KERRI'S WAR: VOLUME THREE OF THE KING TRILOGY

by Stephen Douglass

  The crowbar made it no contest. The lock shattered and the drawer surrendered after only two pulls. She descended to her knees and removed a legal sized brown leather bound ledger. A note fell to her lap the moment she opened it. She put the ledger on the rug, then read the note,

  “My dearest Andrea;

  If you’re reading this, it will be because I’m no longer part of your life, a life in which there have never been any unshared secrets. The ledger you have found is the only exception, the result of a promise I made to Kerri, never to reveal its contents. No exceptions. I bequeath its contents to you, my darling. I know you, like me, love Kerri and will do the right thing.

  All my love forever,

  Miles.”

  As Andrea leafed through the thick ledger it quickly became clear to her that for the past ten years, Miles had been trading a very large amount of money, for the benefit of Kerri, for reasons she could not possibly fathom. Page after page of hand penned entries chronicled the dates and thousands of trades, both long and short, in a bewildering array of commodities: crude oil, both Brent and West Texas Intermediate, natural gas, propane, butane, uranium, coal, corn, wheat, barley, oats, cotton, soy beans, coffee, and sugar.. She took the time to study the progression his phenomenal trades.

  “Holy shit!” she shouted. She had discovered that from an opening balance of one hundred and eighty six million dollars, Miles had, over then next ten years of extraordinary trading, made Kerri worth almost a half a billion dollars. It didn’t take her long to conclude that Kerri was very likely the Iacardi Santa Claus. She asked herself, “Who else had that kind of money and the motive?” She did the math, then shouted, “Yes!”

  She stood and hurried to her kitchen. She leafed through her personal directory until she found Kerri’s cell phone number, then dialed it. She caught Kerri in the garage of her Tribeca apartment, unloading her personal belongings from her black BMW 330 Ci.

  “Nice of you to call, Andrea. How are you?”

  “Lonely as hell. We need to talk. Are you free for dinner tonight? I’m cooking. The dress code is extremely casual.”

  “Sure. I’m free for the rest of my life.”

  “Yah. I guess you are. I’m so sorry for you. Those sons of bitches didn’t give you a chance. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “Thanks, and thanks for voting for me. You were the only one… Now tell me what we need to talk about.”

  “I finally got around to cleaning out Miles’ desk today… I found something that belongs to you, something he’s been hiding from me for ten years. It’s a ledger he used to record trades he made for your account in a Swiss bank. Would you care to comment on that?”

  Kerri was surprised by Andrea’s discovery and unprepared to respond. “Not on the phone. What time for dinner?”

  “Cocktails are at five. You might want to get smashed, so bring an overnight bag.

  CHAPTER 58

  Glen Cove. 5:00 P.M.

  For the first time in over ten years, Kerri returned to the lovely old home to which Miles and Andrea Dennis had introduced her during her troubled marriage to Brian Pyper. She struggled to put aside awful memories of the confrontations that marred the final weeks of what was once a happy and loving union. She closed her eyes and took a whiff of the aroma of lasagna, then smiled and hugged Andrea, reminded of her kindness during that difficult period of her life. Andrea placed Kerri’s overnight bag on the floor, hung her winter coat in the hall closet, then led her to the kitchen. She poured a glass of Amarone for Kerri and a scotch for herself. “I know who the Iacardi Santa Claus is,” she said, then winked.

  Kerri nearly choked on her wine. “Who?” she asked.

  “You still wear your heart on your sleeve, my dear. You’d be a terrible poker player.”

  Even though it was apparent that her well kept secret was out of the bag, Kerri was reluctant to concede. “How do you know?” she asked.

  “Miles’ ledger. It spoke volumes. It told me how much of your money he started with, and, more importantly, how much he ended with. I’m not a math wizard, but I figured this one out. It was actually pretty simple. I divided your money by the number of Iacardi estates, and the answer was almost identical to the amount of the check I got from that bank in Geneva. Then I asked myself who had the money, the motive, and a heart bigger than the Big Apple. No brainer. It was you.”

  In spite of an almost overwhelming urge to lie and deny, it was impossible, not in Kerri’s DNA. She raised her hands as if in surrender. “Guilty as charged, your honor. So what are you going to do with the information?”

  “Shout it out to the whole world, but I won’t unless you let me. It’s a story that should be told. Also, you deserve the recognition. You gave away a fortune to a lot of people, and a lot of them just kicked you in the teeth… I’m one of them. It makes me feel awful, like a real shit. I’d like the same thing to happen to the people who just voted you out of office.” Andrea squinted and contorted her facial expression to show the indignation so familiar to Kerri. “Jesus, Kerri, you even gave part of that fortune to the fat cows the brothers married! They’re about to make over two and a half billion on their Iacardi stock, and they voted to throw you out on your ass!”

  Kerri shrugged her shoulders. “I’m comfortable with what I did. I don’t want or need the recognition, or to prove anything.”

  “Miles was very good at keeping secrets. I had no idea that you had all that money. I don’t know how or where you got it, and I really don’t want to know. What I do want to know is if you have a tax problem with the money. If you do, I’ll shut my mouth and that’ll be the end of it.”

  “It was a problem, but it’s been put to death. Somehow, Jeffrey Wheeler of Enerco knew I had that money. He knew how much and the name of the bank that held it. He even knew I was planning to give it to the Iacardi estates. He tried to blackmail me with that information and said he would go straight to the Feds if I didn’t sign the Enerco Offer by December thirty-first. I wasn’t going to sign and there was no way I could stop him, so I went to the I.R.S. and told them the whole story.”

  Andrea prompted with her hands. “Don’t stop there, girl. What did the I.R.S. do to you?”

  “The short answer is that I have to pay them ninety-eight million.”

  “Where in hell are you going to get ninety-eight million?”

  “I loaned a hundred million to Iacardi last October. The company was in deep trouble. It likely would have died without that money. The brothers left the company with next to zero cash… I had every intention of leaving that money in the company, until yesterday. So when I ceased to be president, I told Peter Tavaris that I was going to call the loan. I didn’t tell him why, and he didn’t ask.”

  Andrea was so astounded by Kerri’s story that her mouth had opened and her eyes were as big as poker chips. “You’re incredible. You’re absolutely the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. The sons of bitches push you around like a baby carriage, so you just pull another hundred million off the shelf and get on with your life… I have two questions. The first one is about Jeffrey Wheeler. How in hell did he know so much about your money? The second one is about your piggy bank. Is it empty, or do you have some more millions lying around?”

  “I think Wheeler had my phone tapped. It’s the only way he could have done it. What’s even worse is what happened next. My contact at Liechtensteinische Comco disappeared on the same day we met to discuss the distribution of the money. He hasn’t been seen since… Now, to answer your second question, my piggy bank is almost empty.”

  “What about your Iacardi stock. Miles told me you own three percent of the company.”

  “He was right. I do, but not for long. There’s still a lawsuit against me and you’re part of it. If the Judge rules for The Plaintiff, as I expect he will, I’ll have to declare personal bankruptcy. If, by some miracle, I survive bankruptcy, my interest in Iacardi will be converted into Enerco stock, which I’ll dump, the second I get
it. I think you should too. I think the management is dishonest, and they’ve given me no reason to change my mind. Who knows what their paper is really worth?”

  “So you’ve given away all your money, been sued by the shareholders, been thrown out of your job, and you’re about to get a pail full of questionable paper, if you aren’t forced into bankruptcy first. I don’t think that’s a fair trade. Do you? After everything you’ve done for the company and so many people, you could end up with nothing.”

  Kerri shrugged. “I’ll still have my self respect.”

  “Sure you will. That and a couple of bucks will get you a cup of coffee.”

  “The money’s not the problem. I’m not sorry it’s gone. I didn’t earn it and I never, ever intended to spend one dime of it on myself. It’s all the time and effort your husband spent to grow it that breaks my heart. Ten years ago I gave him a fraction of what it is now. He did a phenomenal job with it. He was, without question, the best trader I’ve ever known… He did it without ever asking for a thank you.”

  “Then you owe it to him to let the world know. Please don’t let that secret die with him. And don’t let the sons of bitches get away with what they’ve done to you. You’ll be untouchable if I tell the world what you’ve done. You’ll be in a position to give them what they deserve.”

  Kerri sipped her wine, silently pondering Andrea’s plea. Everything she had set out to do with the money had been done. Just as her father had hoped, it had been used for a worthy cause. Even though she had failed to remain at the helm of Iacardi long enough to see it provide a continuing source of income for the families and loved ones of the deceased Iacardi employees, her anonymous donation had succeeded in giving them a huge measure of relief. Finally, taxation, one of the primary reasons for her need for anonymity, was no longer a concern.

  “Come on, Kerri. Give me an answer. I don’t know where Miles is, but I know he’ll be pissed if you don’t tell the world what you did with the money he made.”

  Kerri smiled at Andrea’s humor. “He’ll be pissed if I break our agreement to keep it a secret, but I’m sure he won’t mind if you do it… Go ahead and tell the world. Just wait until I pay off the I.R.S. I don’t want them having any second thoughts.”

  Andrea reached for Kerri’s hand. “Thanks. You won’t be sorry… New subject. What’s next for you? Any plans?”

  “This is the first day of the rest of my life. I’m leaving New York, maybe forever. I’m going to Toronto to spend some quality time with my father and his wife. I’m also going to spend some quality time with a very dear friend.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Male. He’s been in a coma for the past six weeks. He came out of it when I kissed him two weeks ago.”

  CHAPTER 59

  New York. Tuesday, March 5.

  It was a media frenzy, far more powerful and viral than Andrea Dennis had imagined. Headlines in all of the newspapers proclaimed the identity of The Iacardi Santa Claus: Kerri King, the woman who gave away almost a half a billion dollars to assist the families and loved ones of the hundreds of Iacardi employees who lost their lives in collapse of South Tower of The World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Television and radio reporters were all over the story, interrupting regularly scheduled programs and calling it breaking news. Questions abounded and multiplied with each passing hour. Where did Kerri King get such a vast fortune?Why did she give it away? Why did the Iacardi shareholders oust her as president? Where is Kerri King?

  Frantic efforts to find or contact her had failed.

  Only her father, his wife, Karen, and Andrea Dennis knew that she had listed her Tribeca apartment with a local realtor, packed her belongings, turned off her cell phone, and left New York. Her concern over the fallout from Andrea’s proposed announcement had induced her to avoid leaving a forwarding address. Her final departure from the city had filled her with waves of memories, both happy and sad. She thought of the enormous thrill of her arrival in the spring of 1988 with Brian Pyper, her husband and newly drafted quarterback with the New York Jets. The happy thought was quickly replaced by the memory of the disintegration and disastrous breakup of the marriage. She banished the negativity from her mind and thought of her first job with Iacardi & Sons, her happy time living with Miles and Andrea Dennis, the initial euphoria of her affair with Louis Visconti, the Crown Prince of Wall Street, the catastrophic ending of the affair in Monaco, the satisfaction she experienced when Charles Iacardi promoted her to president and C.E.O. of the company.

  Seconds after she emerged from the New Jersey end of the Holland tunnel, she averted her eyes from the road momentarily to gaze to the south. As had happened so often since September 11, 2001, visions of airplanes colliding with the twin towers of The World Trade Center flashed through her mind. A giant orange and yellow fireball, in the area of Iacardi’s New York headquarters, caused her to wince. It was that horrific event that started a chain of events eventually leading her to be exactly where she was at that moment. It saddened her to think that in spite of all of her dedication and effort, she was leaving New York, alone, no job, no husband, and an uncertain future. Even worse, if the lawsuit against her turned out as Judge McCarthy had predicted, she was on a collision course with personal bankruptcy.

  Strangely, she experienced a surge of relief. She was now free of her responsibilities, no longer constrained by the relentless requirement to be politically correct, or perfect, no longer at war with corrupt and ambitious people. She smiled at the irony of her new circumstances, almost identical to those of her friend, Steve Monteith. Like him, she had turned her back on everything that for so long had been critically important to her. Her dedication to propriety and principled approach to her circumstances had led her into a battle she could not win. Now she was leaving it all with little more than memories.

  Four hours later, she crossed The Rainbow Bridge at Niagara Falls. She stopped her car beside one of numerous Canada Customs interrogation booths, then rolled her window down and handed the twenty-seven year old male agent two passports, one Canadian and one American. The agent opened each passport, scanned her photos, then stared at Kerri. “You have dual citizenship?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Where is your home in the United States?”

  “New York City,” she replied, not wanting to be any more specific.

  “Do you own a home in Canada?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Toronto.”

  “How long…” he paused and smiled. “Wow! You’re Kerri King, the Iacardi Santa Claus. Do you have any idea how many people are looking for you.”

  Kerri was shocked and disappointed that Andrea Dennis had exposed her secret to the media. The two had agreed that she would wait until Kerri had confirmation, in writing, from the I.R.S. that she would be cleared of any further charges. She smiled and nodded. “I would appreciate if you would keep that information to yourself and treat me like any other citizen. I’m taking a trip into obscurity, and I want to keep it that way.”

  The agent winked and returned Kerri’s passports. “Let me tell you that I think what you’ve done is pretty cool. Your secret is safe with me. I can’t even remember your name. Welcome to Canada.”

  CHAPTER 60

  Houston. Saturday, March 9, 2002.

  Ken Layton’s River Oaks mansion was the scene of a lavish victory party. The guest list, long and star studded, included Peter Tavaris, Walter Deaks, Billy Dukes, Sydney Mortimer, and their wives and significant others. The party, ostensibly to celebrate Enerco’s successful acquisition of Iacardi & Sons, was also designed to reward the main combatants and to expose them to Houston society. All eight had been flown in style to Houston via Enerco’s G-5 and booked into the five star St. Regis.

  Prior to any serious partying, Layton invited Tavaris into his den and closed the door. He removed two Arturo Fuente cigars from his desk top humidor and handed one to Tavaris. “Please accept this as a token o
f my gratitude, Peter. Enerco could not have done this without you. The company is in your debt,” he said, then lifted a gold plated lighter from his desk and lit both cigars.

  Layton’s comments were like a souped up tonic to Tavaris, maybe even better than sex. At last he had made it to where he had wanted to be for so long. He was on top of the world. He had wealth and power. He was now the president and chief executive officer of a wholly owned subsidiary of Enerco, one of the most successful companies in the world. Its acquisition of his Iacardi stock had increased his net worth by slightly over fifteen million dollars. His salary was now in the stratosphere. “Thanks, Ken,” he said, struggling to contain his excitement and avoid saying anything stupid. “It’s an honor to receive a compliment like that from such an esteemed gentleman as yourself.”

  Layton took a long pull on his cigar. “You deserve it,” he said, then blew smoke in Tavaris’ direction. “Now tell me how Kerri King responded to our offer of continued employment.”

  “She didn’t reject it, but I think she will… On a personal note, I’d be delighted if I never saw her again. I think we can all get along quite nicely without her,” Tavaris replied, delighted to have been given an opportunity to stick his knife into his nemesis.

  “Give me your opinion on the Iacardi Shareholders’ Lawsuit. Should we continue it and bankrupt Miss King, or drop it?”

  Tavaris chuckled. Now he could really turn the knife. “No brainer. We’ve got to finish her off. She deserves it. She’s given us far too much trouble.”