by Tom Connolly
“Well, depending on how helpful you are, we can recommend to the judge a lighter sentence,” Conroy said.
“A lighter sentence! If I help you in this, there should be no sentence,” a red-faced Crane said, now upset that he was being played.
“Mr. Crane, we have more than enough evidence to convict you and a number of others for insider trading in Rocket Solar. These crimes are being committed by you and others, and we have it recorded in your own words. We have other individuals we expect will cooperate. The first ones to cooperate get the softer deal. It just makes our job a little easier if we can have someone telling the story from your point of view, and for that we are willing to recommend leniency,” and again leaning across the table, Conroy’s and Crane’s noses were not more than a foot apart. Crane wanted to rip his head off. The bulldog instinct in him wanted to rear up and crush this intruder, this accuser. “So, Leonard,” Conroy said, sarcastically, staring him down, “What’ll it be, your lawyer or a little help for us to put the big fish away.”
That part appealed to Leonard. It wasn’t him; it was the others. If the two brothers hadn’t been so greedy and put this plan in place, he wouldn’t be here. If Alice hadn’t called him and told him about what their old boss Sid Rogers was up to, he wouldn’t be here. If Parker Barnes and Kish Moira hadn’t agreed to his plan to the insider trading, he wouldn’t be here. In fact if Eddie hadn’t got so high and mighty, he’d still be working at Brunswick and wouldn’t have gotten fired.
“Yes,” Crane said, “It does make sense to help you, but,” he decided to try again, “if I give you everything, no jail time.”
“Mr. Crane, we already have everything,” Angella Sgorous said, emphasizing “everything.” “Now can we get on with it? Please tell us how your involvement in Rocket Solar began, what was said and what you told others.”
Leonard Crane slumped. He found himself trapped. He had to do the best he could for himself.
“Alice called me,” Crane said.
“That would be Alice…?” Ms. Sgorous asked.
“Alice Kraft,” Crane said, wondering one last time, did they really know it was her.
“What specifically did she tell you?” Conroy asked. Suddenly Crane remembered, she did not tell him Rocket Solar when they met. It was his own work that figured it out.
“Wait, she never told me it was Rocket Solar, just that there was a solar company that had received large orders from Chinese solar companies and that would cause the stock to rise.”
“Mr. Crane, you said you would cooperate. If she didn’t tell you it was Rocket Solar, who did?” Conroy persisted.
“No one,” Crane said, pleased with his recollection, “I came back to the office and talked it over with Edward Wheelwright. He told me to do the research and see who it might be. I worked for an afternoon and figured out that it had to be Rocket Solar. Wheelwright…,” and here Crane paused—high and mighty Ed Wheelwright wouldn’t soil his clean hands, and Lenny the Liar crafted a piece of revenge for Mr. Wheelwright— “Wheelwright, I told him it was Rocket Solar, and he said he needed to think about it. He said if we were to do a large buy here, he should do it with me outside of Brunswick, sort of one off, one degree of separation. That was the way Eddie saw the mosaic of information; it had to be a one or two off. The further removed the better. He had me call Alice back and say we were not interested.”
“Good, that’s very helpful. Now, we need to know more about this Alice Kraft and the other people inside Blackthorn that she discussed,” Sgorous said, adding, “Then we want to come back and talk about Brunswick and what you can share about a Parker Barnes.”
“Fine,” Crane said, but saddened they had Parker’s name; he had to protect him. But he did see a real opportunity to settle more than one score in this discussion.
“Good, so let’s go to Blackthorn. How did Alice Kraft describe what she knew; where did she get the information.”
“We met and she described an opportunity to make a significant fortune, but we had to act quickly. She said her boss, Sid Rogers, was also trading on the information. Alice said the solar company had received three large orders from Chinese solar companies that would send the stock soaring, doubling,” Crane concluded.
“Thank you, Leonard,” Sgorous said, and continuing, “now we have information that I need to ask you about at Blackthorn. What did Alice Kraft tell you about the involvement of the two brothers who run the company and own much of it?”
“Nothing,” Crane said with a puzzled look.
“She did not tell you that they were selling in large quantities,” Detective Conroy asked.
“No,” Crane said, confused now, “Why would they sell? Everyone was buying. We made a bundle. That makes no sense,” then Crane paused, thought for a moment, adding, “If that’s the case, it would suggest that the brothers are cashing out while the stock is high or that the orders are no good?”
“So, you made buys for yourself. Do the figures we have sound right, about one 150 thousand in profit?”
“Roughly, but close enough,” Crane replied to Conroy.
“Who else did you share this inside information with?” Conroy asked.
“You are still referring to the fact that I figured out which company Alice was talking about as inside information. I told you that she did not tell me the name of the company,” Lenny the Liar rose up to protect his reputation.
“Mr. Crane, are you forgetting that we have phone recordings of your discussions?” Sgorous said.
“I met with Alice Kraft,” Crane said.
“We also have a phone conversation between you and a rather upset Ms. Kraft with her telling you the name of the company was Rocket Solar,” Sgorous said.
Crane’s face reddened, bright red. Anger. Had he forgot she told him the name of the company? Wait, that was after he figured it out. It was not insider information.
“That was not insider information. I figured out the company myself before she told me that,” the Liar persisted.
“Mr. Crane, are we back to that again?” Conroy said angrily, “The information you had is inside information; you traded on it and made illegal profits. We’ve told you those actions are punishable by up to twenty-five years in prison,” the detective concluded firmly, adding, “Are we clear.”
The “are we clear” was said forcefully enough that the Liar crawled back inside his shell, and Crane answered, “Yes, sir.”
At this point Conroy stood up and walked to a dry erase board on the wall at the front of the room. “So, Leonard buys three hundred thousand shares, correct?” he said as he wrote, “Leonard—300k shares.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Crane replied.
“Now, Alice Kraft, how many shares did she buy?” Crane said. Sgorous looked at Conroy; both hoping Crane could shed light on her inside buying since they had not been able nail down her trading accounts. They figured this may have been done through relatives or friends, which is often the case.
“Alice wanted me to buy the shares. I don’t know if she had access to enough money, quick enough to act,” Crane said, continuing, “She knew through my trading desk at Brunswick Fund I would be able to buy plenty.”
“And did you?” Sgorous asked.
“No, not there, not at that time. But once I saw the scale of buying that Brunswick was going to do on Rocket, I left,” Crane said.
“You mean in the predetermined way that you had agreed to with your boss, what was his name?” Conroy said.
“Wheelwright, Edward Wheelwright,” Crane said, adding, “Not quite. Once I saw the scale of buying they were going to do, I left. I wanted nothing more to do with it.”
Sgorous and Conroy exchanged knowing glances again, that Crane had changed his story. Conroy let it pass, for the time being.
“So, let me get this straight, after you left, you bought three hundred thousand shares.”
Crane, a little unsure of why Conroy repeated that said, “Nothing. Those buys are small change.
Wheelwright heads up Brunswick fund. They bought millions of shares.”
“And how were these shares purchased,” Conroy asked, as they did not show a number anywhere that large flowing through Brunswick Fund.
“Through Brunswick Fund.”
“And you know this how? Who told you they bought millions of shares?” Conroy asked.
Why are they asking that question, surely they know of the trades. He paused, something was not right.
Conroy asked again, rephrasing the question. “You said you had left Brunswick Fund; you said you knew they bought millions of shares. But my question is, how do you know they bought those shares?”
Lenny the Liar was confounded. Was he trapping himself somehow in this? Would this affect Kish? Could he end up getting Parker in trouble? He had to protect Parker at all costs. Eddie told him. “Eddie Wheelwright told me,” Conroy blurted out.
“When did he tell you this,” Conroy asked, knowing they had no taped phone conversations between the two men discussing the purchase of Rocket Solar stock.
“Probably the day after I left. No, more like two days later, and that’s when I bought my shares.”
“And you’re sure it was Wheelwright you talked to?” Sgorous asked.
“Yes, it was Wheelwright,” Crane said, feeling comfortable at ensuring Mr. Highandmighty was duly implicated.
Sgorous looked at Conroy. These trades were not showing up. The SEC had nothing on trades by Brunswick Fund although they did have phone calls between a number of people at Brunswick Fund and Blackthorn Investments in the timeframe they were discussing. The only trade of any consequence out of Brunswick Fund in this time frame was an account of one Parker Barnes.
“Tell us about Parker Barnes. He has an account at Brunswick Fund. And he traded in Rocket Solar in that time frame?” Sgorous asked.
Crane thought, protect Parker. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what, Leonard,” Sgorous said, puzzled by Crane’s response.
“I don’t know if a Parker Barnes bought shares in Rocket Solar,” Crane replied.
“Mr. Crane!” Conroy shouted.
Crane jumped back in his chair, he was so startled by Conroy’s shout.
“Mr. Crane,” Conroy shouted again. “We know you made a phone call to Parker Barnes one day before he bought over one million shares.”
“I don’t know,” Crane said stiffening. Sgorous noticed this, saw Crane’s jaw tighten and waited with Conroy for Crane to speak. The silence grew.
“Leonard,” Sgorous began, “We’re trying to give you room to help us. Now tell us about Parker Barnes. Who is he, and how did he become involved in Rocket Solar?”
“I really don’t know,” Crane said dumbfounded. He did not know how to get out of this.
Conroy rose, “That’s it. The deal is off, Lenny.”
“Why? Wait, why?” Crane pleaded.
“We know you contacted him. Shortly after this contact he buys a million shares. Last chance, Crane. If we don’t hear right now what you were up to with him, we’re arresting you and walking out of this room,” Conroy concluded, with his palms on the table, leaning across it into Crane’s space once again.
Crane’s body language was beautiful, Conroy thought, as Crane slumped, now defeated.
“Parker Barnes was my college roommate,” Crane began softly.
“Speak up, Lenny,” Conroy said loudly.
“We were roommates at college,” Crane said in a raised voice. “I called Parker, and then met with Wheelwright’s partner and Parker.”
“Who is Wheelwright’s partner?” Sgorous said, wanting confirmation.
“Kish Moira. We all went to school together as kids. I met with Kish and Parker in Kish’s office. I told them about Rocket Solar. Earlier, as I mentioned I told Wheelwright about Rocket. I know Parker bought a lot in his account. And I’m certain Wheelwright and Moira bought millions for Brunswick Fund.”
“Now what else can you tell us about other trades with Rocket Solar?” Sgorous said.
“That is it, that’s everything,” Crane said realizing now he had betrayed Barnes.
“Lenny, we’re going to verify everything you have said here. If there’s anything that’s not true, any leniency we would recommend would come off the table,” Conroy said, looking for one last tidbit Crane might be holding back on.
“No, that’s everything,” a dejected Crane told Conroy.
“Alright, you’re free to go,” Angela Sgorous told Leonard Crane. “We’ll be in touch in a couple of days. Please do not leave the city without contacting either Detective Conroy or me.”
Chapter 66
For a late spring morning, it was unusually cool, but refreshing, he thought as he began his run at Tod’s point. He had parked by the main concession stand and stretched his legs on the back of a bench. He looked out at the waters of the Sound; they were bright, shimmering from the early morning sun.
Out behind the concession stand, the woods began, first up through a glade of small hills with picnic tables. The sun came through waves of shade from the tall thin trees. He struggled with the hills at the very start of his run. A hawk flew in front of him and landed on a tree, head high and to his left. It surprised him that the bird came so close to him. As he passed not more than five feet from it, he turned twice to make sure he was not in the bird’s brain as a breakfast bite. He laughed at the thought and continued up the hill.
A giant boulder sat at the top of the hill, which was a confluence of two paths coming up from the glade and two paths descending, one into woods towards the holly grove and one rolling down through a broad green meadow to the sea that was framed by woods on either side. He took the meadow path, easing his jog down through the thick green grass. Three quarters of the way down he turned right into an opening and a path to the woods. The path wound its way towards the reeds by the sea then turned up to a small clearing. A lone picnic table sat in the middle of this serene setting framed by brush, pines and hollies. There were six paths leading out, and he continued on a route he had known well but travelled less frequently, into woods, out into another clearing with more tables. The waters of the Sound were forty feet away before a new path appeared, broader, more worn into deeper, darker woods.
Chipmunks dodged him as he picked up his pace, and his lungs filled with the crisp morning air. The path wound its way through the wood for about a quarter mile before opening to the clam bake area. It was like opening a theater door into the bright sun—a two-acre field lay before him glistening in the bright sun. He crossed the field diagonally running past a small house for bathrooms and past the long cupola covering picnic tables. Across this field, along this run is where he took his four-year-old son on his first run. Once across the field, he entered a path of head-high reed grasses on his left and woods to his right. It was training day, and just ahead of him a baby dove was practicing. As he approached the parents took off, leaving junior to figure a way off the path. Junior flapped and flapped, moving down the path ahead of him and finally was overtaken but left only panting from this first encounter as the man passed by to the left of the bird.
Another memory rushed forward—the time he and his son took their first weekend away together, just the two of them. The son was twelve, and he took him to Cooperstown to the Baseball Hall of Fame. The Hall was a wonder for the boy who was into baseball, but what flooded his memory was the intimacy of their time together. They stayed at the venerable Otesaga Hotel on the lake of the same name. In those three days, he let the boy pick from a list of activities—the twelve-year-old played his first round of golf, they fished for the first time in two years, they took their first canoe ride, they ate dinner quietly on the patio of the Otesaga, and they had breakfast on the veranda. On the second day, they found Cooperstown Fun Park and played miniature golf, hit baseballs from a batting cage and drove balls on a range. That night they drove to Unadilla to a drive-in movie, another first for the boy.
At the end of the reed tr
ail, he came to a divergent path: onto a road or back through a small jog to the outer trail that went by the waters of the sound. He chose the latter, not thinking of Robert Frost as much as the echo of what lay ahead. Turning left he glimpsed the city to his right. Thirty-five miles away Manhattan Island stretched out from north on the right to the left and south, missing its two tall towers at the end. He remembered that day. He was off and at home. He got a call to turn on the TV. And for an agonizing half hour, he watched the horror. When he could stand it no longer, he came to the point and ran, fast and furious to get away from it. But when he got to this very point, there it was. A stream of black smoke rising up from where they stood. And then nothing, the smoke changed to white. He did not know why the color of the smoke changed until he returned home and saw they were gone. Just up ahead along the path a bench looked out toward the city. It had the name of a son lost that day. And he thought about his own son, who called him crying. Sobbing about what had happened in the city he would live in after college, about all the people lost in the storm of fire and collapse. He told his son to pray for the souls lost that day; he told him to thank God for his life.
He came off the shore trail, down through a short winding path to a broader road under a canopy of tall elms, back across an earlier glade, across the meadow to the sea and into another short path back to the shore road.
It was 7 a.m. As he reached the concession stand, his t-shirt was soaked. He had run faster than he expected. He was exhausted, and even though he hadn’t run lately, he knew he would be alright. Optimism was pulsing inside of him. Mark Wheelwright was looking forward to seeing his grandson, again, this day. He was looking forward to spending time with the little boy. More memories of his own son Edward kept rushing forward. He wanted time, time to repeat some of these memories with his grandson.
Chapter 67
Against the split horizon of a charcoal sky and unseen water, the running lights of the “Construction” appeared. The boat snaked its way into the channel from Long Island Sound, narrowly past a few wrecks lying dead, half sunk; past a decrepit house boat that had a dim light from inside; past three barges that lay in a row partly filled with scrap metal from an adjoining junk yard; and past a speed boat tied up on the front end of the pier that was one of three making up the “marina.” If this canal were an alleyway, you wouldn’t walk down it at night.