The Two Sisters of Borneo

by Ian Hamilton

  “Ms. Lee, it isn’t our job to tell companies like Meijer who they can and cannot finance. Equally, it isn’t our job to tell companies like yours who can they sell to and what terms they should extend to their customers. We are here to pick up the pieces when things go badly. And in this case things went badly for Janssen and Meijer, and as is their legal right, they’ve stepped in to protect themselves. Unfortunately — and for reasons entirely of your own doing, may I add — your company is not so well situated.”

  Ava had been making point-form notes as she spoke to Visser. Now as she looked down at them, all she could see was the line she had drawn between Janssen and Meijer.

  “Where did the money go?” she asked abruptly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Meijer financed Janssen to the tune of more than twenty million dollars, and if the money was supposed to pay for furniture inventory but no inventory was paid for, then where the hell is the money?”

  “That’s a very good question,” Visser said.

  “Really?” Ava said.

  “There’s no reason to be sarcastic, and no reason for you to think we haven’t done due diligence.”

  “Then where is the money?”

  “Ms. Lee, Meijer and Janssen had a business relationship that extended over the past fifteen years. The debt in question was cumulative. In truth, Meijer could have pulled the plug on Janssen several years ago, but obviously they were hoping things would turn around with the business and so they kept it afloat.”

  “They told you this?”

  “Yes, they did, and you need to know that we confirmed it.”

  “So, what? They just decided to call in their loans a month ago?”

  “They did.”

  “Entirely coincidentally with Janssen’s receiving massive shipments of goods from us?”

  “I can’t speak to the coincidence part.”

  “Of course not, although you do have to admit it was very convenient for Meijer to act when they did.”

  “Obviously.”

  “From where I stand, I have to tell you it looks like some form of collusion was at play.”

  “Ms. Lee —”

  “It stinks, and you know it stinks,” she interrupted.

  “Meijer acted within their legal rights,” he said.

  “And what rights do we have?”

  Visser paused. Ava could feel him measuring his words. “Under Dutch bankruptcy law, the secured creditors have the right to pursue recovery of their funds by any means they choose, as long as they remain within the law. I can tell you that Meijer has remained within the law. Unsecured creditors are exactly that, Ms. Lee — unsecured. They have no rights beyond filing a claim with the trustee and waiting for the trustee to collect and disperse what he can. I can assure you that we will collect what we can and we will make sure it is equitably dispersed.”

  “There will be nothing to collect,” Ava said. “You know that already.”

  “There is a lot of inventory.”

  “Being sold at a huge discount,” Ava said.

  “You know, there is one avenue open to you . . .” Visser said carefully.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, you could buy back your own inventory. If it’s discounted sufficiently, perhaps you could resell it in the marketplace at its normal markup and recoup most of your funds.”

  “We could try to sell it into a market we don’t understand, where we have no contacts, and where all the potential customers would know soon enough that our situation was desperate. What kind of sense does that make?”

  “I was offering a suggestion, not making a recommendation.”

  Ava checked her notebook. There was no information on Meijer beyond an address. “Meijer is simply a finance company, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are they disposing of the assets? They can’t be familiar with the market either.”

  Visser hesitated. “You would have to speak to them.”

  “And how would I do that? Do you have a contact name for me?”

  “You can call Johann Meijer himself at his office,” Visser said, and gave her a phone number.

  Ava wrote it in the notebook. “It’s his business?”

  “Not entirely. Johann’s father, who founded the company, is still active, but he’s passed on most of the day-to-day operations to Johann.”

  She pushed her chair back from the desk and looked out the window. Rain spattered against it, driven by a wind that hadn’t eased since she’d arrived. She stood and looked out towards the street. The only visible form of life was a young woman scurrying along the sidewalk, her head lowered to her chest, her umbrella turned at an angle to deflect the rain. Just watching her made Ava shiver.

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Visser. I’m not sure if I’ll come to the meeting tomorrow or not. I’ll probably wait until the morning to decide.”

  “I’ll be there regardless, and if you aren’t, chances are I’ll be alone.”

  ( 9 )

  What a mess, Ava thought. Worse, it was a mess she felt virtually powerless to do anything about. If everything Visser had told her was true — and she couldn’t think of any reason why the bankruptcy trustee would lie to her — then her coming to Amsterdam had been a complete waste of time and money.

  She looked down at the few notes she had taken. In the past she had seized goods in lieu of money as she tried to get her clients’ money back. She had then proceeded to do exactly what Meijer Finance had done. She had paid off warehouses so they couldn’t block access to the goods. She had identified any other creditors who might be lurking and bought them off too if it was necessary. And finally she had sold the goods at prices designed to salvage the money her clients were owed, with no concern for their real market value. Meijer’s behaviour was understandable. Not that it made it any easier to accept.

  She stared at the phone number Visser had given her for Johann Meijer and then picked up the phone.

  “Meijer,” a woman said.

  “Yes, I’m calling about some furniture I understand you’re selling.”

  “Furniture?”

  “Yes, I’m told you’re disposing of some inventory.”

  “This is Meijer Finance Company. We don’t sell furniture.”

  “I know that isn’t your main business, but I’ve been told you’ve repossessed some furniture and are selling it to recover funds.”

  “Just a moment,” the woman said, her voice filled with doubt.

  Ava waited. Had Visser lied to her?

  “You need to call another number,” the woman said when she came back on the line.

  “Pardon?”

  “You need to call a man named Jan de Groot. I’ll give you his number,” she said.

  “This Mr. de Groot, he’s selling the furniture?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  “Who tells you?”

  “My boss.”

  “Can I speak to your boss?”

  “Just a moment,” she said again.

  Ava looked at the papers strewn across her desk. Why did the name de Groot seem familiar? She flipped several pages until she came to the list of creditors. Across the top of the page was the heading ALL CREDITORS IN THE CASE OF THE BANKRUPTCY OF JANSSEN VOLKER, and underneath it were the names of the officers and directors of the firm. A Jan de Groot was identified as managing director.

  “My boss says he can’t help you. It’s better for you to call Jan de Groot. He’s the one who’s responsible.”

  “Is this the Jan de Groot who ran Janssen Volker?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Then let me speak to someone who does.”

  “I’m sorry, no one else is available.”

  “You said your boss was there.”

  “He
just left.”

  Ava drew a deep breath and then ate the angry retort that hovered on her tongue. “Thank you,” she said.

  She stared at Jan de Groot’s name in her notebook. How weird is this? Ava thought as she dialled the number the woman had given her. The phone rang four times, and she was ready to leave a voice message when she heard, “de Groot.”

  “Is this Jan de Groot?”

  “The same.”

  “I was given your name by Meijer Finance. I understand you’re selling some furniture that they repossessed.”

  “So?”

  “I have an interest in it.”

  “I don’t recognize your voice.”

  “We’ve never spoken. My name is Ava Lee.”

  “And your accent isn’t Dutch or English. Are you American?”

  “Canadian.”

  “I still don’t know you.”

  “You would have no reason to.”

  “Why are you calling?”

  “I’m interested in meeting with you with a view to buying some of the furniture you’re selling.”

  “No,” de Groot said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The furniture has either been sold or is committed to another party.”

  “If we could meet and I had a chance to go over the inventory with you, who knows, I might be able to make a better offer.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Surely Meijer Finance might be if there’s more money at stake.”

  “Then call Meijer. If they tell me I have to meet with you, then I’ll think about it.”

  “I find your attitude rather surprising,” she said.

  “Look, I was told to sell the furniture as quickly as I could. That’s what I’ve done. It’s all sold or committed to. I’m not going back on my word to the people who have bought it.”

  “What about the other creditors? I know the furniture is part of a bankruptcy and that Meijer is a secured creditor, but don’t you feel any obligation to maximize the return from the sales? Don’t you think the other creditors should be given some consideration?”

  “I was hired by Meijer.”

  “Yes, but you were also managing director of the company that went under. You bear at least part of the responsibility for leaving the other creditors in a difficult situation.”

  De Groot went quiet. Ava expected the line to go dead. Instead she could hear paper rustling. “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

  “Ava Lee.”

  “You’re an officer of that company that bought into Borneo Furniture,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “Fuck off,” he said.

  This can’t be legal, she thought. Surely the secured creditor can’t hire the bankrupt company to dispose of its own inventory. She called Patrick Visser.

  The receptionist made her wait again, and after close to five minutes Ava began to think he wasn’t going to take her call. But he did, and the words “Ms. Lee” were hardly out of his mouth when she said, “Did you know that Jan de Groot is selling off his own inventory?”

  “You sound upset.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He sighed. “The inventory is technically and legally in the possession of Meijer Finance. They are disposing of it as best they can. In this case, not being experts in the furniture trade, they have engaged the services of someone who is, and who has an intimate knowledge of the inventory and where it might best be sold. It is a convenient and efficient arrangement and, Ms. Lee, one of which I was aware and that is not uncommon.”

  “When you say ‘engaged,’ do you mean that Janssen Volker is getting paid to do this? Because if they are, shouldn’t that money flow back to you for dispersal to other creditors?”

  She heard a longer, deeper sigh. “Janssen Volker is no more. My understanding is that Meijer has hired Mr. de Groot as an independent contractor. He’s working, I’m told, on a commission basis.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I didn’t think it was particularly relevant who was selling the furniture.”

  Ava could feel bile rising from her stomach. She had been away five months from the stress and anger that her business sometimes generated. Now it was back, and she wished it didn’t seem so familiar. “This sounds to me like a ‘let’s screw over the foreigners’ kind of deal, with you and Meijer and Janssen taking turns.”

  “Ms. Lee, I resent that accusation.”

  “I really don’t care.”

  “As I said to you earlier, Meijer is perfectly within its legal rights to do what it has done, including paying Jan de Groot a commission to turn that inventory into cash,” he said. “There’s a creditors’ meeting tomorrow morning; you know the time and place. You’re welcome to attend to ask any questions you wish and to present any opinions you have. Until then, I really don’t think there’s any value in our continuing this conversation.”

  “And I don’t think there’s any reason for me to attend that meeting.”

  “The choice is yours.”

  ( 10 )

  Ava sat at the desk, looking at names and phone numbers that amounted to exactly zero progress.

  She walked over to the window again. Whatever thoughts she might have had about going out for a run, even a brisk walk, were immediately dashed by the sight of what she was now beginning to think was perpetual driving rain.

  She shuffled back to the computer and looked up her hotel’s location and then those of the Timmerman and Meijer offices. The trustee was virtually around the corner. Meijer was no more than ten blocks away. She debated the merits of visiting either of them. The trustee would probably — and maybe rightfully — tell her to come back tomorrow for the meeting. If Meijer wasn’t willing to take her phone call, why would he see her in person? Besides, even if they did see her and agreed to talk to her, what exactly could she say that would make any difference to the situation?

  I don’t have enough information, she thought. Without thinking, she went over to the nightstand and took out a local phonebook. She started to look at it and then stopped short — it was in Dutch. Of course it was in Dutch, and she didn’t read Dutch. She put the book under her arm and left the room.

  The concierge was, Ava guessed, in his mid-forties. He stood a sturdy six feet, with a full head of silver hair. He didn’t seem to understand her request the first time she made it.

  “The police station is near the railway station,” he said.

  “No, I’m not looking for that kind of detective,” she said. “I want to hire a private detective, someone who can gather some financial information for me. Could you look in this phonebook for me and find the proper section?”

  “What should I look under?”

  “Private investigators?”

  He muttered something in Dutch and riffled through the pages.

  “Here are some,” he said. “Most of them seem to specialize in cheating spouses, divorces, insurance scams. They also seem to be ex-policemen. What appeals to you?”

  “Is there anyone who even mentions the word business?”

  “This one,” he said, pointing to the name Smits. “He even mentions he worked for the Dutch tax administration department.”

  “Could you write down his name, address, and phone number for me?”

  “Sure,” he said, writing the name ‘Jacob Smits’ and his contact information on hotel stationery.

  She called the detective when she got back to her room. A loud, gruff voice answered the phone with a torrent of words. The only one she understood was Smits.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank goodness. For a second I thought I would have to get the concierge to translate.”

  “Concierge?”

  “I’m visitin
g Amsterdam and I’m staying at the Dylan Hotel.”

  “How did you locate me?”

  “The concierge found you in the phonebook.”

  “Ah.”

  “He told me you’ve done some work with the Dutch tax administration.”

  “Yes.”

  “What exactly did you do?”

  “Chased after tax evaders.”

  “I see.”

  “And then I spent three years with the KLPD in Amsterdam, investigating white-collar crime.”

  “KLPD?”

  “The regional police force.”

  “So you have a financial as well as an enforcement background?”

  “I’m an accountant. The only police work I did was from behind a desk, working on a computer and going through bank and company statements.”

  “It sounds like you are exactly what I need.”

  “To do what?”

  “My business finds itself caught up in bankruptcy proceedings that look to me like a put-up job. I need to understand the real financials of a couple of Dutch companies, and I want to know if there’s more of a relationship between them than what’s being represented. Is this something you feel you could deliver?”

  He paused. “You said these are Dutch companies?”

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  “No, just the opposite.”

  “Then why the hesitation?”

  “My rate is five hundred euros a day.”

  “Plus expenses?”

  “There are hardly ever any expenses, unless I have to travel out of the city.”

  “So when can you start?”

  “I have a few other things I’m working on right now.”

  “Well, I’m here in Amsterdam right now and I don’t have a lot of time to spare. Is it possible we could meet today to talk this over and see if you can fit us into your schedule?”

  “Yes, I think that’s possible.”

  “Are you available now?”

  “You’re staying at the Dylan?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Ava Lee.”