You appear to be waiting for someone to join you. Could it be me?” Jack smirked at the shocked faces before him. “You seem surprised. All the better.”
Jack pulled out the empty chair and sat down. “Let’s get down to business.”
The prosecutor was the first to gather her composure. “Mr. Walsh, I’m Sarah Monetti, assistant chief prosecutor for the Attorney General’s office.” She held out her hand and Jack shook it. “This is Ms. Chase, my paralegal.” Sarah then gestured to Nick and Pete. These gentlemen are from the SEC. I believe you’ve already met Mr. Doyle. To his right is Pete Mitchell, director of the SEC office in Boston.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jack responded. His eyes settled on Nick. “Good to see you again, Mr. Doyle. I hope our relationship turns out to be beneficial for both of us. Given what I am here to tell you, I believe it will be.”
Nick nodded but remained silent. He wasn’t willing to give Walsh any sign that their relationship was cordial, or that he approved of the actions that had brought them together today.
Sarah Monetti pulled the immunity agreement from the folder in front of her. “I’m sure you’ll want to review this document before we go any further.” She slid it across the table to Jack.
“I know this may be stupid, but I trust you, Ms. Monetti.” Jack flipped to the third page and signed his name in the blank spot at the bottom without reading a single word. He pushed the agreement back across the table.
“Very well, Mr. Walsh.” Sarah signed the document above her printed name and placed the document back in the folder.
“Please, call me Jack. By the time we finish with all of this, I think we’ll be on a first name basis.”
Sarah held up her hands. Her voice was firm. “Let’s keep one thing straight, Mr. Walsh. We aren’t your buddies. We have given you immunity for your testimony, but none of us believe you are blameless in this fraud. And if we find out that your testimony is false or misleading, you can expect to feel the full weight of the Justice Department bearing down on your ass. Is that clear?”
“Yes, of course,” Jack replied, smiling broadly. He opened his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m at your disposal.”
“Very good,” Sarah replied. “We want you to come to the federal courthouse on Fan Pier for an official deposition as soon as possible. Can you be there Monday morning at 9am?”
Jack nodded. “Nine am Monday. Absolutely. I’ll be sure to enjoy my weekend first.” Jack started to rise from his chair.
Pete Mitchell held up his hand to delay Walsh’s departure. “Ms. Monetti, before Mr. Walsh leaves, can we ask him to provide a brief summary of the testimony that we’ll hear on Monday?”
“What about it, Mr. Walsh? Can you give us the condensed version right now? I know we’re all very interested in the events that took place.”
Jack sat back down and looked at the government officials. There was little doubt that he was enjoying this immensely.
“Sure thing. It all started with a new Jordano client, Sierra Health. They transferred their employees’ 401(k) retirement balances to our firm. A total of 240 million dollars. This client was a big win for Jordano. We hoped Sierra would be the first of many new customers to help grow our 401(k) business. It was crucial that everything go smoothly. The Sierra money should have been invested in seven of our mutual funds on October 16th. However, our operations group screwed up, and they didn’t process the Sierra purchase on the day that we received the money. This became a serious problem when the stock market rose about three hundred points the next day. That meant the Sierra shares had to be purchased at a higher price, and Jordano would have to cough up the money to pay for the difference. It was going to cost the firm over three million dollars to make Sierra whole.”
“Was Kaspar Jordano aware of the situation?” Nick asked.
“Of course,” Jack replied. “The whole management team participated in the collusion.”
The group collectively raised their eyebrows in surprise. They were beginning to understand the magnitude of the fraud that had been perpetrated.
“What did Jordano do to reduce its exposure?” asked Nick.
“This is where things got a bit tricky,” Jack replied. “The solution was to ‘adjust’ the purchases made by other shareholders so that each of their accounts would absorb a little bit of the difference that the company was responsible for. We did this by modifying the actual date of their purchases to coincide with October 17th, the day of the market increase. These adjustments helped to absorb the cost that Jordano had incurred. The management team believed, incorrectly as it turned out, that our shareholders wouldn’t notice a small change to the purchase date. However, many of them have, and they’ve complained or questioned it. So, in order to keep this under wraps, the firm had to re-adjust these accounts. That means much of the original cost returned to the company’s balance sheet.” Jack smiled sardonically. “Jordano hasn’t been a fun place to work for the past few weeks, that’s for sure.”
Nick was still irked. He knew that Walsh wouldn’t have to face prosecution for his role in the fraud.
“And what was your participation in all of this?” he asked sarcastically.
Jack’s eyes bored into Nick, clearly not appreciating the question or the manner in which it was asked.
“I’ve really just been a bystander. I’m still culpable, because I went along. But Kaspar Jordano and Harry Wainright are the ones that led the fraud. They deserve to be hung out to dry.”
Jack’s harsh comments seemed to have sucked the air from around the table. No one spoke for a moment.
“Is that enough for today?” Jack asked.
“One more question, Mr. Walsh,” Nick asked. “What was Julie Monroe’s role in all of this? Was her early departure from work on the day the Sierra transaction was scheduled just a coincidence?”
For the first time Jack looked uneasy. “Yes, it was just that. Pure coincidence, Mr. Doyle. It just got the ball rolling.” He rose from the table. “Have a good weekend, everyone. Try to relax.” He turned and strode across the lobby.
Nick watched Walsh walk away before looking at Sarah and Pete. “He’s lying. Julie Monroe is the key to understanding this whole thing.”
Chapter 45
Sunday, November 16
Nick laughed silently at Devon’s growing discomfort. They had arrived around 11am at the open field in Wakefield, Rhode Island, where the hot air balloons were scheduled to lift from. The day was sunny but chi
lly, with a slight westerly wind that was perfect for the balloon flight.
Nick laid a green plaid blanket on the ground and placed small rocks over each corner to keep it in place. Devon had brought a warm comforter that they used to wrap around their legs while they ate their picnic lunch. The balloons were about a hundred yards away, being filled with helium from large tanks that rested next to each balloon carriage. The balloons’ gaily colored parachutes were in various stages of inflation, a few almost erect, but most still resembled limp condoms.
There was a growing crowd, mostly young people, ready for a day of adventure. The excitement in the air made everything seem brighter to Nick, and he was caught up in the revelry. He watched Devon’s face as the time of the balloon’s departure grew closer. She was scared, and conflict was playing out on her face. She was obviously weighing her desire to take the balloon ride against her growing fear that something might go wrong.
Nick decided to take pity on her. He reached out and held Devon’s hand. “We don’t have to do it, you know. This has still been a fun day. We can watch the balloons take off from here.”
Devon looked at him appreciatively. “I know. But I dragged you all the way down here, and I talked so much about this being a dream of mine. I don’t want to back out now when I’m so close.” She reached out and wrapped her arms around Nick’s neck. “You promise to keep me safe, right?” Devon’s face was just inches from Nick’s, her warm breath caressing his lips.
Nick leaned in and kissed her softly, then looked into Devon’s eyes. ”I promise to keep you safe. You just stay close.”
Devon rested her head on Nick’s shoulder. “Okay, then. I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
At that moment, the PA system came alive, notifying each of the 1pm registrants to make their way to their balloon. Nick and Devon walked to balloon number eight, and gave their tickets to the balloon operator. He was an older man in his early sixties, with a white goatee and a short ponytail wrapped in a colorful ribbon that mimicked the colors of his balloon.
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