The Concealers (32 page)

A half hour later, Norman introduced them to Dottie Everheart, a young mother who had three children at home—and no power, heat, or water. Like many South Fork residents, the Everhearts depended on well water, and that meant that when her electric pump was silent, there was no water for cooking, drinking, cleaning, anything. Katherine shook hands with the woman, and immediately recognized her as someone she'd interviewed once before. Dottie was one of the out-of-work former employees from Hamptons Bank, and she'd already been struggling even before Hurricane Sandy hit. This was a story Katherine wanted to tell. Esther put a fresh memory card in the video camera, and the pair went to work.

Katherine interviewed Everheart for about twenty minutes, asking her about what it was like to care for her three young children in a cold, dark house without water. The fact that she was trying to hold it all together after losing her job as a security guard at Hamptons Bank made the story all the more poignant.

Within the hour Katherine and Esther had uploaded the video to the
Twin Forks Press
site and continued to seek out other interviews during the daylight hours. They picked a total of four videos for posting, but the unemployed mother of three, they knew, would draw the most attention.

Katherine had been so focused on her work that she hadn't noticed that the crowd had swelled to more than four hundred men, women, and children, some standing, some walking a picket line, many carrying handmade signs. A News 12 reporter was talking to a camera, with the crowd behind her, telling her audience that National Grid was doing all that it could, and promising to get the power turned back on as quickly as possible. Katherine had been told the very same thing by a utility company spokesman. Still, she wondered why she rarely saw utility company trucks on local streets.

Katherine's video was getting plenty of hits on the
Twin Forks Press
site, and dozens of people had started sharing it online. Dottie Everheart's awful situation left many viewers in tears. Many simply forwarded the link to their friends without comment; the story spoke for itself.

One of those who happened to visit the
Twin Forks Press
website that day was the
Today Show
's
Nat Mauer, who owned a summer house in Southampton and spent many weekends there, even during the off-season when many of the local boutiques, restaurants, and art galleries were closed. The summer house was his personal refuge away from the city, the place he retreated to for quiet dinner parties with friends. Mauer hadn't been out to the Hamptons since the hurricane hit, and he'd been concerned about the extent of damage in the beachfront communities. The caretaker for his sprawling home had assured him that everything was fine there, except for the loss of a tree in his backyard. But he had no sense of what Southampton or Bridgehampton looked like. Poking around on the Web, he came across
Twin Forks'
site and Katherine Kelly's video featuring the single mom. Dottie was both pretty and well-spoken, and she related a heart-wrenching tale.

Mauer clicked on the video so that he could watch it again. What she said about the hurricane was interesting. But what piqued his curiosity most were the woman's comments about the closure of the bank where she'd worked to support her family. The
Today Show
producers had been anxious to do a piece about banking fraud, and they envisioned building the piece around the plight of a victim—someone who'd been impacted by a bank closure. They'd been on the lookout for a local subject to build the story around. The
Today Show
host clicked on one of the links next to the video, taking him to the package of banking stories that Katherine had produced.

“Hey, Robert, take a look at this,” Mauer shouted to the producer who had been working on the banking segment.

Katherine drove back to her office, gave Sol and Chuck a report on the successful video shoot, picked up Hailey, and headed home, where she heated up some soup and sat down to watch the news. She was still half-frozen from the shoot and welcomed Hailey's warmth when she hopped up on the couch to snuggle with her.

The local News 12 showed pictures of some damage along the shore, including some massive flooding and beach erosion that had left close to sixty thousand residents of the South Fork without power; several local schools had been closed for as long as a week. It showed an interview with Mayor Brian Gilbride who highlighted the work of the Sag Harbor superintendent of public works and fire department volunteers who had pumped out more than four million gallons of water.

Pictures of damage caused by “Superstorm Sandy” to other areas in Long Island were shown, too, along with footage from the protest in Water Mill and an interview with Norman, the protest organizer.

Later that evening, Katherine's iPhone rang. A producer from the
Today Show
had shown up at Dottie Everheart's door—and what should she do? She'd never given a TV interview before, no less one that was going to air across the nation. She was embarrassed to say that she didn't have a job and was on unemployment.

“You should do it,” Katherine told her. “If you talk on camera, you'll help expose some of these banking issues and—hopefully—prevent more banking failures and more victims, like you!”

The next day, a driver in a black Lincoln Town Car drove Nat Mauer east to do the interview with the former bank employee. The woman's story was just what the
Today Show
needed for the segment that was scheduled to air two days later. The producer would have to work halfway through the night to complete the segment. The show also booked Congressman Quinn for an interview in the studio.

Mauer told the producer to link the
Today Show
's online story on banking back to the
Twin Forks Press'
coverage. It was unusual to link to such a minor site, but Mauer liked Katherine's coverage and felt it made sense to feature the stories. After all, without the weekly's local coverage, they would never have found their victim.

The
Today Show
segment on banking, its look at Hamptons Bank, the single mother's plight, and the website's link back to
Twin Forks'
coverage, prompted thousands of people to read Katherine's stories about Hamptons Bank. Suddenly, it seemed as if the whole world knew her byline, and Katherine's cell phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Within an hour, she talked to at least ten of those millions, starting with her mother, her grandfather, and Susan, followed by telephone calls from Sol, Alice, Esther, Marcia, Casey, and Sean. Even Chuck had called to congratulate her.

The next morning, the
Twin Forks Press'
server temporarily crashed, but all Katherine could hear was the applause she received when she and Hailey walked into the newsroom.

Sol called her into his office.

“Nice job, kiddo. I hope you're having fun, because I am. This is what it's all about. It's been a miserable hurricane, but at least we've done our jobs. Take the day off and relax. You've certainly earned it.”

Katherine went home with Hailey, fixed them both dinner from what groceries she had on hand, and then went for a long walk on the storm-littered beach with Hailey. She had experienced one of the happiest days of her life. Unfortunately, the euphoria would be too short lived.

“I have some information I believe you will find interesting. Not on the phone. Where can we meet?”

“I can come to your office.”

“I'm in your area. If you're available, how about I pick you up, and we'll go for a drive—say in about half an hour?”

“Fine. I'll be out in front.”

About twenty-five minutes later, Katherine told Hailey to stay at her desk, grabbed her pen and notepad, and walked outside. Carol was waiting in a small, two-door Volvo. Katherine hopped in, and Carol headed east, making her way carefully through streets still strewn with debris.

“You're becoming quite the celebrity, Katherine. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. My fifteen minutes, I'm sure. What have you got, and what are the terms?”

“I'd like to bring you up to speed on our CCB/BNA fraud investigation. For now, let's call it on background—without attribution. You can use it, but you can't quote the source.”

“Agreed.”

“Maria was very cooperative and helpful. She even agreed to wear a wire. Bowers is dirty. She and a few others in BNA's real estate department got in bed with a real estate developer with a scheme to create artificial value in commercial lots in the Hamptons, flip them, and sell them to over-eager buyers looking to make a killing on the other end.”

“Sounds like others I've investigated.”

“The extent of the fraud on the transactional side was bad enough—trumped-up appraisals, false financial statements, lying on loan applications. But the scheme went further. We were able to link the conduct of a BNA business borrower with the conduct of a BNA VP in their real estate leasing division. And the borrower was a tenant of the bank.”

“How did it work?”

“An ostensibly independent real estate developer borrowed money to buy the lots, then brought its buyers to the bank for financing. Bowers made that easy. The VP in the leasing division made it easier by supplying phony appraisals. BNA's borrower was a CFO of a big car dealership in the city. He and the real estate VP had an arrangement to allow the developer's buyers who became BNA's borrowers to buy upscale cars at wholesale—and then he and the VP shared a kickback from the developer.”

“How did you get them to talk?”

“We went up step by step. Employee Seven talked and named Employee Six. Six ratted on five and so on. We're not done yet, but indictments of Bowers, the VP Thompson, the developer Easy Buy, Inc., and the auto CFO Disley will be announced shortly. To be safe, you could refer to them as under investigation for multiple counts of conspiracy, bribery, and bank fraud.”

Katherine felt a buzzing between her ears and a twinge in her stomach. “Tell me the name of the auto executive again?”

“Austin Disley. A hard name to forget. Great stuff, huh?”

Katherine remained silent, frozen in the seat of Carol's car.

“Unless you have more questions, I'm going to take you back. I have to get into the city.”

“No. Thanks, Carol. Well . . . just one. What is the name of the auto dealership?”

“Manhattan BMW-Mercedes. At the moment, the CEO is a person of interest. Could end up as an unidentified co-conspirator, though, or worse.”

Katherine said nothing more on the return trip but thanked Carol for the information, went inside the newspaper office and straight to the ladies' room, and threw cold water on her face. The wavy lines had already started. She closed herself in a stall and sat with her head in her hands—waiting for her vision to return to normal, fighting nausea the whole time.

A half hour later, she went back to her desk, retrieved Hailey, who was waiting patiently for her, and drove to her apartment. After Katherine took Hailey for a brief walk, she went back inside, poured herself a glass of water, and stared at the pictures on her wall. She reached for the small square box of tissues on the coffee table. Ten minutes later, she got up and threw the empty box in the wastebasket and started on another.

After a while—how long, she didn't know—she got up, fixed herself a fresh cup of coffee, and called Susan.

“What's going on?” Susan asked.

“Not my best day. What are you up to?”

“Same you-know-what, different day. You sound funny. Why are you calling?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“In the middle of a weekday? Yes.”

“Can you talk?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Strictly between us.”

“What else?”

“Think of a reporter investigating bank fraud. She gives a crony in law enforcement a whistle-blower. In return, her buddy tips her off as to the investigations, and tells her she can write about it on background.” Katherine stopped for a minute.

“Good for you. Right?” Susan looked closer at her friend.

“There's more.”

“There always is. Go on.”

“One of those under investigation is a business executive allegedly acting in concert with a bad guy at a bank.”

“Not good.”

“Right. Possible conflicts of interest, too.”

“You know more about that than I do.”

“Tough decisions.”

“No doubt. Now you know why I get drunk once in a while.”

“Any ideas?”

“You're the most thoughtful person I know. You'll figure out the right thing to do. I don't know what else to say.”

“I don't either. But, thanks, Susan.”

“That's why you pay me the big bucks—call me anytime.”

Katherine laughed bitterly. “I'll talk with you later.”

She sat on the couch and forced herself to think it through. Nothing forced her to write anything. She could simply let it play out. Should she tell her father? She was under no duty to do so nor any restriction not to. After all, if she wrote the story on background, she could tell her father as long as she didn't reveal her source.

On the other hand, if she wrote the story, her father would learn about it then. But what would that do to her relationship with him? She had finally come to accept him as her father, even love him. So he wasn't perfect; who was? Besides, there was no evidence, at this point, that Preston Wilson had done anything wrong, at least, legally. But he was her father.
I hope you're happy, Gerry. Doesn't get any more to the core than this.

Katherine got up and went to her computer. She sat for a full twenty minutes without touching a key. She felt so alone, a feeling that she had largely managed to escape over the past few months.

She remembered flagging the reference to the Secret Service at the symposium, surprised with its involvement in institutional bank fraud. She thought about calling Sean. How much help could he be? And should she even be talking to him about this? Maybe it would only make things worse. There were too many hats. But she ought to be able to talk to him on a personal level. That's if she could reach him.

This was going nowhere. She stood, pacing the floor. She could see Hailey thought she was acting strange.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked her faithful friend.

Hailey wiggled her eyebrows several times.

“What kind of answer is that?” Katherine asked.

Hailey gave her a sigh, extended her front legs, and lowered her head in between, ultimately resting it on her right paw.

“So it's my problem. Big help.”

Katherine continued to walk the floor. Finally she decided that she'd argued with herself enough. She called Sean. To her surprise, he answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Kat. What's going on?”

“Am I getting you at a bad time or place?”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing. Well, I mean I just wanted to talk if we could.”

“I can talk but not for too long. Go ahead.”

Katherine felt she'd intruded and immediately regretted making the call.

“I'm working on a bank fraud story and wanted to run the facts by you if I could.”

“That's not a good idea.”

“I just want to hear your take on what I should do.”

“Isn't that a conversation for you and your editor or somebody at the paper?”

“It's a personal matter . . . I'd rather talk with you.”

“Is the subject related in any way to you?”

“I'm the reporter.”

“Is that all?”

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

“Katherine, does what you want to discuss with me relate directly or indirectly to you, apart from your role as a reporter?”

Katherine thought for a bit. “Yes.”

“Then I don't want to discuss it.”

“What? I really need to talk to you right now. It's important to me.”

“I have to go. I'm sorry,” Sean said. Katherine was speechless as she heard the click.

Katherine sat down at her kitchen table and tried to figure out what had just happened. The more she thought, the worse she felt. She blocked Sean out of her mind. She would try to deal with that later. If she was going with this story, she knew she had a short window. How short, she wasn't sure—but she'd come too far to let another reporter take her story.

She called Carol Martin.

“Hi, Katherine.”

“Thanks for taking the call. Quick question. When will the indictments in this BNA case take place?”

“The arrests come first. Warrants have been signed. Then an arraignment for each defendant. A judge will determine whether to hold them over for a grand jury. Off the record, we expect it to go that way. But you never know what the defense may come up with and what witnesses may be out there with knowledge. I can't give you more right now, and I didn't give you this.”

“Thanks so much, Carol,” Katherine said and clicked the phone off. She took Hailey for a long walk, fed the dog and herself, and called her mother.

“Hi, dear. How are you?” Beth asked.

“Can you talk?”

“Yes. I'm home. About to fix your grandpa some dinner. What's up?”

“I feel like one of those clay pigeons Grandpa shoots.”

“Uh-oh. I thought the bad guys were the targets.”

“This has got to be strictly between us.”

“Not even Grandpa?”

“He's part of us. But you can't talk about this, Mom.”

“Okay.”

“You know about my bank fraud stories.”

“I've collected every one of them in a scrapbook.”

“I'm considering writing one you may not want to keep. I wanted to give you a heads up. It involves a bank Preston's company deals with and could name one of his high-level employees as being under investigation—maybe even arrested.”

“And you can't tell me more, right?”

“I could, but I'd rather not because I haven't decided whether to write the story.”

“Does the ‘more you can't tell me' involve your father?”

“Trick question, Mom.”

“How's he doing? He had a great time with you in Germantown.”

“And you would know that . . . how?”

“He told me.”

“What? When?”

“I wrote a note to Preston to thank him for all he has done for you. He called to thank me, and said you have changed his life. He loves you so much.”

Katherine searched for words.

“Are you there?” Beth asked.

“Yes. Sorry. It's been a long day, Mom. Is everything all right with you? How's Grandpa?”

“Everything's fine. Grandpa's getting hungry. He's giving me one of his ‘What's the deal?' looks.”

“Give him my love. It's been helpful just to hear your voice, Mom. I'm glad Preston's been in touch. He's been good to me.”

“He certainly has. I hope whatever it is you're wrestling with works out. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

Katherine cuddled with Hailey on the floor. She tried to anticipate what Sol would say if she opted to go with the story. She could not escape the gnawing feeling that she didn't have enough, but that point would be academic if she decided not to write it. There were plenty of reasons to go either way.

The kitchen clock told Katherine it was 7:15 p.m. If she was going to do it, it would be better to call him at home. She checked the white pages, found the number for Austin Disley, and made the call.

“Hello,” a male voice said.

“This is Katherine Kelly. Is this Austin Disley?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“I'm a reporter with the
Twin Forks Press
in Southampton, New York. I'm writing a story about bank fraud, and, in the course of my investigation, I learned that you have been arrested, or are about to be. I thought I would give you an opportunity to respond. Would you like to comment?”

“It's ridiculous. My lawyer is already on top of it. We plan to fight it all the way, and he's confident that, when all the facts are known, I will be totally vindicated.”

“Would you like to comment on what those facts are?”

“No. I've said enough.” Yes, Katherine agreed, he had.

“Thank you, Mr. Disley,” Katherine said, happy to end the call with no further questions. She went to her computer and typed the conversation word for word, noted the time on the memo, ran off a copy, and placed it in her file.

Then she went to the bathroom, took a Tylenol PM, and went to bed.