Double Shot of Scotch

by Cleveland, Peter

  “You didn’t care what plant personnel thought. You could always claim it was miscommunication, a mistake, blame Jennifer’s impulsive emailing, like you did for my benefit.

  “Emails were never meant to be instructions for plants or, for that matter, real instructions for trawlers. The real purpose of the confusing emails was to manufacture audit evidence for Marcel. Phony evidence to satisfy auditors, to support inflated species counts in each location.

  “On the last day of the fiscal year, auditors expect inventory adjustments for catch landed after counts. It would be proper accounting, not necessarily suspicious. So inventory purchased is included in the current year’s financial statements.”

  The room was quiet, and the room was tense.

  St. James paused once again, and then continued. “The spreadsheets you sent to me didn’t have the double-counting of inventory on them. You wanted no trail that could lead me to you. Spreadsheets you forwarded matched plant documents perfectly, giving the appearance that everything was proper. Except there was a trail; a careless but simple mistake. The changing of type themes made when you saved your work as Century. That’s what gave you away. Your fatal mistake.”

  Van Hoyt began to sob.

  No one moved.

  “It wasn’t until I reviewed Marcel’s files that I saw different numbers, much higher ones, double counting of trawler inventory, all around the world. If you had not changed the themes you may have gotten away with it.”

  Blakie spoke. “Weren’t auditors present to witness counts and procedures?”

  “They witnessed plant counts, yes. Plymouth and Portsmouth finished counting mid to late afternoon. Auditors completed their work and left at approximately 3:45. The trawlers conveniently showed up in Plymouth around four.

  “The conflicting instructions weren’t just to manufacture audit evidence for Marcel. They were also meant to waste time, so trawlers wouldn’t show until after the auditors had left. For Nelson and Karen’s scheme to work, auditors and trawlers must never meet… Too risky to be caught.”

  “I don’t get how the auditors were fooled. Why verification procedures didn’t catch the lack of proof for inflated inventory numbers,” Dunlop said, trying to grasp at a greater understanding.

  “It is simpler than it first appears,” St. James replied. “All procedures were followed correctly as far as the auditors were concerned. Trawler catches were added both to Plymouth’s and to Portsmouth’s numbers as instructed, both as set out in the independent emails. Karen’s spreadsheets saved in Century supported that, emails supported that, internal controls were strong, and as far as Marcel was concerned CISI was a model client. No reason to suspect wrongdoing. Karen was a trusted CFO.

  “Karen is very thorough. She made sure all supporting inventory documentation matched from the time trawlers landed all the way through CISI’s accounting system, to the financial statements, to provide Marcel with complete support for the inflated inventory she had created.”

  Dunlop interrupted again, “You mean there were two sets of inventory records? Phony ones Karen gave the auditors and real documentation from the plants?”

  “That’s right, Al,” St. James said.

  “So the only inventory information auditors saw was falsely created to support a bogus journal entry?” David said in disbelief.

  “’Fraid so,” said St. James matter-of-factly.

  Harold’s face looked strained. “I have been dealing with financial information and statements for my entire career. I can’t for the life of me see how you can manufacture false inventory without any holes whatsoever; considering the vast amount of activity that takes place between trawlers and numbers on audited financial statements.”

  Anderson remained quiet, his faced strained by it all, not believing Graves’s and Karen’s disloyalty to him and to the company.

  St. James continued, “Let me be more specific, Harold. Karen took past landing sheets for each location around the world, scanned them into her computer, then adjusted dates and quantities to reflect the fabricated numbers. It was strong audit evidence because the original sheets were signed by both trawler captains and plant accountants. No forged signatures. No font change. Absolutely no indication of tampering anywhere on the false documentation. Legible signatures were already there, albeit to approve different catches landed sometime previously. Marcel’s files looked authentic and would pass the test of fresh eyes, in the absence of knowing the full story.”

  St. James paused yet again and took a deep breath.

  The directors took turns glancing at Graves’s and Karen’s solemn faces, mumblings ranging from disbelief to anger at what the two had done to the reputation of the company, its board, and its management.

  Van Hoyt was crying, head buried in her hands, knowing full well it was over.

  St. James said, “Things will go a lot easier if you help, Karen. It will go a long way to reducing whatever punishment comes your way.”

  Van Hoyt didn’t move. “I’ll cooperate,” she said, her voice almost inaudible.

  “What are you saying, Karen? He can’t prove anything,” Graves barked.

  St. James shot an angry look at Graves. “Yes, I can … and there is more, a lot more.”

  Chapter 86

  “More?” Anderson said incredulously.

  “You all know an attempt was made to run Anna and me off the road in Ottawa. And you also know I was shot while walking along the canal, also in Ottawa.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “The day before I was shot, we were followed to Wakefield. Two ruffians tailed us. We cornered them, and after a little persuasion they confessed that a guy named Sterling hired them. They didn’t know his first name. They’d never met. Arrangements were made online, they said. My associate broke one fellow’s nose. The very same fellow shot me the following day.

  “At this point I couldn’t figure out why someone was doing this. All past cases were solved, no one had anything to gain from my death, except maybe revenge, which also occurred to me, but that’s another story for another day.

  “A few days ago we discovered that Sidney Gunther, an ex-bartender and small time Ottawa hoodlum, was engaged by Sterling to find the two guys who tailed us. Sterling works the Montreal underworld. He didn’t know Ottawa’s. But Gunther did. When Gunther found the two guys for Sterling, his work was done. Sterling took over from there, giving instructions directly to the thugs.

  “A couple of days later, we chased Gunther down the streets of Ottawa and took his cell with stored numbers for a Reg Walker and Jim Thatcher, supposedly the thugs in question. Ottawa police traced the billing address for the numbers to a house in the west end, and two days ago a SWAT team arrested the two men. They admitted to following us one day and shooting me the next. Ballistics matched Walker’s gun with the bullet taken from my shoulder. I positively identified Walker before flying down for this meeting.

  “My associate gave the cell he had taken from Walker in Wakefield to Ottawa police. They traced emails and numbers to a Sterling, the Sterling in question, an enforcer and racketeer, well known to Montreal police.

  “St. Jacques, a Montreal detective, pulled Sterling in for questioning. It turned out Sterling hadn’t met his employer face to face either. Arrangements were made through anonymous email accounts. When attempts to kill me failed, Sterling’s client insisted they meet in person.

  “I asked St. Jacques if he got a description of the man who hired Rodney. He said yes.”

  There St. James paused.

  The tension in the room was off the charts.

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, man,” Harold said anxiously.

  “He was a shorter man with a full head of white hair, well dressed in an expensive, blue pinstriped suit and a grey tie, and he spoke with a strong British accent.”

  “My Jesus,” blurted John Coughlin, who had said nothing up to this point.

  Nancy and Cheryl went pale. Dunlop, Blakie, and Andre were stunned;
Anderson and Harold stone-faced.

  When St. James’s words finally sunk in, everyone angrily turned to Graves.

  “How could you do this to us, Nelson?” Dunlop yelled.

  “You son of a bitch,” Cheryl barked.

  The other directors expressed anger and disgust in their own way.

  Graves was expressionless, head down, trying to decide his next move. All arrogance had completely drained from him.

  “You hired Sterling to kill me. And Sterling hired the first two men, Martin Clayton and Clint Wagner, to run us off the road. They burned to death when their Mercedes crashed. The first failed attempt.

  “Then you arranged for Sterling to hire another thug, Frank Long, with a different strategy, to kidnap my girlfriend as bait to get to me. The second failed attempt. Long walked into a gruesome mantrap breaking into Anna’s apartment and was forced to spend the night in the Ottawa hospital, only to be arrested the following day.

  “Long told me he was hired by someone from Toronto. I know where all my past enemies live, and none are in Toronto. That meant it was someone new, someone like you, Nelson. Long didn’t work for someone in Toronto; he actually worked for Sterling in Montreal. It was Sterling who worked for someone in Toronto: you.

  “Finally, Sterling sent one of his own men, this time to kidnap my girlfriend once again and my sister. Robert Clarkstone was instructed to take the women back to Montreal, where Sterling would most likely use them to draw me there. Except Clarkstone got the surprise of his life when he tried to put the two women in a van. My sister, who is sixty-five and has significant anger issues and the mouth of a dockworker, beat the bejesus out of him. And it was Clarkstone who had to be rescued by police.”

  Blakie snickered.

  St. James looked at Graves for a few minutes before continuing. “It appears, Nelson,” he said with a sigh, “that you could only afford incompetent losers to do your dirty work. Was financial ruin really worth murder?”

  Graves sat, grim-faced, and said nothing.

  St. James continued. “There’s only one thing I don’t get, Nelson. Why did you hire me in the first place if you were afraid I’d catch you? Why risk it? You knew Cameron had done nothing wrong, yet you threw him under the bus to mask an investigation.”

  “I can answer that,” Dunlop said. “We, all the external board members that is, put tremendous pressure on Nelson to engage someone to conduct an independent investigation. He could not have opposed it without raising suspicion.”

  “That ties in. If Nelson had no choice, and felt I’d uncover the truth, he would have no alternative but to have me killed.”

  St. James looked at Graves. “I told you this would get more outrageous before it was over.”

  Graves stared at St. James with eyes that could burn holes in steel.

  “I hate you,” he said dramatically.

  “That saddens me greatly, Nelson,” St. James said facetiously.

  Chapter 87

  “Hamilton,” Anderson said solemnly, “I need help dealing with this. The publicity, I mean.”

  “I anticipated that. I took the liberty of preparing a public relations plan without your approval. I knew after this afternoon there would be no time to react properly.”

  St. James pulled a file from his black leather case.

  “Here are two letters of resignation, one for Nelson and one for Karen.”

  He handed copies to everyone around the table. Graves and Van Hoyt reluctantly took theirs.

  “Here’s what I suggest,” St. James said, turning first to Graves. “Your letter says you accept your termination and make no claim for severance.”

  St. James turned to Andre. “Andre, you should review the releases. Advise the board independently of me.”

  “Of course,” Andre said, hands shaking from shock as he tried to focus.

  St. James said cautiously, “One thing I suggest we all agree on, folks, is that no one leaves this room until everything is signed, including a confidentiality agreement specifically related to this meeting.”

  St. James went around the table and asked each person separately for their agreement. Not surprisingly everyone but Graves and Van Hoyt said yes.

  “These documents look fine to me,” Andre said, still trembling. “I have no objection to signing them.”

  “Thank you, Andre.” St. James turned back to Graves.

  “I want my lawyer to look at this,” Graves snarled.

  “Too late, Nelson. This is settled right now. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. No signature now means a lawsuit from the company. Complete personal ruin.”

  “Bastard. What about criminal action?” he asked angrily. “Can’t we tie that into a settlement?”

  “We don’t control the law, Nelson. You should have thought of that when you decided to break it. You did it to yourself. You did it alone. You live it alone,” St. James said forcefully.

  Graves’s wide eyebrow twitched as his face reddened with anger.

  A number of directors spoke angrily about what Graves had done to the company and to the reputation of the board. There’d be no mercy from the court of CISI directors.

  Graves waited a long moment, weighing the decision, then reluctantly signed the document.

  St. James turned to Karen. “Your resignation letter is the same as Nelson’s.”

  Van Hoyt was a totally broken woman and made no attempt to object. She signed and returned the document to St. James without a word.

  St. James turned to Anderson. “Marcel will no doubt insist on restating last year’s financial statements. Here is a suggested press release stating you discovered an overvaluation of inventory subsequent to year-end. CISI shares will take a hit for a time, but revenue and profit for the current year is ahead of both budget and last year’s actual performance. The share price will bounce back.”

  St. James handed out copies of the press release and confidentiality agreement. Everyone signed without question.

  “One more formality,” he said, looking first at Graves, then at Van Hoyt. “I met with Detective Edwin Ferguson of the Toronto Police Commercial Crimes Unit just prior to this meeting. I took Ferguson through the whole story, pretty much as I have here, and showed him all the evidence to support these allegations. I suspect you might hear from him.”

  Graves and Van Hoyt rose at the same time and left the room in silence.

  Anderson stood and shook Hamilton’s hand. “Hamilton, this is a terrible blow to the company, and it goes without saying I wish it had never happened. But it did, and I am very grateful you were here to manage it. I can’t thank you enough,” he said solemnly.

  As the meeting broke up, the room filled with more angry comments. Everyone was feeling violated, and they were worried about director liability, personal reputation, and the ensuing publicity.

  One by one each person shook St. James’s hand as they filed out of the room. When all but Anderson had left St. James said, “Al would make a good chairman.”

  Anderson smiled faintly. “Top of my list.” He paused for a moment. “I know this is irrelevant now, but what made you suspect Nelson in the first place?”

  St. James smiled. “In the 1970s Nelson got into financial difficulty and was forced into personal bankruptcy. I spoke with his trustee in London, England. He tried to hide a piece of real estate from her, which is an offence under the Bankruptcy Act. When pressed, he declared that he had hidden the property, placing the title in a relative’s name before he went bankrupt. He was never charged because he made a deal and gave the property to the trustee in exchange for not involving authorities.”

  Anderson squinted, “I don’t get the relevance.”

  “The mere fact that he tried to hide an asset from his trustee said a lot about his character. And in business, character is everything.”

  Chapter 88

  Saturday morning, St. James was sitting in his study pulling together invoices to pay when Dozer called from Austin, Texas.

  “Denzel
’s all settled in at the school, more excited than I’ve ever seen him, Hamilton,” he said enthusiastically.

  “That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased this is working out.”

  “He’ll be here until sometime mid-June. I met his instructors. They’re wonderful, patient people. They gave me a tour of the place; where Denzel would sleep, dining rooms, classrooms. It’s all first-class, Hamilton. As I said before, I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

  “You will repay me when Denzel is able to handle different types of assignments, a little more complicated than monitoring Anna’s apartment. That will re-enforce his self-esteem and help the team with more cases. That’s my hope,” St. James said conclusively.

  “We won’t let you down. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Are you heading back to Toronto now?”

  “Yes, via Ottawa. I have to disassemble the traps and pick up my gear. The guys are growling about having to do all the office work without me; it’s time I got back before there’s a mutiny.”

  “What about Cathy?”

  “We’ve talked. She’ll come to Toronto on weekends after classes, or I’ll go to Ottawa depending on what my schedule demands.”

  “You know what they say about long-distance relationships,” St. James cautioned.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Safe travels,” St. James said.

  It was 10:15. Anna had already left for the 11:00 shift at the Dirty Duck and wouldn’t be back before five.

  Everything was getting back to normal.

  It wasn’t just Dozer who had relationship challenges. St. James had to figure out what to do with their relationship, where it was or should be going, if anywhere. He knew he loved her and was pretty sure she loved him. But that was as far as he’d gone. Now that she had experienced the excitement of investigating commercial cases, slinging beer would never cut it. She’d leave the Duck for sure, even with Gunther gone.