[Katerina Carter 01.0] Exit Strategy

by Colleen Cross

  “You can stop it, Audrey. Your brother would have. You don’t have to sell to Porter.”

  “I wish Alex were here. He’d know what to do. He always did the right thing, even if he was a bit brash about it.”

  “Audrey, it’s all up to you. Without your ‘no’ vote, the other shareholders are powerless. Don’t let Porter take advantage of a moment of temporary weakness.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Give me a day to think about it.”

  The shareholder vote was in two days. Audrey rose from the table and left, seemingly no worse for wear after four double gin and tonics. And no lighter in the wallet, Kat realized in horror. Audrey had just stiffed her with the bill.

  28

  Kat answered the phone on the first ring. It was for Harry, not her, which wasn’t surprising. Harry got more calls at the office than she did these days. Depressing. Her ears perked up when she heard who was calling.

  “Wait a minute. Bancroft Richardson?” Kat shot up from her chair, spilling coffee all over her keyboard. Right now she didn’t care. It was probably going to be repossessed anyway, and this could be the break she needed.

  “Yes. Please have Mr. Denton call me regarding his account.”

  Kat detected a slightly condescending tone in the woman’s voice. She probably assumed Kat was the receptionist.

  “Does this have anything to do with Opal Holdings, Frank Moretti, or Liberty?” Harry must have given the office number in order to avoid detection by Elsie.

  The line was silent for a moment.

  “I’m afraid so. I need to talk to Mr. Denton and assure him we are doing everything we can to resolve the issue.”

  “Maybe you should talk to me too. I’m working on the fraud case involving Liberty. We could trade notes.” Kat didn’t see any harm in lying. Just because she was fired didn’t mean she couldn’t still work the case on her own. She might just be the world’s first volunteer forensic accountant.

  Less than two hours later, Kat sat opposite Rashida Devane in her lavishly furnished Bancroft Richardson office. Located in a high rise across the street from Liberty, Kat would be able to see right into Susan’s office if it weren’t for the tinted windows on the Liberty building.

  “So Liberty hired you to work on the fraud?”

  “Yes.” Technically it was true. Rashida hadn’t asked whether Liberty had fired her, so she kept mum on that. “And as I mentioned on the phone, I suspect the share price is being manipulated.”

  “And that’s where Frank Moretti and Opal come into play?”

  Kat nodded as she glanced around the room. You could tell a lot about a person by their office. Rashida’s was opulent, decorated in shades of burgundy and dark wood. The antique mahogany desk between them centered the room, and the floor-to-ceiling windows were accented with heavy damask drapes. Two Tiffany floor lamps provided a golden glow. If they were real, it was a big investment in lighting. The girl sure had a taste for luxury. Definitely not aligned with the corporate standard Kat had seen throughout Bancroft Richardson upon her entrance. Kat slipped off a shoe and felt the soft wool of the Kashan rug underneath her feet.

  “That’s right. So tell me about the trades.”

  “Well, I can’t talk to you about any of our client accounts. That’s confidential. I suppose we could discuss the public aspects of the case though.”

  Rashida filled Kat in on the huge volume of Liberty purchases Frank had made under the three funds he managed, as well as the volumes bought via Opal’s transactions. The recent transactions for the funds were buys. There were no buys or sells for Opal since the short sale before Bryant’s disappearance. Prior to that, the trades for Opal and the funds were identical. They both bought significant amounts of Liberty stock just before the Mystic Lake discovery, and sold short just before Bryant’s disappearance. The timing was too coincidental to Kat. “Did you find his offshore accounts yet?”

  “What offshore accounts?”

  “The only reason he would risk buying such a money loser for the mutual funds is to pump up the share price. Why? So he can sell his personal holdings.” Kat was making a calculated bet on the offshore accounts, but she had to appear convincing to Rashida. “I’m betting he’s got a lot of money tied up in Liberty shares, and he needs to stop the share price from dropping. He’s using an offshore account so to escape detection, probably a holding company so it’s not under his name. Pierce the corporate veil, and you’ll see it ties back to Frank Moretti.”

  “But he has to disclose all his investments as part of Bancroft Richardson’s compliance regulations. There weren’t any offshore accounts listed.”

  “He’s not exactly an honest guy, as you’ve pointed out.” Kat wondered if Rashida’s ignorance was genuine or an act.

  “True,” Rashida said. “Assuming he did have a large Liberty investment, he would be selling from his own account right around the time he was buying large amounts for the funds, right?”

  “I think so. Is there a way to check?”

  “The securities commission is reviewing all the transactions. Even if his personal trades were from offshore, they would still have to go through the stock exchange. We should be able to trace back high-volume transactions by checking the trading records. Probably need a court order, though.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. The investigation’s already underway. It’s just one more thing to check,” Kat watched Rashida pull a thick file from her desk drawer.

  As Rashida opened the file, a photo spilled out and landed on the desk in front of Kat. Her mouth dropped. She knew that face, even if the hairstyle and color were different. Kat picked it up and handed it back to Rashida.

  “Do you normally keep pictures of the execs of the companies you invest in?”

  “That’s Clara de la Cruz, Secretary of Opal Holdings. We’re legally required to have pictures in our files of account holders.”

  Kat had just found a big piece of the puzzle. It was a photograph of Susan Sullivan.

  29

  A light drizzle fell as Kat walked along Denman Street, headed for the supermarket. The rain was enough to moisten her skin but not enough for an umbrella. It was four o’clock and she was craving carbs after her lunchtime gin marathon with Audrey. Pasta, or even a hunk of French bread slathered in butter would definitely help her concentration.

  She’d feigned a forgotten appointment, promising to call Rashida tomorrow. She felt guilty about withholding her discovery, but couldn’t risk Rashida exposing Clara before she had an action plan. The Susan/Clara connection had snapped everything into place. Now she needed a plan to expose Clara without making her a flight risk. And figure out how to get Platt off her back and onto Clara’s.

  She flipped open her cell phone and called Jace, punching the keypad as she walked, glancing at the mannequins in the fashion store windows and thinking about Susan’s secret identity.

  “Watch out!”

  Kat hadn’t noticed the old man. His grey raincoat rendered him almost invisible against the concrete wall. As they collided, his cane slipped sideways and he fell against the wall, directly under a leaking gutter.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” He was propped up against the wall now, his bald head wet with dripping water. He raised his cane up to waist level and pointed at her. “Slow down!”

  Kat mumbled an apology just as Jace picked up. She filled Jace in on the Susan/Clara discovery as she entered the supermarket.

  “Wow! What did you say her name was?”

  “Clara—Clara de la Cruz.”

  Kat paused to grab a shopping basket. She’d at least pretend to be a shopper while she prowled the aisles for free samples. A penny saved was a penny not accruing interest on her Visa balance. Even penny pinching could be fun with the right attitude.

  Kat heard Jace tapping away at the keyboard on the other end of the line.

  “Interesting… There’s a Clara de la Cruz in Argentina who was investigated for money
laundering. There’s a link to an article here. It says she was never charged.”

  “Money laundering? That’s definitely up her alley.”

  “There’s more. She’s related to a big-shot arms dealer in Argentina. The guy’s name is Emilio Ortega Ruiz. He’s her father.”

  “Clara is definitely well connected. Just not quite in the way I thought,” Kat said as she made a beeline for the bakery.

  “Ortega pretty much controls the traffic through Triple Border. He brokers more weapons and munitions deals than anyone else there.”

  “Triple Border?”

  “It’s in South America,” Jace said. “Where the borders of Brazil, Paraguay, and Argentina meet. It’s a major transshipment point for everything from counterfeit electronics to stolen cars, mostly through Paraguay. Brazilians and Argentines go bargain hunting in Ciudad del Este on the weekends, but most of their finds are stolen or counterfeit.”

  “Now I remember hearing about that place. It’s also one of the biggest global centers for international spies, terrorists, and criminals in the world.” Kat smiled at the counter lady and speared a banana bread sample with her toothpick.

  “Kat, this is a huge story. I knew it was big, but nothing like this.”

  “It gets even better. Clara’s been shorting Liberty through Opal Holdings. The five billion was used to short sell Liberty stock just before Bryant’s disappearance was announced. Once Bryant’s theft was made public, Liberty’s stock was almost worthless. That’s when the short position was closed out for a huge profit. ” Kat filled Jace in what she had learned from Rashida about Opal’s trades.

  “A CEO shorting shares of her own company?”

  “I know,” Kat said. “Opal is a front. I think Clara and her father are behind Bryant’s disappearance and the stolen five billion. Of course Opal’s short sales happened right before Bryant disappeared. Why else would she drive the share price lower and forgo her bonus?”

  “Good point. She loses millions in bonus money but gains billions from the short sales.”

  “That’s right. She timed the short sales to happen just before announcing Bryant’s rip-off, knowing the news would make the shares practically worthless. Opal sold Liberty shares for close to a hundred dollars a share before the news release. Then it bought them back for pennies per share and closed out their position.”

  “What do you figure they made?”

  “Rashida only let me see a bit of the file, but my guess is billions. We know five billion was transferred in to the account from Lebanon. All Rashida would say is that Opal ended up with a huge profit. What’s a huge profit on five billion?”

  “No wonder Susan was willing to hang around for two years,” Jace said.

  Kat paused at the end of the soup aisle, where small paper cups of butternut squash and red pepper soup were arranged on a silver tray. There was even a little crouton in the center of each cup. She grabbed a cup and scooped a mouthful with the tiny plastic spoon, trying not to slurp.

  “What’s that noise?”

  “Uh, nothing. There’s one final piece of the puzzle.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Porter. Nearly bankrupt companies like Liberty usually don’t get takeover bids. Why does Porter want Liberty?”

  “Well, the price is right,” Jace said.

  “Cheap price, but where’s the value? Liberty’s been stripped of its cash, leveraged with debt, and its shares are almost worthless.”

  “There’s got to be an explanation.”

  “There is. I think Porter is somehow connected to Opal. Opal Holdings was based in the Cayman Islands. According to Porter’s bid circular, it’s based in the Caymans too. Maybe that’s not all they have in common.”

  “You think Porter is controlled by Clara or her father? Why would they want Liberty after they’ve cleaned it out?”

  “To launder conflict diamonds. Remember the production data? I knew the numbers had been inflated but couldn’t figure out why. Diamonds funneled through Liberty can be passed off as legitimate. Of course the challenge for Clara and her father was to get payment for the diamonds. The five billion paid for some, but it worked so well that they want to keep doing it. Buying the company means the profits go back to them.”

  Kat heard more rapid typing on the other end of the line.

  “Jace, please tell me you’re not writing about this yet.”

  “It’s only a draft. Just makes it easier to pull it together later. Don’t worry, nothing’s going in the paper just yet.”

  “I hope not. I don’t want to scare Clara off before she can be caught and charged. It puts everything in a completely new light.”

  “And backs up what you’ve been saying all along—Bryant must have been framed. Didn’t you wonder why she hired you for such a big case? I think she was counting on you not being able to track down the missing money.”

  “Gee, Jace, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Well, you did say that Nick wanted to go with one of the big accounting firms, but Susan—I mean Clara—didn’t. I’m trying to figure her out. First she hires you, and when it seems you’re on to something, she fires you.”

  “Well she’s not getting rid of me that easy. I’m going to prove her wrong.”

  30

  Kat crept out of the house, careful not to make any noise that would wake Jace. But judging by his snoring, he was fast asleep, still exhausted from spending Saturday and Sunday night up on the mountain. They hadn’t found the missing skier until the early hours of Monday, so he had gone to work without sleep.

  Jace would definitely not approve of what she was doing. Neither would Harry, for that matter, especially if he knew his car was about to be used in a crime. But she didn’t have a lot of alternatives. She turned the keys in the ignition and headed for Highway 99.

  Kat sailed down the highway in Harry’s larger-than-life Lincoln. The car was twice the size of her ill-fated Celica, but it accelerated smoothly and efficiently. The bench front seat was bigger than her couch, and just as comfy. Harry had bought the late-nineties Town Car a couple of years ago, bragging it was his chick magnet. Kat had her doubts: no elderly bombshells with walkers were chasing his exhaust fumes. The Lincoln would blend in perfectly in geriatric White Rock, if anyone was still awake at this hour.

  She sang “Beyond the Sea” along with Bobby Darin on the oldies station, forgetting for a moment the serious task at hand. A light drizzle peppered the windshield as she headed south, following the cold yellow glow of the sodium highway lights.

  After a few minutes her mind wandered back to Liberty. So many questions ran through her mind. Who was Clara de la Cruz and what did she want? Impersonating a fictitious Susan Sullivan and getting away with it for two years was nothing short of amazing. Kat reveled at the serendipity of the meeting with Rashida. It was the big break she needed, and not a moment too soon. The Lincoln glided off the exit ramp as she tried to put the pieces together.

  Clara represented Opal Holdings, the company on the receiving end of the embezzled money, yet in her role as Susan Sullivan she also worked for Liberty. Could that mean she was somehow involved in the murders? One thing was certain—according to the money trail, she was very definitely connected to Paul Bryant’s disappearance.

  Kat parked a few blocks away from Beachgrove Drive at the end of a dead end street. Harry had lent her his car, no questions asked. Very trusting of him, considering the last car she had driven was resting on the bottom of the Fraser River. In Harry’s eyes there was no conspiracy, she was simply a lousy driver.

  Kat padded down to Beachgrove Drive, feeling like a ninja in her black tracksuit. She heard the rubber soles of her Adidas peel off the asphalt with every step, so quiet was the neighborhood. She checked her watch. It was almost three a.m. She felt a bit uneasy being alone in a strange neighborhood, but any time earlier just heightened the risk of discovery.

  Her plan was simple. Steal Clara’s garbage, and sift through it for clues.
Her accounting genius genes weren’t working their magic right now, so it was time to be practical. She couldn’t afford to sit around and wait to see what happened next.

  She reached the corner and scanned the house numbers. The address belonged to a navy heritage-style house four in from the corner. A round stained-glass window with a seashell motif graced what was probably the inside staircase landing. A large wraparound porch with two Adirondack chairs fronted the house. Kat figured it was for decoration only. Clara was the last person she’d expect to be sitting on the front deck making small talk with passersby.

  The back of the house faced the waterfront. Kat headed for the beach access path, scanning the houses along the way for lights on inside. There were none that she could see. Within a minute later she emerged onto a sandy beach and turned the corner. She counted four houses over from the access path. A light illuminated the kitchen. She couldn’t see anyone inside from her vantage point on the beach. She would have to work quickly to avoid detection.

  The metal gate was ajar, and Kat pushed it open slowly, listening for a creak or noise that would announce her presence. She crept carefully through the grass towards the house, on the watch for dogs that might announce her presence and thwart her mission. Good so far. Hopefully Susan kept her garbage at the back of the house.

  Suddenly the yard was awash in light. She dove to the side and tried to blend into the shadows of the cedar hedging. She held her breath, waiting for someone to discover her. Seconds passed, but no one came out to investigate. She must have triggered a motion sensor.

  She spotted two metal garbage cans at the side of the house. Unfortunately, so did a family of three raccoons, who were busily trying to pry a lid off one. She ventured closer. Now she was within ten feet.

  The largest raccoon sprang forward and hissed at her, baring its teeth. Rabies or not, she needed that garbage. She took a step forward and prayed he wouldn’t bite. She was bigger than the little bandit and stood her ground. Kat hissed back and waved her arms. The raccoon didn’t flinch. He met her stare and spat at her, daring her to come closer.