Authors: Michael A Kahn
Face Value (20 page)
Bertie Tomaso and I met again in his office at the end of the following week. He'd called to see if I could drop by that afternoon.
He'd been running interference for me since our last meetingâin part to keep the federal agents out of my hair and in larger part to make sure that the St. Louis Police Department didn't get squeezed out of the investigation. As he apparently reminded his federal counterparts at every opportunity, the only potential victim anyone had identified to date was Sari Bashir. Even though he saw little basis to change her cause of death, he had reopened her file to use primarily as a placeholder with the feds.
Meanwhile, the federal investigation of Structured Resolutions had stalled.
He gave me an amused grin. “The great and powerful Feebs are getting nowhere.”
“Really?”
“They can't find any financial records. They're not ready to label it a criminal enterprise, but if it is, the odds are good that one or more of those four lawyersâOlsen, Warner, Brenner, or Teeverâcould be a ringleader. The one thing they don't want to do at this stage is spook the ringleader. You'd be surprised how many white-collar criminals have fled to a safe haven with the Feds hot on their tails. Remember Marc Rich, the sleazebag financier that Bill Clinton eventually pardoned?”
“Vaguely.”
“He flew to Switzerland the moment he got wind of his pending indictment. That's what they're afraid of here. That Mozambique angle has them nervous.”
“Have they interviewed anyone?”
“Rob Brenner. They brought him in for questioning two days ago. But they did it with kid gloves. No hint of any investigation, criminal or otherwise. They assured him it was a routine bit of information-gathering for the regulators. They said that Structured Resolutions had turned up on a few federal tax returns and they were trying to get some basic information on the company. They said Brenner had been identified by the tax return-filer as someone with knowledge.”
“And?” I said.
Bertie shook his head. “Nada. Brenner played it well. He claimed he was nothing more than a happy investor who'd been approached by others interested in making an investment. He said all he did was pass along their names to the organization.”
“How did he do that?”
“He said he sent an email to the company with some basic information about the would-be investor. That was all. He understood that the company would contact the would-be investor and, if that person met the requirements, allow them to invest.”
“Did he give them the company's email address?”
Bertie nodded. “He did. And the feds accessed his private email records and were able to confirm that he had passed along fifteen names over the past two yearsâall wealthy individuals, all members of his country club. Each of those emails followed the format Brenner had described.”
“So where is the company located?”
“They have no idea.”
“But they have an email address.”
“True. I don't understand the technology side of it, but it's apparently untraceable. Some sort of Internet black hole. The first email gets automatically forwarded to a password-protected email account out of the country, and then gets forwarded to another and another until you eventually lose track.”
“So how does the investor get contacted?”
“According to Brenner, you receive a packet of materials via a private courier service, like FedEx or UPS. At least that's how he got contacted. You get the materials, fill out the application form, and then put it in a return envelope.”
“A return to where?”
“He doesn't remember. He doesn't think there is a return address, though. Just a customer number.”
“So what does he remember?”
“He said he got his approval in the mail, along with wire transfer instructions.”
“Which he no longer has,” I said.
“Of course. All he can recall is that it was a foreign-sounding bank. Anyway, he wired his money, got a confirmation in the mail, and now gets quarterly statements. They come in the mail from an undisclosed location overseas.”
“Do they believe him?” I asked.
Bertie shrugged. “They think he knows more than he's telling.”
“But?”
“They don't want to spook the ringleader, so they thanked him and told him he'd been quite helpful. They tried to give him the impression that he'd filled in enough of the blanks for them that they could close the matter and return to Washington.”
“So now what?”
He smiled. “Rachel Gold enters, stage left.”
“Oh, great. Let me guess: Brian Teever.”
“Yes and no.”
“Meaning?”
“Their concern is that an official federal interrogation of Teever will be a dead end, same as Brenner. Rather than haul him in and ratchet up the paranoia on the other side, they want a different approach.”
“What does that mean?”
“They want the pressure to come from a non-governmental source.”
“Explain.”
“Assuming this is in fact a Ponzi scheme, the bad guys need to be able to make sure no one panics. One way is to let any skeptics cash in their investments. That way the skeptics get their money, walk away happy, and no one is the wiser.”
“How does that help this investigation?”
“When Structured Resolutions refunds the investment, whether by wire transfer or check, it will create a financial trail that the feds can follow back to its source.”
“Where do I come in?”
“You know one of the investors.”
“Who?”
“That doctor you sued. Jeffrey Mason.”
“What about that list of names they got from Brenner's email account?”
“Three problems with that. First, the feds don't know which of those potential investors became actual investors. Second, even if they figured out who was an actual investor, the feds have no idea how to approach them without setting off alarms. And third, even if they found an actual investor and figured out how to approach him in some sort of disguise, the odds are likely that the investor would turn to Brenner, since he was the one who got them access to Structured Resolutions. Your guy, by contrast, got in via Teever.”
“He's not my guy, Bertie. I'm suing him. Explain to your FBI guy that Mason has his own lawyer.”
“I know that. So do they. They asked me to run the idea by you, hoping you'd think of something clever.”
“Me? I thought you were the clever one.”
He chuckled. “I'm just the local yokel still trying to figure out how and why a suicide could become a homicide.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Dr. Mason.”
“Mull it over, gorgeous. Maybe something will come to you.”
“I'll try.”
As I stood up, it did come to me. I smiled down at Bertie. “Actually⦔
Bertie grinned. “I knew it. Tell me.”
The Barracuda stared at me. With his black hair slicked back, prominent widow's peak, intense eyes with nearly black irises, and angular face, Barry Kudar's features only reinforced his nickname.
He shook his head. “I don't get it.”
“You don't get what?” I said.
“Why do you care? It's my client's money.”
I raised my eyebrows. “For now.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“We go to trial in three months.” I smiled. “I'm hoping that the jury will decide that your client's money belongs to my client.”
“Give it a rest, Rachel. There's no fucking way that's going to happen.”
We were meeting in the Barracuda's office. I'd called him yesterday after my meeting with Bertie Tomaso and told him we needed to meet. He agreed to see me today after lunch. At his office, of course. I didn't mind. He was hardly the first macho man I'd had to deal with over the years.
I said, “I didn't come here to argue the merits, Barry. Let's just say that I have as much interest in your client's liquidity as your client does.”
“How so?”
“If I get the verdict I hope to get from that jury, I'd much prefer to garnish your client's investment accounts instead of trying to foreclose on his house and his vacation home in Aspen.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“I'd prefer to call it due diligence. I had a forensic accountant look at your client's assets.” I gestured toward the copy of Dr. Mason's quarterly statement from Structured Resolutions that I'd brought to the meeting and set on his desk. “My guy raised some serious questions about that one. Given that your client has more than six million dollars tied up there, I decided I ought to mention it to you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“There's no publicly available information on Structured Resolutions,” I said. “I don't know who your client's contact is at that company, but he ought to ask some questions.”
“Such as?”
“Look at footnote five.”
Kudar picked up the statement and studied it. He raised his eyes to mine. “So?”
“That's the only disclosure about the underlying structured settlements, right?”
He looked down at the statement again, and then back at me. “So what?”
“There are nine cases mentioned, right?”
He nodded. “Nine. Right.”
“Talk to the lawyers in those cases.”
“Why?”
“Ask them about the settlements they supposedly sold to Structured Resolutions.”
“Why?”
“Just talk to them.”
He looked down at the statement again. “They aren't even listed. Just the case names.”
“And the venues of the cases.”
He frowned as he studied the footnote. “Just the states, not the venues.”
“That's enough information to track them down from the court records.”
“Why the hell do I need to talk to them?”
“See if you can get them to tell you about the case that's listed. See what they say about their settlement. See if it raises any questions about your client's investment.”
He gestured at the statement. “Read the whole footnote. These are just random examples.”
“That's what it says. Nine random examples. Check them out, Barry. See if those examples give you comfort. And then try to talk to the auditors listed on the statement. See if you can even find them.”
He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “What if you're just jerking me around?”
I shrugged. “Then I guess I'm a jerk. But I don't represent your client, Barry. You do. You might want to review the Code of Professional Responsibility. Check out your obligations to your client. Then do whatever you want you. Just know that when I get back to my office I'm going to dictate a detailed memorandum describing our meeting, including everything I told you. For both of our sakes, I hope my accountant's concerns are unfounded.”
I stood and looked down at him.
“But,” I said, “if there is substance to those concerns, and you ignore them, then you better hope that Dr. Mason's lawyer in the malpractice claim against you doesn't serve me with a subpoena for that memo.”
I gave him a wink.
“See you in court, Barry.”
“Four days in Bermuda?” I said. “Who knew the Sherman Act was so sexy?”
“Sexy?” Benny shook his head. “Odds of me getting laid at an antitrust seminar are about as good as the odds of me getting elected Pope.”
“Well, if you have to await the vote of the Cardinals, I can think of worse places than the Fairmont Hamilton Princess Hotel.”
Benny and I were having a good-bye lunch. He was leaving in the morning for the annual ABA antitrust seminar, where he was presenting a paper on something having to do with the Robinson-Patman Act, a federal statute as difficult to understand, at least for me, as string theory.
We were at McGurk's Irish Pub in the Soulard area. Fish and chips for me; lots of stuff for Benny, including Mrs. McAteer's potato soup, corned beef and cabbage, toasted ravioli, and now his second pint of Guinness Stout.
He took the last spoon of his soup, washed it down with a gulp of Guinness, leaned back in his chair, semi-smothered a belch, and said, “Guess who called me this morning?”
“The Vatican?”
“That little weasel Brenner.”
“Really? And?”
Benny placed his hand over his heart in mock commiseration. “He regretted having to tell me that Structured Resolution was currently closed to new investors. He hoped they might open up again after the first of the year, but he wasn't in a position to predict.”
“Did he tell you why they were closed?”
“He said he didn't know. I pressed him. He said he wasn't privy to those kinds of decisions. He claimed his only connection to the company, other than as an investor, was to help potential investors make their initial contact. After that, it was out of his hands. He told me Structured Resolution has occasionally closed to new investors. He apologized and said he wished our donor the best.”
“Interesting.”
“You think they figured out our spiel was bullshit?”
“Possibly,” I said. “If so, though, I would have thought they might try to call our bluff. Find out if we really had a donor.”
Benny shrugged. “Maybe they really are closed.”
“Or maybe something else is afoot.”
“Such as?”
“My meeting with the Barracuda seemed to have an effect.”
“No shit? Did he get back to you?”
I laughed. “Kudar? No way he'd get back to me. But he definitely talked to his client. Two days after I met with him, Kudar called Brian Teever and demanded that Structured Resolutions cash out his client.”
“He called Teever? How do you know that?”
“Big Brother. The feds have Teever's phone tapped. They recorded the call, according to Bertie.”
“That's sure comforting to know. Wonder if they have your phone tapped?”
“Probably.”
“So what did Teever tell Mason?”
“He said he'd pass along the request. Kudar called him the next day demanding an answer. Teever didn't have one. Kudar called the following day. Teever told him he'd heard that the company was in the process of closing Dr. Mason's account and that they would wire-transfer the funds into his bank account within seven days.”
“When was that?” Benny asked.
“Yesterday.”
“That must have given the FBI a chubbie.”
“Sounds like it. They claim they will be able to trace a wire transfer back to its source.”
“Maybe they'll give you a J. Edgar Hoover Gold Star.”
“It gets better.”
“Oh?”
“If their goal was to apply pressure, that part is starting to snowball. According to the feds, Teever has now received similar requests from two other investors.”
“So the good doctor is talking to his country club buds, eh?”
“Sounds like it. And before long they'll be talking to theirs. If Structured Resolutions really is a Ponzi scheme, we're entering the final phase.”
Benny was grinning. “Awesome.”
“It could get interesting.”
“So who is Teever talking to?”
“Good question. Whoever it is, he isn't talking on that phone. The only other calls they've recorded have nothing to do with Structured Resolutions. If he's using a phone, it's one that's untraceable.”
“How do you do that?”
“Bertie told me that you can buy prepaid disposable cell phones at Target, Walmart, wherever. It's apparently what drug dealers do. You make a few calls, dump the phone, and get a new one.”
“That's what he's doing?”
“Maybe.”
Benny took another gulp of his Guinness and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So if we're really entering the final phase, what's that mean?”
“They expect the bad guys to cut and run.”
“By plane?”
“Probably, although a car is always a possibility. If you get across the border, you might be able to hide out for a while.”
“But not forever.”
“I don't know. Maybe they lay low for a few weeks and then fly from that country.” I shook my head. “I didn't take that class in law school.”
Benny took another forkful of corned beef and washed it down with a gulp of Guinness. “For your sake, I'm just glad the feds are involved. Keep you out of harm's way.”
“Speaking of the feds, guess who else is sniffing around?”
“Who?”
“The IRS.”
“What?”
“Apparently, they've got their own investigation of that Moral Majority outfit.”
“The one connected to the guy in Belleville?”
“Yep. Bertie doesn't know the whole story. It started out as a routine audit. The IRS thinks there may be a link to Donald Warner, which might not have been a big deal on its own but with all this other stuff going on, they've ramped it up.”
Benny chuckled. “When old Donald finds out, he's going to piss his pants. Those IRS agents are scary. Just ask Al Capone.”
“I know.”
“Big money involved?”
“Bertie doesn't know that part. He just knows that the IRS is in the mix.”