The Concealers (33 page)

“Can you believe this, Hailey? Let's go for a walk.”

When they returned, Katherine had breakfast and then sat at her computer. She opened the “pros and cons” document she'd prepared and added the new information. If the NYPD/ADA investigation had reached Higgins, they were looking for more than what they had on Disley alone. If Disley was a lone-wolf wrongdoer—acting without Preston's knowledge or authority—that would help Wilson. But what if Higgins had information to the contrary, or could offer other evidence of wrongdoing? Katherine was acutely aware of what she didn't know, but compelled to focus on what she did. Arrests were probable. Indictments were possible. Her story could bring out more facts, fuel further investigation. It could make a difference. It could also ruin her father.

Katherine poured herself a cup of coffee and flipped through the pages in her notepad until she found Stacy Bowers' direct work line number and extension.

“Ms. Bowers, this is Katherine Kelly, and before you hang up on me again, I want you to know that I've been informed that you may be under arrest in this matter. I thought I would give you the opportunity to respond before I write my story.”

“My lawyer is handling this. They have arrested the wrong person. I've done nothing wrong. I have nothing further to say.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bowers.”

She had to write the story. See how it would come out. Turning it in would be another matter—one that required another call.

Katherine wrote the story in little over an hour. It didn't need extensive rewrites. In fact, it was too clear. The problem was it was all true. She read it again and then created a draft e-mail to Sol and Chuck, attaching the story. She printed copies for them and herself and placed them in separate envelopes, saved the draft, and shut down the computer. She picked up the phone and dialed Preston's cell.

“Hi, Dad. It's Katherine.”

“Hi, honey. Just to make sure I'm not dreaming, did you actually say ‘Hi, Dad'?”

“I did.”

“That's wonderful. When can we get together?”

“Right now. We need to talk.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is.”

“Okay. I'll be glad to help. Where do you want to meet?”

“Some place where you will feel comfortable having a heart-to-heart discussion.”

Preston was silent for a moment. “Well, we could talk at the Union League Club. It's private there. Or, I'll meet you wherever you like.”

“That's fine. I'll drive in. I'll be at the club by noon.”

“I'll see you then. Cheer up. We'll get you through this.”

“We'll see,” Katherine said.

The traffic in that direction was light. Katherine arrived in about two hours and parked her car. Preston was waiting for her at the door, and they walked upstairs to the large sitting room on the left. They sat in two oversized leather chairs in the far corner with no one around.

“Would you like a drink?” Preston asked.

“No.”

“Are you feeling all right? Are you warm enough in here? You look a little pale.”

“I'd like to talk to you about some information I've received in connection with a story I have been pursuing. I'd like you to listen to it first without asking me any questions, and I'm not going to tell you where this information came from. Can you do that?”

She saw her father sit back in his chair, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

“I hate being told what I'm supposed to do when I don't know what I'm about to hear,” said Preston. “If you have a problem with a story you're writing, I don't know how I can help. If you're in some kind of trouble, tell me. I'll do whatever I can.”

Katherine proceeded to tell her father the story. She started with the conduct of CCB. Traced how it evolved to BNA. She wondered whether Preston was still in the dark about Disley's arrest. She described the scheme and the role of each of the players without mentioning any names. Preston's legs tapped faster and harder against the floor as each layer was explained, and he appeared to unravel at the description of the CFO's conduct.

“Let me stop here and ask you a question,” Katherine said.

Preston nodded.

“How does all of this strike you?”

“It's a horrible story. I'm sure there are more sides to it than I'm hearing now. Because you won't tell me where you are getting this, I have no way to evaluate the source.”

“Assume, for discussion purposes, the sources are accurate.”

“Then I think it's serious. Someone is in deep you-know-what.”

“What would you advise that someone to do?”

“I don't know. Get a lawyer.”

They sat quietly for a while.

“Before I go on, there are some personal things I'd like to say. The last few months have been unusual for me. I guess, looking back, I've led a pretty placid life in some respects. Then suddenly, I find out I have a father. I hear about a man named Hart who helped you and, in return, required you to take care of a number of his friends. That intrigued me, as you know. I was trying to figure out after all these years if I needed a father. I wanted to see how you handled that promise. I've learned a lot about you since then. I learned a lot about myself, too. At first, I was pretty self-absorbed about what all of this meant to me. I was mad at my mother for lying to me for all those years. Wondered how I could believe her after that. But after a while, I came to accept the fact that she loves me and always has—without reservation. Whatever she did, she did it for me. I owe her a lot. Starting with an apology for the way I've treated her.

“As to having a father, I have come to believe and feel that you are a good man—even if you like the ponies.”

“Where did you get that?”

“Doesn't matter. I shouldn't have brought it up. You're not perfect, but who is? You're the best father I have, and I'm fortunate to have you. And I believe you do love me.”

Preston stopped squirming, stood up, walked to Katherine, put his arms around her, and gave her a long hug. She could feel his heart beating through his chest. Tears flowed from her eyes. After a while, they broke away and each sat down again.

Katherine reached for some tissues she had brought with her and blew her nose.

“You asked how you could help me. Here's my dilemma. I've written this story. The question is whether to turn it in. Your CFO is in trouble either way. So are the other co-conspirators involved in any wrongdoing. The criminal investigation is ongoing. If I turn this story in, it will add to the investigation. The digging will be deeper. Wilson Holdings will feel the impact, and it won't be good. It could bring down your empire.

“If I don't turn the story in, I won't be telling the whole truth. A known truth untold is the worst form of a lie. Not going forward with this story would be contrary to everything I believe is important about being a journalist. In a sense, I would lose my soul. What would you advise me to do?”

Preston considered the question. He stared at his shoes, either in deep thought or from a lack of any idea about how to respond. After several minutes, he looked up at Katherine. “I honestly don't believe Austin could have done any of that. I know he's no Casey, and I'm sure I've been overly protective of him. He's my oldest friend. But I'm certain he wouldn't be disloyal to me, and I can't imagine him intentionally committing a crime.”

“My experience is that little in life is certain,” said Katherine. “Again, for the purpose of this conversation, let's assume Austin did do these things. If he didn't, my story won't matter. If he did, this story will matter—at least to me. You could, in some way, be dragged into this. Do I protect my father or tell the truth? I've written the story, and it's ready to be turned in. What's your advice?”

Katherine watched her father get up, walk over to a large mahogany table covered with neatly placed newspapers and magazines where he remained standing stock-still for several minutes, appearing to be staring at all of the publications at once, but reading none. He turned, walked back, and addressed her.

“I understand your commitment to journalism, but I'd like to think you also feel a commitment to me. Your family. I don't know why you feel you have to be the one to pull the trigger, break a story that could hurt me and all I've worked for. But it's your call. Personally, I think blood is thicker than principle.”

“I don't see why there isn't room for both,” Katherine said. “And I'll love you whatever happens.”

Katherine got up, hugged her father again, and walked out of the club alone.

She retrieved her car from the nearby parking garage and drove to the
Twin Forks Press
, hoping to get there at least by 4:30 p.m. She hoped Sol would still be there. She made it on time, saw Sol's parked car, grabbed the envelope, and went to his office. The door was shut. She stood there clutching the envelope, fighting extreme nausea. She knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She walked in. Sol stood up and stared at her.

“What's wrong?”

Katherine tossed the envelope on his desk. “I wanted to deliver this to you personally. I'll e-mail it, too. I want to talk about it,” she said in a choked voice.

Sol picked up the envelope, opened it, took out the material, and sat at his desk. He motioned to Katherine to sit down. She did.

“There's something I need to tell you. An employee of CCB that I met in connection with my bank investigations decided, at my suggestion, to cooperate with the Manhattan District Attorney's Office. Someone from that office recently informed me, on background, of the status of the investigation, and that a series of arrests were imminent. One of the suspects works for Wilson Holdings, a large automobile dealer in the city.”

“I've heard of them. They have a branch not too far from here.”

“Preston Wilson is the owner. He's my father.”

Sol slowly read the copy, apparently unaware that Katherine's eyes were following his, line for line. When he finished, Sol looked up at Katherine.

“When that person from the district attorney's office gave you the information, did he know that Mr. Wilson was your father?”

“I have no reason to believe that person did.”

“Who besides this person has independently confirmed the investigation leading to arrests?”

“Stacy Bowers and Austin Disley.”

“You talked to them?”

“On the phone.”

“They acknowledged their arrests?”

“Yes.”

“You really turned the rock over this time. This is going to raise a lot of serious questions.”

“Yes. It is.”

“You realize your father may somehow become involved—and if he does, and if you're going to continue with these stories—you're going to have to disclose your relationship with him?”

“I realize that.”

“Well, congratulations, kiddo. This is great reporting. Precise. Provocative. Powerful. You wrote it with your heart and signed it with your soul. But, there will be more investigations. Are you sure you want me to run it?”

“Yes,” Katherine said, quietly but firmly. “Some stories never end.”

 

An attorney and former judge, James J. Kaufman lives with his wife, Patty, in Wilmington, North Carolina. Having published several works of nonfiction and the novels,
The Collectibles,
Book One of The Collectibles Trilogy, and
The Concealers,
Book Two, he is now writing the final book in the trilogy. Visit the author at
jamesjkaufman.com
. For additional copies of this book or other information regarding
The Collectibles
and
The Concealers,
please e-mail the publisher at
[email protected]
or write to Downstream Publishing at PO Box 869, Wrightsville Beach, NC 28480.