Taking Stock

by C J West

  “Ok with you, Erica?” Marty asked.

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “It’s settled then. Herman will do the financial screen and Sarah will show you what we’ve gathered to date. Take the work home with you and stay out of the office until Herman’s research is done. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s safest for everyone.”

  Staying away from the office would make her feel safer, too.

  “Good. Anything else we need to discuss?” Marty asked.

  Herman raised half out of his chair.

  “One thing,” Erica said firmly. “I don’t think Brad could do this alone. The evidence has been extremely well concealed for a very long time. I’m convinced he had help, maybe high up.”

  “Are you saying Brad’s incompetent?”

  “Let’s say he’s adequate and our thief is brilliant. I just don’t think Brad could have kept this hidden from me for this long.”

  “Aren’t we full of ourselves?” Herman snipped.

  Erica ignored the quip and addressed her thoughts to Marty. “This involves more than just programming. There were lots of complaints and other evidence that needed to be covered up. I’m sure Brad had help. I wouldn’t rule out anyone at this point.” Erica rolled her head toward Herman as she said this and he nearly exploded.

  He said nothing, but his face reddened and his eyes looked like they’d launch from their sockets.

  Marty didn’t seem all that surprised.

  “I suggest we search Brad’s office and his apartment, check his phone records and see who he was talking to. It might lead us to his partner. If we do it quickly, we might catch him before he runs.”

  “We’re not the police,” Herman growled.

  “That didn’t stop you from searching my office,” Erica said.

  There was a big difference between searching company property and an employee’s apartment, but there was a lot at stake for Marty and his family. Solving this case quietly meant everything to Marty, but Herman was convinced Erica was guilty and didn’t want to hear anything new. If Erica was going to solve this, she’d have to go elsewhere for help. After that morning, she was comfortable with the police for the first time since she was four years old.

  Sarah interrupted to Herman’s chagrin, “Stan has connections with the Boston Police. He can help us get Brad’s apartment searched, but that means we’ll have to let them know what we’re looking for.”

  Marty stiffened at her mention of the police. He might have had his own key to Brad’s apartment, but he didn’t offer it.

  All he said was: “Do it.”

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Brad paced around his cell with the lawyer’s words ringing in his ears. Assault with a deadly weapon with intent to murder, no priors except a drug offense, probably one-to-two unless they connected the attempt the day before. If the jury believed he’d tried twice, he’d get five-to-ten. The videotape was a killer. It showed a blurry, blue figure in the foreground and Brad leaning against a tree, shooting it twice, and running away.

  The prosecutors would argue premeditation. The police had time to mount the camera, set out the dummy and wait. Brad wanted to argue entrapment, but the lawyer didn’t see how setting out a dummy invited him to shoot it. The trial would be short, a maximum sentence likely. Brad’s lawyer already wanted to make a deal for two years. If he knew about the embezzlement, he’d have offered the deal already.

  The guy wasn’t worth two hundred an hour. The most important thing he’d done was call Herman, something Brad couldn’t do from his cell. The bail hearing followed in record time, but the bail was set at one hundred fifty thousand, another sign the lawyer was failing him. Brad would pay any amount to get out. He had the money. He just couldn’t get to it.

  Time was everything now. Sarah and Stan saw his arrest in the park. By now they’d be ripping his life apart, searching his office, his apartment, his car. The notebook! Brad grabbed the bars as if he could pull them apart. His bag in the trunk held the audio tapes of him talking to Herman and the notebook. The tapes weren’t very specific, but they’d be enough for the cops to identify the players and the basics of the scam. Once they had that, the numbers in the notebook would start to make sense. Vincent’s telephone number, Erica’s bank account number, and his Swiss account number were all listed inside. The notebook linked him to murder, embezzlement, and conspiracy. If they found the right Swiss bank, the money from his account would be confiscated while he sat helplessly in this musty cell.

  At least the money in the farmhouse was safe. He hadn’t left a single clue to its whereabouts. The tight stacks would be there in the wall when he got out. He just hoped he’d be young enough to enjoy them.

  Sharon and Marty refused to help. They could afford the bail, but not the embarrassment. Brad had the money, too. The lawyer could get his account number and code from the bag in the Corvette, but once he had it, he could take everything. Brad thought of people he might send to the farmhouse, but he imagined each of them ripping the walls apart, taking the money and flying off. Every scenario left him alone in the cell.

  “Foster, you have a visitor,” a voice boomed down the concrete hall.

  Brad didn’t know if Marty and Sharon had come through with his bail or if Sarah and Stan had come to grill him. The guard escorted him to a series of booths facing a plexiglass wall. He sat opposite a stiff man in a brown suit, late fifties with a long, narrow face.

  The man picked up the phone and introduced himself as Russell Egan.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to help.”

  “Sharon and Marty send you?”

  “No, a mutual friend. You called him, I believe.”

  Brad recalled the first time Herman whispered a tip about a stock that was going to tank. Every moment since had run straight downhill to this cell. Payback was coming. Herman was about to save him five-to-ten.

  “I can get you out, but I have some conditions.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Never contact my client again.”

  “Done.”

  “I’ll argue your defense and you’ll follow my instructions precisely.”

  Brad agreed, but no matter what Russell said, he was leaving the country. No lawyer could win this case.

  Thirty minutes later, Brad watched Russell hand his passport over the counter. The original was in his bag in the Corvette’s trunk. How Russell could get into an impounded vehicle without his permission was beyond him, so he assumed the passport was a phony.

  Russell’s car was a long black sedan with tinted windows. Brad stretched out on the plush, back seat and watched Russell fight his way onto the expressway.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Providence. They’ll be looking for your face in Boston.”

  “How about papers?”

  “All set and waiting.”

  Brad wondered how long it would be before the police found the bag in his trunk. They hadn’t opened it yet or they wouldn’t have released him. When they eventually played the tapes, they’d launch a man hunt for Herman Richards and Brad Foster. Brad would have started a new life as Jean-Claude Verrier by then. That would be justice. Herman would get what he deserved and Brad would end up with twenty million in cash.

  Russell drove faster than the speed limit, but not fast enough to attract attention. The pace bored Brad. He imagined himself on a warm sandy beach watching well-tanned young women parade past in colorful bikinis. He wouldn’t settle right away. He’d sample a few islands, anywhere with a steady stream of tourists. Rio would be his first stop.

  Russell turned off the highway and stopped the car alongside a river trimmed with intricate stone work. Pedestrians walked within a few feet of Brad’s window.

  “We’re going to dinner,” Russell announced and stepped outside.

  Brad hadn’t eaten well in jail, but the sudden stop had him feeling out of control. “Why here?”

  “The food’s good. Trust me, you
’ll like it.”

  “Can’t we eat at the airport?”

  “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

  Apparently he did.

  “I can’t help you skip bail. I’ll lose my law license. We’re going to part ways publicly. We’re going in together and leaving separately. After I’ve been gone awhile, you come outside and I’ll pick you up.”

  They passed a dozen empty parking spaces on the walk and Brad had a feeling Russell was taking the cloak-and-dagger a bit too far. Russell turned down a side street and pointed to the next corner. “When you leave, go to the corner and turn right. I’ll be waiting halfway down.”

  Brad wondered if he’d really be there, but being ditched in Providence was far better than the cell he’d come from. He followed Egan into the restaurant. If he disappeared, Brad would find his own ride to the airport.

  Three women in long summer dresses sat at the bar. Beyond them, couples chatted at small tables scattered around the room. The men were dressed much like Russell, in suits or at least ties and the women wore light summer dresses. Brad’s faded jeans and torn shirt were all wrong. On a younger man the look might have worked, but at his age the outfit smelled of gardening or worse, prison. He’d buy some new clothes when he landed.

  Russell chose a seat just a few steps from the door even though the restaurant was half empty. The stream of footsteps at his back made Brad edgy, but he enjoyed dinner despite the lousy seat. Russell was well traveled and suggested several places for Brad to visit. Brad discussed his flights around France and Italy and watched several couples at tables nearby. He didn’t notice how quickly Russell ate until he pushed his empty plate forward and dabbed gently at the corners of his mouth. Brad’s plate was half-full when Russell announced, a bit too loudly, that he had a late appointment and needed to go. He slipped two hundred dollars across the table and whispered, “Give me twenty minutes.”

  Russell stood up and extended a hand to Brad as the waitress approached from the bar. “I’ll see you Monday. It was good to meet you, Mr. Foster.”

  “Was everything ok?” the waitress asked.

  “Wonderful as always. I’m late for an appointment, but my friend will take good care of you.” Egan winked at the waitress and marched to the door.

  Brad filled twenty minutes watching faces around the restaurant. He focused on the three women at the bar. What would they say if he asked them to run away with him to live on some exotic beach halfway around the world? Would they believe him? Could anyone drop everything and move on a whim? He knew it was too late, but he romanticized about the opportunity he could offer. How many women would jump at the chance for a life of leisure? He remembered women he’d dated and wished he could take with him, but there was no time.

  He left the two hundred on the table without waiting for change and found Russell in the car where he said he’d be. Brad decided he’d be safer up front and climbed in. Russell didn’t protest. He shifted into gear and they were underway.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Sarah felt a flash of panic when Herman closed the heavy wooden door. Staffers were leaving the office in droves and by the time this discussion was over, there’d be few people left to witness her exit. Thoughts of physical harm were irrational here in the CEO’s office. Marty was a gentle old guy, smaller in stature than she. Still she was wary.

  It was Herman’s glib look in the doorway that had her on edge. She’d been to visit Brad earlier and been told he’d made bail. Frightening that he could be arrested for attempted murder – witnessed by seven police officers and videotaped – and released the next day on bail. Power had its privileges. Erica’s theories about Brad’s partners seemed conservative. His network covered his mistakes in the office and on the outside as well.

  Erica had gone back into hiding when she heard the news. No wonder. He’d tried to kill her twice. He’d stolen her work and planted evidence in her office. How far did his influence stretch? She wondered if Herman’s persecution of Erica was driven by his investigative instincts or an obligation to Brad. Gooseflesh rose up on her arms as Herman circled behind her and took a seat on the corner of Marty’s desk.

  “Do you know where Erica is?”

  “I haven’t seen her since this morning. You told her to leave pending the background check,” Sarah said.

  “Good thing I did.” Herman took a few pages from the desk, leaned over and dropped them in Sarah’s lap. He operated with frightening efficiency. In just a few hours he’d summarized Erica’s financial life into a stack of laser-printed pages.

  The first thing Sarah noticed was the size of the direct deposit: almost double her own. The balance wasn’t significant though, and a search through a few months of statements yielded the explanation in the form of a significant check to Northeastern University. Her 401(k) was typically meager for someone her age. Nothing looked that surprising, nothing to warrant Herman’s excitement, until she reached the final page of the stack. The checking account was in a different bank than the one that received her direct deposit. The page showed only two transactions. An initial deposit of one hundred dollars two years earlier and a ten million dollar deposit two weeks earlier.

  Herman smiled broadly when she looked up.

  “I was just as surprised,” Marty said.

  “We’d like to give her an opportunity to explain before we call the police,” Herman said smugly.

  Herman wanted to do this personally.

  Marty probably harbored some secret hope that she’d give the money back, help the firm avoid the negative press, and save his embattled career from imploding. They stood waiting, expecting her to jump from her chair, run out and drag Erica to justice. But it didn’t fit. The ten million was deposited weeks ago, but its appearance, like the gun in her desk drawer seemed too convenient, too careless for a woman as smart as Erica. Stan’s assessment was starting to make sense. She wasn’t the type. The man who was had just vanished from a jail cell.

  Herman and Marty seemed angered with her unwillingness to flip-flop.

  Herman put a heavy hand on her shoulder rousing her from her thoughts. “Sarah,” he said, jolting her to attention. “This will go better for all concerned if you help us. With everyone in the same room we can figure this out. We don’t want a public spectacle, but this needs to be resolved. There’s no avoiding it. We need your help to bring her in.”

  To cover this up, she wanted to say. “Why? So you can lynch her?”

  “Surely, you don’t still believe she’s innocent.”

  “It doesn’t fit. She’s smarter than this.”

  “We won’t know until we talk to her.”

  “There’s much more to this than ten million dollars. Someone planted the money like they planted the gun.”

  “Ludicrous! Who’d give her ten million dollars? Certainly not me,” Marty said.

  “You think Brad gave her ten million? Sounds extreme. I know you want to believe her. And yeah, it’s easy to believe this is Brad’s fault. He’s a gruff character. Unfortunately, the facts say otherwise,” Herman said.

  “Only your facts,” she blurted. In the open air the words had more stinging realism that she expected. The gun was found in the office with Herman in the room. The financial review was Herman’s doing. He was pushing Erica’s guilt on Sarah and it seemed everything he touched pointed to Erica. Sarah couldn’t believe Herman was involved, but his objectivity was doubtful. She imagined Brad and Herman were friends since they were both V.P.s. They’d stick up for each other no matter what.

  Herman went silent.

  Marty looked like John Kerry trying to decide which side of this issue he should jump to.

  Herman didn’t wait to find out. He walked toward Sarah. She expected him to break into a fit of rage, but he stood back and crossed his arms.

  He began in a gentler tone than she expected. “You need to figure out whose team you’re on. We’re trying to bring this thing to a close and we could use your help. I don’t know what she sa
id to you, but shake it off. You need to wake up and take an objective look at the facts.”

  Exactly what she thought he needed to do.

  The lack of emotion in his voice was scary. He desperately wanted Erica in the office. He wanted to scream, maybe even grab her by the throat, but he managed a calm, even voice that betrayed none of what he was feeling. She was more afraid of him now than when she came in. The bald-headed chameleon disguised his thoughts and emotions better than she thought possible. He was playing a game, justice was secondary. She couldn’t imagine what he’d do to Erica if he got his hands on her.

  She took a deep breath and addressed Marty. “I think it’s time to call for help. We need someone who has the authority to track the money that left here and find out where it ended up. I can’t believe Erica would do this, just like Herman can’t believe Brad would do it. I think we need to let the money – all of the money – connect the dots.”

  Silence.

  Neither man looked at the other, nor made the slightest of movements.

  “Ok, Sarah,” Marty said after a long pause.

  Herman gasped, incensed at being overruled again.

  “We’ll get you the help you want. I’ll make the call myself if that will make you feel better, but I want you to talk to Erica and see what you can do about getting her in here. Agreed?”

  Sarah nodded, unsure how she’d deliver on her end of the deal or even if she’d try.

  “I’m counting on both of you to keep this thing from exploding in my face. It this gets out in the wrong light, it will be catastrophic for BFS. This may be just a job to the two of you, but this company has been in my family for over a hundred years. You can’t imagine how important this is to me. I want to get it right no matter how many people we have to drag in here.”

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  The afternoon traffic was light south of Providence and soon the car circled along the exit ramp and sped down the access road to the airport. Russell picked up the phone and dialed. “We’re almost there,” he said without a greeting.