The welcome aroma of coffee filled the kitchen. I followed the scent, half stumbling, half walking, in desperate need of some strong black coffee and a couple of aspirins. Cami looked far too perky as she put the finishing touches on a plate of sliced fruit. I managed to offer a lackluster, “Good morning.”
I knew I must have looked and felt like something that had been dragged out of Lake Washington more dead than alive. And Cami? She was gorgeous. Hair styled and makeup perfect. She handed me a cup of the rich brown liquid. “Here you go. I poured it for myself, but you look like you need it more than me. I guess Kate is still asleep.”
~31~
After breakfast we set up our laptops on the dining room table. Kate helped me bring the printer down from my office and we quickly established a local network on my wireless router so we could each print anything that looked important. I took one flash drive, Kate took the other and Cami grabbed the stack she copied from the file cabinet. All of us concentrated on sorting through papers. A plot worthy of a corporate spy movie was unfolding right in my own dining room.
Our first surprise was how far some of the documents went back. It looked like it began when Julia headed a marketing department in the D.C. office, well before CRS became a separate division located in Seattle. Whatever we were in the process of uncovering had been going on a long time.
We planned to attack the financial files and a few other documents Kate had found and saved on the flash drives after we’d gone through all of the emails.
Outside of comments like, “Wait till you see this one,” or “I can’t believe this really happened,” the three of us were completely immersed in plowing through what was slowly developing into an apparent plot to bilk the government out of millions.
Kate grabbed a sheaf of papers from the printer and said, “They are so friggin’ screwed. This stuff is great!” Then she glanced at her watch and added, “Damn. It’s one-thirty already. I’m hungry. How about you two?”
We jotted dates, comments, the addressee and recipient and every type of suspicious information each page contained on a yellow lined pad. In addition, we used sticky notes to add comments on many of the pages. Everything on our hand-written list was coded. ‘O’ meant order, we used ‘P’ for payment, and ‘M’ for miscellaneous.
There’s a corny saying that time flies when you’re having a good time, and we were definitely doing that. I was ravenous, but didn’t want to go anywhere where there might be even a remote chance of running into Matt. As far as he knew, Kate and Cami had gone home.
“Hey, Kate, now that you mention it, I’m hungry, too. I’m afraid Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is pretty bare, though. We can order from a great Chinese place that delivers. I’ve got their menu in the kitchen.”
I stretched my stiff legs and looked around what we were now calling Mission Central. We were on the brink of putting together the pieces and it was going to be huge. I could feel it in every part of my body. Much bigger than cheating sales reps out of commissions. Whatever was happening at CRS, it could land Julia and her buddies in a world of trouble.
When the food was delivered we took a short break. It’s hard to speak with a mouthful of Chinese food from Wan Q’s. Theirs is the best. Between some beef Broccoli and Shrimp in Lobster Sauce, Kate managed to say, “It’s beginning to look like you were right.”
She tapped a place on her yellow pad before picking up several printed sheets. “All of these refer to that supplier Alaric Fabricators—you know, the one you said you didn’t recognize back when this first started. Some of the orders mentioned are pretty large. As I recall, you said you had never seen copies of any of the ones earmarked for HRF commissions but that they were all for merchandise supplied directly by Alaric. Where do you suppose those orders are?”
I considered that for a moment. I’d been asking myself the same question. “Well, there might be hard copies in Julia’s locked file at the office. I really didn’t see anything in the commission tracking software in our accounting program. When Matt told me about it, I wondered how she came up with the figures for what he called “pass-throughs.” No one had ever mentioned that to me before and without paperwork for actual orders, there wouldn’t have been any way to justify commission payments to her mysterious HRF. Just for the record, at this point I really wonder where that money went. I don’t trust the explanation Julia and Matt gave me. Does it sound phony to you?”
Kate and Cami answered at the same time, both agreeing something was really wrong and it appeared HRF and Alaric were right at the heart of whatever it was. Kate polished off more shrimp, then said, “Imagine, if you hadn’t spotted HRF in Julia’s reports, I might not have paid any attention to emails mentioning Alaric.”
We devoured the last of the Mandarin Orange Chicken, Shrimp in Lobster Sauce, and Minced Squab in Lettuce Wraps while discussing more of what we’d seen. A devious scheme involving HRF and Alaric was evolving right before our eyes.
Cami said, “I found some stuff about that Alaric company, too. Here’s another thing. Everything with the subject line SUPPDEP relates to some Supply Depot order.”
I nodded. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that all three of the guys I saw talking with Matt at the party are contracting officers for one of the military supply depots on what appear to be pass-through orders. Each of those guys were from different states.”
We dumped the paper plates, bags and the cute pink Wan Q boxes in the garbage and got back to the task of wading through the balance of the emails.
With our hunger pangs satisfied, we worked for several more hours. By that evening, we had a pretty good idea of what we were looking at. Reading email after email had been exhausting, but the research was worth it and would be a great help when we tackled the financial files the next day. We were committed to nailing our three crooked colleagues and I was more certain than ever now we would.
“Why do you suppose Bruce chose the name Ghost for his identity?”
Cami offered, “Maybe it was because the Bruce with his fingers in the till was a ghost to his ultra rich friends.”
“Yeah, and I can imagine Julia seething every time she saw him with his socialite wife. Even though they seem to be in it together, I think she would love to turn him into a real ghost.”
“Do you suppose Bruce is socking away his share without his wife suspecting he has a healthy cash flow of his own?”
Kate looked thoughtful. “Maybe, but that’s not the point. Whatever happens between him and his wife is none of our business.”
You know how fatigue can make you feel like a limp rag doll? At this point we were all drained and in desperate need of a break. I wasn’t sure if we should go out for dinner and chance being spotted, but Cami said she was getting claustrophobic staying in. So we piled into the Mercedes and drove across the bridge to a place I like in Bellevue. Mario’s is a little bistro about half-an-hour from where I live. Although I really didn’t feel like driving that far, Cami kept insisting she had to get out. I was certain we wouldn’t run into anyone I knew there.
The pungent aroma of garlic greeted us before we even opened the heavy oak door inset with a stained glass window that spelled out “Mario’s” in fancy green script. Chianti bottles hung from the ceiling, the bar was populated with happy people and the lights were dim. Who could ask for more? The host knew me by name and seated us in my favorite comfortable red leather booth in the back, out of sight from the other diners.
A while later steaming platters of Eggplant Parmesan, Mario’s Manicotti and Chicken Diablo covered the red checked tablecloth. We washed our feast down with a great bottle of Chianti and topped off the meal with generous servings of Tiramisu and a second bottle of Chianti.
Back at the townhouse, swathed in robes and slippers, we kicked back to go through more of our notes while the Italians and Chinese fought it out in our digestive tracts. By eleven that night, we had a pretty good picture of what we thought the scam was, but little did we realize how many mor
e surprises were in store.
~32~
Despite feeling more exhausted than I had in a long time, I still felt compelled to continue checking. I think we all felt the same—exhausted but hyped. I kept staring at pages from the copied financial files, memos and notes until my eyes refused to work in harmony. I actually found myself seeing double. Normally double vision would have terrified me, but I knew what was causing it. It had happened several years before when I had a bad case of eye strain.
Cami opened her cornflower blue eyes unusually wide, obviously trying to stay awake, too. “Have you found anything more? I hope we got the right stuff. What a childish bookkeeping system.”
Before I could answer, a gentle snore from the easy chair next to the sofa told us Kate had succumbed to the lure of dreamland.
I yawned. “You know what? I’m going to have to give in and put this aside until tomorrow morning. I’ve looked at the same line five times now and it’s as though I’m looking at nothing. I’m so tired I can’t even think.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess we’ve done all we can today. Can’t wait to get back into this stuff tomorrow, though.” She reached over and gave Kate a little nudge. Kate’s eyes flew open in confusion. She sat up straight, looked around, a silly smile spreading across her pretty face. “Guess I conked out. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. We’re all in the same shape.” I turned out the lights. “See you guys in the morning. We should be fresh and feisty by then.”
That night I dreamt Matt was sitting at his desk counting stacks of money. He turned at the sound of a door opening. Bruce entered the room flashing a Hollywood smile. Matt mouthed, “Thanks for the inheritance, Granny.” Bruce smiled back. “My pleasure, Kid.”
It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out what that dream was about, although they say things in dreams are rarely what you think they are. Thinking about my dream, I decided it had to be accurate—forget about looking for symbolism. Bruce had taken on the identity of Matt’s dearly departed grandmother—the source of his “inherited” money.
• • • • •
The hypnotic aroma of hazelnut coffee drew me down the stairs. Bless her. Cami had brewed a fresh pot. She gave me a little wave as she poured a cup. She set it down on one of the fancy placemats I’d treated myself to during a shopping frenzy and she trilled, “Pull out a chair. I’m making a baked omelet. How do you like your toast, light or well done?”
Funny. I never thought of her as domestic, and here she was “mother-henning” us. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t complaining. Au contraire, I was loving it. I hadn’t been mothered in a long time. Kate stumbled in a few minutes later and we devoured Cami’s culinary creation in silence.
A few hours later, there we were back at the grind, attempting to analyze the rest of the purloined information. Kate mused, “You have to applaud whoever came up with this scam. I have a feeling whatever it finally turns out to be, it’s going to be really simple—and brilliant.”
The more we studied it, the more we realized how well it would have worked if only three women named Kimberly, Kate and Cameron hadn’t been snooping around.
One of Julia’s “notes to the file” revealed an important piece of information—the address of the elusive Alaric Fabricators. It appeared the company was located in City of Industry, California which, as its name suggests, is home to many manufacturing businesses.
We found copies of several orders to FACR from military supply depots and logistics warehouses. Kate had pulled them and clipped them to copies of corresponding orders from FACR to Alaric Fabricators. When I put one and one together, it didn’t total two—it equaled pass-through in big, bold letters. I also knew I’d never seen any of them.
There were orders signed by each of the three men Matt had engaged during the meeting and a few others. As we had discovered earlier, some went back to a time before CRS was in existence. The whole thing was turning into a paper trail that reeked to high heaven.
Cami tapped a stack of orders. “Did you notice that most of these are for workstations that normally require space planning designs? I don’t see any design orders, so that’s a bit strange.”
Kate added, “I’ll say it’s strange. I did have one fellow try to put through an order like that when I first started. The contracting officer said that particular Facilities Manager had a highly inflated opinion of himself and got huffy about having to pay for design. The officer chuckled when he said the guy claimed he was perfectly capable of doing an easy thing like mapping out the workstations and listing the components from the catalog. The order was allowed to go through to teach the jerk a lesson.
“But that’s never supposed to happen for products that require space planning.”
“Right you are and apparently it was a disaster just waiting to happen. When we received the order we sent him a letter saying there was too much margin for error and if he insisted upon no design services he had to sign a disclaimer accepting all costs for errors. It could have run into tens of thousands of dollars. He finally backed down and we designed the job.”
“Well, I didn’t see one design order in the batch. They shouldn’t have been processed as stock orders. This style must be designed professionally according to a space plan or the order kicks back.” I tapped the pile. “There are so many of them, it comes to millions of dollars. Besides that, there were orders for a few thousand task chairs and some little rolling storage cubes—you know, the ones that become guest seating by placing a cushion on top.”
We agreed that except for the lack of design services, nothing else would have thrown up a red flag. Different products are made at different prisons and as I studied the details something else struck me. The main manufacturing plant for those particular workstations, chairs and storage cubes was none other than Paradise Hills Federal Prison.
I picked up a batch of papers. “Here’s something else that’s weird. Every one of the orders filled by Alaric Fabricators was marked “rush” on the corresponding FACR order. They all cited delivery dates that Paradise couldn’t possibly meet. According to what Matt said, the tight delivery dates instantly qualified them for pass-through. Still, that in itself doesn’t prove anything.”
Kate walked over to my big picture window and gazed out at the lake, obviously trying to figure out where I was going with this. I decided not to play games.
“When I realized every one of those orders was also marked warehouse stock, I began to see a pattern. You both know sometimes warehouse stock can sit in depots or warehouses for years until it’s needed.”
Cami bit her lip before cracking a little smile. “Too many coincidences. I guess it’s possible, but that doesn’t mean it’s probable. We are speaking about lots of orders placed in an unusual way.”
“I’ve heard stories where warehouse stock was ordered with year-end money and then exactly the same things got ordered the following year.” Kate tapped her pencil against her chin. “Sometimes those year-end orders are stored so far back in the warehouse they’re completely forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.”
I took in everything they said. “Well, we all know the old use it or lose it rule with federal funding. If they don’t use funding, they lose it the following year. Lots of these orders were actually placed in the fourth quarter, and that does suggest year-end money. But if they’re for stock, why mark them rush?”
The more we talked, the more I realized what a brilliant embezzlement scheme Bruce, Julia and Matt had cooked up. On the surface, it appeared that every one of those orders was manufactured at Paradise Prison. As long as FACR sent the invoice to the customer in the normal manner and the crooked contracting officer signed off for payment, Alaric could then submit their own invoice for fulfilling the pass-through, and would get paid by the government as a subcontractor. Each contract totaled hundreds of thousands of dollars. A very neat package, indeed.
“So let me get this clear,” Kate said grabbing a handful of printouts and shuffling through
them. “We agree Alaric is suspect. Three contracting officers, probably more, are placing rush orders that will most likely gather dust in a warehouse for who knows how long. However, the rush status lets them be subcontracted to Alaric Fabricators who fills all of them and gets paid by FACR.”
Cami mumbled, “Yeah, and none of us get commissions on any of them because that money goes to something called HRF or what Julia wrote off as House Referral Fund.”
Kate’s eyes flashed with angry intensity, her mouth set in a thin line.
I nodded. “Yep. That’s about the size of it, my friends.”
Cami looked totally confused. “Well, call me dense but I don’t get it. How do Julia, Matt and Bruce profit from this? Do you suppose this Alaric is paying kickbacks to them and the HRF money goes to the contracting officers for their part?”
“Well, sort of, but not exactly. I think it’s much deeper than that and it’s going to take longer than the few days we’ve taken off to figure it out. My guess is although all of those invoices did go through the system, Julia managed to keep me from seeing any of them. I think I may know what’s happening and if I’m right, it will blow your minds. Let’s spread some of this out on the living room floor so we can look at everything at one time. I have no doubt Alaric is at the bottom of it, but I feel like I’m missing some pieces. Sort of like when a word is on the tip of your tongue. You know it’s there, but can’t grab it.”
With a shake of her auburn locks, Kate said, “Spit it out mastermind. What do you think we’re looking at here? A few million in kickback money?”
“At least.”
Kate reflected for a moment. “The thing I don’t get is why they would bother cheating the reps out of their commissions. It seems so small in comparison.”
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