Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit

by Charles Brett

  What struck Alfredo was that this positive appreciation of ORS was a direct consequence of how Alberto had been treated by a succession of Spanish financial services companies. The worst instance was one that handled some form of credit scoring, which according to Alberto, along with ten others, had hired them for a year. They knew that the job was not likely to last more than that year because Spanish law changed an employee's status on the 366th day of employment: you automatically obtained long-term permanent employment status on that day with hugely different privileges and protections.

  Nevertheless, according to Alberto, the eleven hoped they would be different and find they would be kept on past the end of their twelve months. What they had not expected was an SMS on their 364th day, falling between Christmas and New Year, instructing them not to return to work and terminating their employment. Even by Spanish labour standards, Alfredo had been appalled by such cynical treatment coming from an apparently reputable firm.

  On hearing this miserable tale he'd asked why Alberto had not come to him for advice, not that he was convinced he could have done anything substantial. Alberto's answer was that they knew the same had happened to their predecessors, and probably would to their successors. That was just the way it was.

  Alfredo reflected on this. He could see Alberto's fatalism was all too well founded.

  Just as Alfredo was thinking that this dinner was going to end up fruitless, at least as far as obtaining any dirt on ORS was concerned, Alberto had dropped his bombshell. He had been enthusing about some Australian lady whom he had met there and liked a lot, sufficiently it would seem as not to have tried to jump into bed with her, which struck Alfredo as odd for a young man. Maybe this Emilia was serious. In describing her and that they both shared a love of accounting, in her case forensic accounting, Alberto had recalled a most amusing incident that had occurred the previous Friday.

  Alfredo's lawyer antennae sprang to attention. Friday was the day that Marta had visited ORS. Was there a connection?

  His antennae proved accurate when Alfredo continued by describing how some woman visiting ORS had asked to charge her phone. Apparently, the only suitable cable was connected to a laptop. But the entertaining part, according to Alberto, was that connecting the two resulted in an inadvertent backup copy being taken of the phone by ORS.

  Alberto had laughed at this casual error. Alfredo had needed to force himself to pretend to share Alberto's amusement. Inside, he was not at all entertained. Rather, he was afraid. If this unnamed woman was Marta, had she kept anything incriminating on her phone?

  He had tried, with the greatest care, to gather more details from Alberto. But Alberto didn't seem to know any more, only what this Emilia had told him when she was postponing their date. He could not even tell at what time this nameless woman had arrived, so there was no way to obtain indirect confirmation whether or not it was Marta who was involved.

  The dinner had finished shortly afterwards. Alberto had gone home to his parents. Alfredo sympathised with him for that. It would have driven him crazy to have to live with his own parents in his thirties. Looking back he was grateful that he had insisted, much against his own mother's wishes, on renting an apartment with friends. The costs at the time had nearly killed his bank account, at least until he started his meteoric, in his own mind, rise within his father's sleepy law firm.

  The question was what to do with the information Alberto had unwittingly provided. Should he call Marta and ask whether she kept anything on her phone? Maybe it was a dumb phone that could only make calls. Thinking about it, he remembered – assuming it was the same phone – it had a large screen and that Marta had looked up something on the Internet.

  It wasn't an iPhone, of this he was sure. He would have recognised it for he owned one himself. But it was almost certainly something that could store a lot of information. Pray to God that Marta was too technology illiterate to make use of its capabilities other than to surf the Internet, make calls or send messages.

  Accepting the necessity to act, he was going to need to go beyond the borders of what most people regarded as right. One obvious action was to obtain that laptop at ORS. Would Alberto help? Probably not. He was clearly loyal to ORS for having given him his first proper job.

  Yet, if that laptop could be 'abstracted'– the lawyer in him shied away from 'stolen' – any problem would disappear before it took root. If he could ensure there was no problem in the first place, nobody would care much. He made a phone call.

  Now, back to Marta: what should be done there? He thought it best to wait until the outcome of his previous call was known. Creating unnecessary confrontations was pointless if he could avoid them.

  On the other hand, some crisis planning was required in case there was substance to his fears. Should he start at the top or bottom? The latter, he decided.

  He also began re-considering that ambassadorial post as being well worth pursuing in case it was needed, though to do so still made him feel unclean. His would be a political appointment imposed unfairly on professional diplomats. This was not how he thought matters should be. It smelled too much of a form of corruption obtained through a system of unofficial contacts. It added up to the sort of bent process lacking in transparency or merit that he detested.

  Wednesday: Marta

  Marta had woken in a cold sweat in the early morning. A thought had occurred to her, one which now made her quiver in fear.

  The day before, when routinely synchronising her smartphone with her personal computer at home, she had noticed, but not thought anything of it at the time, that the last backup had been made the previous Friday. As she normally performed backups on Friday this was routine. It was only in the early hours her brain made the connection – she had been in Madrid on Friday with Salvador at the Santo Mauro. It meant she could not have performed a backup.

  Whilst lying under the sheets, for it was still sufficiently warm in a late-lasting Valencia autumn that did not yet demand serious blankets, the appalling thought occurred to her that the only place on Friday where her smartphone had been connected to anything was at ORS. Thinking back, Marta remembered that she had not done what she had always sworn to herself to do, namely to turn off the phone before recharging, not least because the charging was usually faster. She also recalled her flustered state when she arrived, worrying most about her decreasing battery.

  Could ORS have taken a copy without telling her? That seemed absurd. It would be unprofessional and probably illegal. The information on the smartphone was hers. She had turned over and somehow fallen back to sleep.

  Come the early afternoon, her brain fully in gear, Marta started considering what was on the smartphone. She remembered the photos of her and Salvador. Some were innocuous, of them both. That some featuring her were those taken as Salvador had removed Marta's clothes one by one did not really bother her. That experience was undeniably delicious but the photos showed her alone. She was entitled to these portraying herself, aware that she looked amazing.

  Also, there were those picturing Salvador, which she had taken with equally delightful results. As a respectable married woman, and not married to this man, she should not have those. Yet they could be of any man. Not good, yet not dreadful.

  It would only be the ones of them together that posed real problems. SPS or 'semi-pornographic selfies' was what Salvador called them. They had laughed with delight when browsing them in bed together during that delightful session after meeting Inocenta at the beach.

  Unfortunately, recalling those pleasures now brought back the humiliation, and the unexpected climax, from Saturday morning. She twisted in her chair, without being able to decide if it was with shame or secret delight, or possibly both. Saturday morning still bothered her. Salvador had not contacted her since their arrival back in Valencia on Saturday, though that was hardly unusual given his family obligations and the demands of her own business. But it might also mean that they had had their last fling, in which case those photos mattered mu
ch more.

  Suddenly it really hit her. Her phone had copies of her client receipts and payments going back several years. If ORS understood what it possessed it would mean ORS could more or less demand whatever repayments it liked. The evidence, the individual transactions, the linkages were all there.

  Her cold sweat returned, but this time with an Arctic vigour that not even the best linen suit could soak up fast enough. Mierda, mierda, mierda.

  The only good news was that she had deliberately devised her own inside-out system for recording all these receipts and payments. Wrapped up in triple-layered, interconnected spreadsheets these should be impenetrable to everybody but herself, or that was her intention.

  Marta breathed a modest sigh of relief. In addition, this data was in encrypted folders, unlike the photos. That combination should be sufficient to keep her business secrets safe.

  The more she thought about what to do the fewer options there seemed to be.

  Regarding Salvador and the photos, there was little point in telling him, even if they were prime fodder for blackmail. After all, she had agreed with him to delete those of him erect and of them both together. But she hadn't, because it had entertained her at night to peek at them and remember. He would only blame her, and with justice, if he knew what she feared had happened. It would not be a good way to salvage Saturday, if indeed repair was possible or desirable. No, there was no getting round it. This was an uncertainty that Marta would have to live with. Who knows? It may even come in useful. After all, she still had the originals on her smartphone, though it might be a good idea to shift these off to her computer, though Marta was sure she no longer wanted to look at Salvador.

  The receipts and payments information bothered her less. Although a part of her said she ought to tell Alfredo about them, Marta did not want him to know the extent of her personal record-keeping. This had always been her personal insurance in case any client or recipient of one of her payments tried threatening her. While Alfredo was an ally today, he might not be tomorrow. Plus she could not immediately think of an innocent way to explain their existence without telling him much more than she would feel comfortable with.

  The trouble was, this left Puri in a sort of middle ground. Puri was the one person who had done nothing wrong. She was on the verge of becoming an intimate friend, two mutual spirits together. Sadly that budding friendship might need to die a premature death for the sake of protecting her own interests.

  She didn't like this conclusion. But, if that was how it must be, so be it.

  Wednesday: Central Madrid

  The Audiencia Nacional is a special court with jurisdiction across all of Spain. Created in 1977 shortly after Franco's death but before full modern democracy was established, it replaced the much hated and fascist Tribunal de Orden Público and had unexpectedly survived through the drawn-out Transición process after Franco's demise.

  Based in Madrid, the Audiencia Nacional works through a number of specialist Salas, including the Sala de lo Penal (the Criminal Chamber), which has the authority to investigate certain types of particularly serious crimes, like terrorism, money laundering, genocide, etc. It also handles extradition requests and crimes of a sufficiently serious nature to transcend Comunidad boundaries. The Audiencia Nacional headquarters are in the Salamanca district of Madrid, although the Sala de lo Penal operates from a building on the other side of the Paseo de la Castellana.

  It was to this latter place that Pedro led his group for the meeting with Juez de Instrucción Garibey de Williams. Before leaving Alcobendas, he warned all about the judge who was fiercely independent, albeit entering the last phase of his career before retirement. What he had not added was that the Juez had enjoyed a mixed career of great success in his youth but indifference in recent years. Personally, Pedro held him in great regard, having seen Juez Garibey face down personal threats in the pursuit of just results. It would be good if he could retire with a bang rather than the whimper most people now expected. He also advised that the judge should formally be addressed as Señoría if they should have to appear before him.

  On arrival at the courts he took them through to an outer waiting room where he asked them to remain. He went through to the judge's assistant and was rapidly shown into Juez Garibey's main working room, which was large enough to hear witnesses as well as contain their arrays of lawyers. He found the Juez alone.

  Juez Garibey smiled at Pedro, genuinely pleased to see someone who had supported one of his more difficult investigations some years back, in spite of judicial superiors seeking to frustrate their progress.

  Greeting Pedro, Garibey said, "It's a long time since you appeared before me. Your request intrigues me. Is that good or bad?"

  "I'm well, Señoría. It's good to see you too."

  "You don't need to be so formal with me in private. You know that."

  "If I may, I'd prefer to be in the hope that it will help my clarity."

  "That sounds more ominous. Okay, if that's how you prefer it, please continue. Tell me what you have and what you want from me."

  "It's complicated, Señoría. There are many players to start with in a complex opening position and with substantial downstream consequences. That is, if you agree that more investigations should proceed. Before describing those whom I will refer to as the 'initial players', this concerns systematic corruption across Comunidad boundaries and may reach to the highest levels of government, business and beyond."

  "That places it firmly within this Sala's remit. On the phone you also mentioned the B Accounts?"

  "You'll recall that this was where a supplementary set of accounts, what became known as the 'B Accounts', were found in a handwritten ledger belonging to a past political party treasurer. On the one side were recorded apparent receipts of payments made to this treasurer; on the other side were lists of payments to party members, as well as various organisations for services rendered to the political party."

  "I remember." Judge Garibey pondered, before recalling to Pedro that the principle problem had been that, even though various handwriting experts testified these B Accounts were in the treasurer's own handwriting, there was no external proof that what was written was the truth. This applied particularly to the cash payments out. The treasurer could've been paying those he listed in the B Accounts, or equally he could've been lining his own or other people's pockets and 'recording' well-known names as a false trail. There was no evidence one way or the other. Indeed, the only way to verify what was written down was if someone listed as a recipient in his B Accounts came forward to admit accepting cash payments. Nobody was that foolish. Further progress on the B Accounts was not able to occur, however much people might believe in their probable veracity.

  "Would that be a fair summary?"

  "Sadly, Señoría, it would. Which brings me to today. I believe, through a strange set of incidents, that we not only may have another set of B Accounts, but also sufficient detail on both sides of the books to prove not only the sources of illicit receipts but also that many illicit payments out went to verifiable recipients, in ways where denial would be next to impossible."

  "Ah ha! I see where you're going. Tell me more."

  "Having set the overall scene I need to make you aware of those I referred to as 'the initial players'. Forgive me, but your mind may boggle at the unlikelihood of what I am going to recount. It starts with the Spanish subsidiary of a US company which uses software to identify apparent over-payments made by purchasing departments to suppliers, to keep it simple."

  "You call that simple, Pedro? What will the rest be like?"

  "This company is called OverPayment Recovery Services SL, normally shortened to ORS, and the business appears to be genuine. Its US parent has been around for more than a decade and has some prestigious and internationally recognisable clients. In Spain ORS has three principle clients at present: MMH, ServiArquitectos and Constructores Equilibris. Each of these has retained ORS in hope that its capabilities will identify and afterw
ards recover monies which those three companies believe might be owing to them."

  Hearing these names, Juez Garibey's eyes gleamed. All were familiar, if with varying reputations.

  Pedro continued by naming the principal of ORS as an American called Felipe Garcia-Martín. With Mexican parents Señor Garcia-Martín was brought up in Texas. He spoke Spanish at home, hence why he was appointed to Madrid to open a local subsidiary.

  Among others working for Señor Garcia-Martín was Pedro's remote cousin, a young woman by the name of Ana de la Rosa. Pedro volunteered that their families, though not closely connected by blood, did occasionally gather together which was why he knew her and why Ana had brought him into this whole affair after the next 'initial player' sought external guidance because of his high opinion of her. While she had a law degree she had chosen not to practice law.

  That next player was an Englishman, born of a Spanish mother, who has been working as a consultant to ORS. By coincidence, Pedro said, he had first met him in the case of the Israeli who took refuge in El Al's diplomatically immune corner of Barajas airport. Davide Shape was his name.

  Juez Garibey nodded, by now fascinated at this roll call of the improbable.

  "I can speak personally for Davide Shape's integrity from my own experience of the Barajas incident. More relevantly, I know his quality to be verifiable by both Interpol and for work he performed for the Vatican."

  At this, Juez Garibey's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. He waited for more.

  "Connected to both Davide Shape and Interpol is an Australian called Caterina Certaldo. She was also involved that Barajas/El Al affair. At the time she was working for Interpol, having been seconded there from the Australian Crime Commission. She is, to put it in her then boss' words, a genius with computers and especially software. She created the situation you now face, by accident, she maintains.