Informant

by Kurt Eichenwald

  The tension eased, and the agents told Whitacre about the evening’s developments. By the time they finished up, Whitacre seemed back on an even keel. The agents said good night and headed to their car.

  They drove back to the Decatur R.A., unable to shake the sense that Whitacre was holding back. Why had he disclosed the raids? Did he misunderstand something they had said? After thrashing it through, the agents felt sure they had done nothing wrong. Whitacre had simply been freelancing.

  But that conclusion was even worse. If Whitacre had been foolish enough to disclose the raids, Herndon asked, what other surprises were still out there?

  Rick Reising finished the meeting with his ADM colleagues with one clear conclusion: A major criminal investigation was under way. He needed to line up lawyers, right away. He dialed a contact with Williams & Connolly, a Washington powerhouse with a take-no-prisoners reputation in litigation.

  Founded by Edward Bennett Williams, the politically connected Washington “superlawyer,’’ Williams & Connolly had become a firm feared by prosecutors and sought out by wealthy defendants. Michael Milken, the billionaire junk-bond king, was a Williams & Connolly client during the Wall Street scandals of the 1980s; so was President Bill Clinton as the Whitewater investigation unfolded.

  Reising called Aubrey Daniel III, a tenacious Williams & Connolly partner whom he knew well. Daniel had made a national name for himself in 1971 leading the prosecution in the court martial of U.S. Army Lt. William Calley for slaughtering civilians in the Vietnamese hamlet of My Lai. Daniel, fresh from law school, delivered a fiery summation that riveted the nation. When President Nixon ordered Calley out of the brig and into house arrest, Daniel wrote a much-publicized letter of protest. That helped attract the attention of Ed Williams, who picked Daniel for his growing firm.

  In the years since, Daniel had built up an impressive corporate clientele. He had done work for ADM—even handling an antitrust case involving possible price-fixing of carbon dioxide. But this time, the case was criminal; people faced prison. Reising needed Daniel in Decatur—right away.

  “Aubrey,’’ he said, “it’s Rick Reising at ADM. We’ve got a problem.’’

  Whitacre arrived home shortly before ten-thirty, shucking off his coat and tossing it onto the couch. Ginger was waiting up. He smiled and walked toward her, taking her into his arms. Everything was working out as well as he could have hoped. Perhaps soon, he would be in position to lead ADM into a new era.

  “This is the end,’’ he said. “Another couple of days and these guys are gone.’’

  The next morning, ADM was in chaos. Howard Buffett sat in his sixth-floor office, still in awe over the events of the last sixteen hours. The raid. The tapes. Even his own FBI interview, at his house right after six o’clock. Everything had gone exactly the way Whitacre had promised so many weeks before, when he had told Buffett all about the price-fixing investigation.

  Around ten, Buffett gaped as two longtime ADM staffers transported armloads of documents out of Dwayne Andreas’s office and boxed them up. The movement of paper continued for almost thirty minutes; later, Buffett saw the records being carried away. He made a mental note to tell the FBI what he had seen.

  Sometime later, Dwayne himself stopped by. “So, what did you tell the FBI last night?’’ Andreas asked before launching into a description of his interview.

  Buffett stopped him. “I’m cooperating with the government,’’ he said. “I’ve retained my own lawyer. Anything you tell me is the same as telling the FBI.’’

  Andreas set his jaw, visibly upset. He said nothing more about the investigation.

  Aubrey Daniel arrived that morning at Decatur Airport with a Williams & Connolly colleague. Shafter was waiting and drove the lawyers straight to ADM.

  Once there, the lawyers reviewed the subpoenas. It didn’t take long to figure out the targets—the Feds had cleaned out the offices of Mick Andreas, Wilson, Whitacre, and Cox. Daniel was convinced this was a covert operation. Somebody had cooperated.

  Everyone needed their own lawyers, right away. Daniel, who was most familiar with the white-collar bar, made a series of suggestions. Shafter and Reising accepted each without question. The list was drawn up and the phone calls went out. The personal lawyers would begin arriving in Decatur by that evening.

  In Washington, Bob Strauss hung up the phone, bewildered by the news from Decatur. Strauss, an ADM director, was the consummate Washington insider with roles among the power elite that transcended party labels. He was equally comfortable serving as Democratic Party chairman, or ambassador to the Soviet Union for the Republican administration of George Bush. Strauss was also a confidant and first friend to Dwayne Andreas, a man he had met decades before.

  As usual, Strauss spoke to Dwayne that day, this time receiving an update on the raid. He heard about the search for lawyers to represent executives. ADM had even sent a plane to Washington to shuttle lawyers to Decatur. Strauss had suggested Bill Hundley, a lawyer with his firm, Akin, Gump, Strauss, Hauer & Feld.

  But after hanging up, Strauss learned that Hundley was not around. There was no time to wait; the ADM corporate plane would be leaving for Decatur in just about thirty minutes. Who else fit the bill? Strauss thought of John Dowd, another prominent lawyer at the firm. Dowd was a former prosecutor who was best known as the lawyer who led major league baseball’s investigation into gambling allegations against Pete Rose.

  Strauss reached for the phone.

  The apparent targets of the investigation were called into Reising’s office one at a time to meet with the lawyers. Whitacre was summoned in the morning. Daniel looked at Whitacre affably.

  “Pleasure meeting you,’’ he said. “I’m Aubrey Daniel; I’m representing ADM in this matter.’’

  The lawyers questioned Whitacre about his FBI interview the night before, and he provided rehearsed answers. Afterward, the lawyers offered assurances. Whitacre shouldn’t worry. ADM would stand by him.

  Hours later, an ADM corporate lawyer stopped by Whitacre’s office. The company had found criminal lawyers, the lawyer said, some of the best available. Many would be arriving in Decatur that night. Whitacre could meet them that evening at Jim Shafter’s office.

  The moment had unfolded just as the government had predicted. They had briefed Whitacre on exactly what to say. Now was his chance.

  “Okay,’’ Whitacre said. “I’ll be there tonight.’’

  Herndon and Shepard picked up extensions at the Decatur R.A. when they heard Whitacre was calling.

  “Hey, Mark,’’ Herndon said. “How’s it going?’’

  “Good,’’ Whitacre replied. “Listen, I wanted to let you know I’ve made arrangements to meet with an attorney. He’s flying into Decatur right now.’’

  “How long will it take him to get here?’’

  “About two hours. I’m already set to meet with him early this evening.’’

  It sounded like Whitacre had done as he was told. He hadn’t taken a company lawyer. The agents breathed easy.

  The first wave of personal lawyers arrived in Decatur over the next few hours. That evening, they trooped over to Shafter’s office for the meeting.

  Before the potential targets had arrived, the lawyers debated among themselves. They had considered putting Whitacre with Reid Weingarten, a rising star of the white-collar defense bar. But now they were having second thoughts. Whitacre seemed shaky and probably could use the psychological boost of an older, father figure. Weingarten was basically a Whitacre contemporary. They decided that John Dowd, who was approaching sixty, was a better match.

  The decision went over smoothly. Wilson met with Weingarten; Cox visited with William Taylor, another prominent Washington lawyer summoned for the meeting. Shafter offered his own office to Whitacre and Dowd. The two men walked in and shut the door.

  Dowd settled behind Shafter’s desk and began calmly describing his background. When he finished, Whitacre stared at him cautiously.

  “Let me as
k you,’’ he said. “Who do you represent, me or the company?’’

  Waiting in the reception area, Shafter and the other lawyers became restless. Shafter was already on a caffeine high.

  “I’ll tell you,’’ Shafter said. “I’ve drunk all the goddamned Coke I can stand.’’

  The lawyers laughed. Shafter headed to his firm’s refrigerator, returning loaded down with beer.

  “At least we’re a full-service firm,’’ he said, passing out drinks.

  The beer was nothing without food, so soon the lawyers were on the phone. The pizza arrived before the private meetings ended. Cox was the first to come out. Taylor, his new lawyer, walked beside him.

  “Barrie,’’ Taylor said, “I think you ought to just go home tonight, and we’ll talk again tomorrow.’’

  Cox nodded solemnly. “All right, thank you.’’

  Sometime after ten o’clock, Wilson and Weingarten appeared. They settled in and enjoyed some of the food, while everyone waited for Whitacre and Dowd.

  Eventually, Shafter’s office door opened. Whitacre looked solemn; Dowd was pasty-faced. Whitacre walked toward Reising.

  “Rick, I need to tell you that I’m going to be cooperating with the FBI.’’

  Twenty-four hours late, Whitacre was finally doing as he had been instructed.

  “Well, Mark,’’ Reising replied, “you have a good lawyer. You need to do what your lawyer advised you.’’

  Whitacre fleetingly looked back at Dowd. “I’m going to be getting another lawyer,’’ he said. “John agrees that I should be getting another lawyer.’’

  Walking closer to Reising, Whitacre shook his hand. Shafter stood nearby and heard Whitacre mention something about “hundreds of tapes.’’

  Whitacre headed out the door, following Wilson. Shafter accompanied them; it was now so late that they needed an escort to get out of the building. When they reached the door, Whitacre shook Shafter’s hand.

  “I’m sorry for what’s happened,’’ Whitacre said.

  Shafter nodded, uncertain what Whitacre meant.

  Back inside, Weingarten watched Dowd; the man looked blown away. Given that Dowd had recommended that Whitacre find a new lawyer, he had obviously found a conflict. Weingarten had no doubt what it was.

  Later that evening, the two lawyers returned to the Decatur Club, where they were staying. Weingarten and Dowd were sharing a suite and sat up enjoying a nightcap. Weingarten decided to test out his theory.

  “You know,’’ he said, “that SOB was probably wearing a wire on you tonight, too.’’

  Dowd spilled his drink on his pants.

  * * *

  BOOK THREE

  * * *

  NOTHING SIMPLE IS SIMPLE

  CHAPTER 13

  Brian Shepard gripped the steering wheel as he drove up a hill, stopping at the usual spot in front of his Decatur house. It was the afternoon following the raids, and the pressure of recent days had coupled with Shepard’s natural demeanor, leaving him exhausted and glum. With only a few hours sleep since the previous morning, he wanted to get away from the case for a while. He trudged up the driveway, feeling ready for some well-earned family time.

  Those hopes ended just past ten-thirty, when his pager sounded. It was Whitacre. Shepard returned the call.

  “Hey, Mark,’’ Shepard drawled. “What’s going on?’’

  “Hey, Brian, how you doin’? Listen, I met with the attorney I told you about. I’m really not happy—”

  Shepard interrupted, again cautioning Whitacre not to reveal confidences shared with his lawyer. “I know,’’ Whitacre said. “Well, he’s this guy named John Dowd.’’

  Whitacre described Dowd’s background, stressing that he had been a prosecutor for many years.

  “I thought since he was a prosecutor he would be sympathetic with me helping the government,’’ Whitacre said. “But I was disappointed.’’

  Whitacre said that he had told Dowd details of his work with the FBI, including his role in recording tapes.

  “Dowd promised everything I said would be confidential and that he represented me personally,’’ he said. “I didn’t say anything until he promised that.’’

  As Whitacre spoke, Shepard slowly realized a painful truth: Dowd had been hired by ADM. Whitacre had seen him against the agents’ explicit instructions.

  And Whitacre had told everything.

  • • •

  Later that night, the Whitacres were in bed when the ADM off-premises extension rang in the next room. Mark threw off the covers, glancing at the clock as he climbed out of bed. Just past midnight.

  Dressed only in sweatpants and a T-shirt, he padded into the other room and picked up the phone.

  “Mark Whitacre.’’

  “Mr. Whitacre, this is Aubrey Daniel. We met earlier. I’m the attorney representing ADM.’’

  “They’re telling me not to come back to work!’’

  It was early the next morning, Thursday, June 29. Whitacre was back on the phone with Shepard.

  “Aubrey Daniel said I was a target of the investigation, and so I shouldn’t come back to the office. That doesn’t sound right. I mean, you don’t think they’re gonna tell Mick not to come in, do you?’’

  “Wait a minute, Mark,’’ Shepard said. “Did anyone at ADM tell you not to come to work? Or just the lawyer?’’

  “I haven’t heard from anybody at ADM. Definitely not.’’

  Whitacre reached a decision.

  “I’m going in,’’ he said.

  Briefcase in hand, Whitacre glided through the trading room toward his office, hoping to pass unnoticed. He had arrived at work a little later than usual, but not so much as to raise any eyebrows. He slid behind his desk and thumbed through some papers. No one had said a word to him.

  For about an hour, the workday passed without event. But around nine o’clock, Scott Roberts, a young attorney in ADM’s legal department, appeared in the doorway.

  “Mark, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave,’’ Roberts said. “They want you to take some vacation time.’’

  Whitacre sat back. “Why do I have to leave?’’

  “I’m just delivering a message. You have to leave.’’

  Whitacre at first refused to follow Roberts’s instructions. But the lawyer did not allow himself to get caught up in an argument. He had his assignment.

  “All right,’’ Whitacre finally agreed.

  He picked up his briefcase and walked past Roberts, heading to the elevator. The lawyer stayed with him until Whitacre got into his car and pulled away.

  As he drove off, Whitacre reached for his car phone.

  When they heard Whitacre was on the line, Shepard and Herndon picked up extensions at the Decatur R.A.

  “Hey, how you doing?’’ Whitacre asked, sounding surprisingly upbeat. “Listen, I’ve got an appointment in your building and wondered if I could stop by.’’

  “Sure,’’ Shepard said. “How’s everything at work?’’

  “Not good,’’ Whitacre said, describing how he had been tossed out of ADM.

  “I’m looking for another attorney,’’ he said. “I’m really unhappy with Dowd.’’

  Herndon had just heard the Dowd story from Shepard and was still burning about it. Whitacre said he was now thinking about hiring a Decatur lawyer. Herndon couldn’t believe it. If there was any place he shouldn’t hire a lawyer, it was in ADM’s hometown.

  “Mark,’’ Herndon said, “why don’t we talk about this more when you get here?”

  Soon, Whitacre was knocking on the door to room 353 at an office building on South Water Street.

  Shepard opened the door. “Hey, Mark, come on in.’’

  Whitacre walked into the Decatur R.A. The toll of the day was etched on his face. The agents took him into Shepard’s office, where they could talk.

  As Whitacre told the story of being led out of ADM, his pager sounded—5413. Buffett’s extension.

  “Hey,’’ Whitacre said. �
��It’s Howard Buffett. Can I call him from here?’’

  “Sure, Mark,’’ Shepard said.

  The agents knew that Buffett was a friend to Whitacre. After his hard morning, he could probably use the support.

  “Listen, go ahead and take the office,’’ Shepard said.

  Both agents stood. Whitacre nodded, thanking the agents as they stepped out of the room and closed the door. He reached for the phone and dialed.

  “Howie,’’ Whitacre said, “it’s Mark.’’

  “I can’t talk long,’’ Buffett said. “I’ve got something important to tell you.’’

  • • •

  In a few minutes, Whitacre emerged from the office, ashen-faced. Shepard was on the phone, so Herndon walked back without him. Whitacre took a seat behind the desk.

  “Howard had a hot tip for me,’’ Whitacre said. “He talked to Dwayne. He knows everything. Dowd told him.* Dwayne’s saying I’m responsible for the FBI coming.’’

  Whitacre looked at Herndon.

  “Dwayne’s repeating what I told my attorney. Can he do that, Bob? Isn’t that some sort of violation?’’

  Of course not, Herndon thought. “I can run that by our attorneys, but I don’t think Dwayne is under any attorney-client privilege. He can say whatever he wants.’’

  “Well, that’s not right,’’ Whitacre said.

  Shepard walked into the office, and Whitacre told the story again. The agents murmured soothing words, but inside they seethed. ADM wouldn’t have figured out anything if Whitacre had followed instructions; he had blown himself up. The agents had always assumed that after the raids, ADM would be the enemy set on destroying the case. They never thought that their own witness would take that role first.

  The antitrust lawyers gathered in Marvin Price’s office when they heard that Shepard was calling with an emergency. Price pressed the button for his speakerphone.

  “Okay, Brian,’’ he said.

  “I was saying, we’re having problems and need help.”

  “What’s happened?’’ Mann asked.