The Inner Sanctum (20 page)

Doub was headquartered just outside Frederick, Maryland, forty-five minutes west of Baltimore on Interstate 70 close to the Appalachian Trail. As David gazed out the window from the third-floor office of Doub's executive building, he could see mountains in the distance. The trees covering the mountains had broken into their fall glory, but he could hardly appreciate the beauty. His mind was on the payment he had to effect today.

A million dollars to the godfather in Washington had been manageable. Doub was a fairly large corporation, with almost $400 million a year in annual revenue. A million dollars could be hidden--not easily, but by being resourceful he had made it work. But now he had to send another $2 million to the man. This was the payment due upon commencement of production of the A-100.

This $2 million payment would be more difficult to hide for any length of time. The accountants would be back in six months and would probably want to confirm the debtor on this one with a written letter from the obligor.

David pulled his chair up to the desk. Just as Finnerty had suggested, the answer to the problem would be David's GEA options. GEA's stock price would start shooting up as soon as news of the A-100 program leaked, and he would execute enough of his options to repay the money he had sent out of Doub--the payment he had made two and a half years ago and the one he would make today. As long as the money was repaid by January 31, the end of Doub's fiscal year, there would be no questions from the independent accountants. The loop would be closed and they would have no reason to investigate.

It wasn't the optimal solution--GEA shares might have room to climb even higher in the short term when David exercised the options--so he'd be leaving money on the table. But he'd have his job at Sagamore secured for life, plus whatever options were left over after repaying Doub.

He picked up the phone and dialed the direct extension of his contact at the local bank. Finnerty had called twice this week urging David to make the payment, and he didn't want to irritate Finnerty too much. Finnerty could make cashing in the GEA options difficult. He could make lots of things difficult if he chose to. As he had so readily pointed out that day at his farm.

"Hello, Hagerstown National, this is Ida speaking," came the familiar voice.

"Ida, it's David Mitchell at Doub Steel."

"Hello, Mr. Mitchell. What can I do for you today?" the woman asked pleasantly.

Over the next twenty minutes, with four phone calls and a series of carefully directed wires originating at Hagerstown National, David transferred $2 million from the local Doub Steel account to a numbered account at National Bancorp in the Grand Caymans. It was a different number from the one he had been directed to use two and a half years ago, but once again Finnerty had provided him the information, so he hadn't questioned the change.

As David hung up the phone for the last time, he let his head fall to the desk. He had to keep reminding himself that no one was being hurt by all this, that he was personally going to repay the money he had wired out from the Doub account to the numbered account in the Caymans. At the end of the day everyone would be square. There was nothing wrong here.

He stood up. This wasn't the time to analyze the ethics of his behavior. He had to get to the controller quickly to explain the money movement as a loan to another slow-paying supplier and create the documentation to cover his tracks. He moved out of the office and headed downstairs.

David hesitated outside Rich Grainy's second-floor office and knocked, but there was no answer. This was good luck. He would be able to effect everything with no explanations.

He turned the knob and pushed, and the door gave way. Grainy's office was small, furnished with just a metal desk and a few ratty chairs. They paid Grainy $43,000 a year to be controller. He had three children and two old American cars, vacationed just a week a year in Ocean City, New Jersey, because that was all he could afford, and yet he was happy. David surveyed the bleak space. Some people's expectations just weren't that high.

He moved quickly to the desk, sat down, and flipped on the computer--Grainy had a personal password, but David knew it and easily accessed the system. He would make the entry into the general ledger and create a separate debit account. Then he would create a borrowing note on Doub stationery and have a friend sign it. Afterward David would file the note in the company's official records. When he repaid the loan with money from the options, he'd cleanse any trace of the transaction from the records and the computer.

The official Doub stationery was stored in Grainy's lower right-hand desk drawer, and as David pulled out three sheets, he noticed an open envelope shoved behind the stationery box. He pulled it out, and inspected the return address. Third Huntington Bank. A representative from Third Huntington had called a few years ago trying to win local payroll business, but he had turned them down.

He glanced inside the envelope at the statement and canceled checks. This was odd. Grainy had no authority to open an account without first obtaining David's approval. That had been made clear to Grainy on several occasions.

David withdrew the statement from the envelope and noted the closing date--May 15, four months ago--then removed the canceled checks. There were only two, but blood began to pulse quickly through his system as he laid them down on the desk. Both checks were for $1 million, and both were payable to something called LFA. David had no idea who or what LFA was and at this point didn't care. What caused his pulse to throb so furiously was the signature on both checks--David J. Mitchell. It certainly looked an awful lot like his signature, but he had never signed these checks. He hadn't even known Doub Steel maintained an account at Third Huntington. He touched the signature with his finger, then stared at the M. It wasn't his M. But it was a damn good forgery.

David moved quickly to the small copier atop the credenza behind the metal desk. His hands shook as he lifted the top of the machine, made copies of both checks, then folded the copies and shoved them into his coat pocket. The questions raced through his mind as he closed the top of the copier, then moved back to the desk and put the canceled checks back into the envelope.

"Can I help you, Mr. Mitchell?" Rich Grainy stood in the doorway, looking at the opened bank envelope in David's hand.

David made a snap decision. It would be better to go on offense rather than try to explain this. He stood up slowly, then dropped the envelope onto the desk. "What's the meaning of this?" He pointed down at the envelope.

Grainy shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"Rich," David tried again, "what the hell is this?"

Still Grainy did not answer.

"Rich!" David slammed his fist down on the metal desktop. "Have you been stealing money from Doub? Should I call the police right now?"

"You might want to call Art Mohler first." Grainy's voice was barely audible, but there was no fear in it. "He set that account up, and said not to tell anyone about it. I've never looked in that envelope because I don't want to know what's there." He stopped for a moment. "I don't appreciate your accusing me of stealing. I've worked at Doub for twenty years. I'm an honest man."

But David didn't hear Grainy's rebuke. He was swimming in his own pool of resentment. First Mohler had visited Finnerty at the Middleburg farm without telling David. Now he had been here at Doub Steel without acknowledging that either. Worse, he had opened a secret account and was paying significant amounts of money to something called LFA and forging David's signature to do it.

Mohler was setting him up. There could be no doubt of that now. But why? And then an eerie sensation crawled up his spine, and he shook his head violently. No, that couldn't be possible.

** Chapter 20

"So why here?" Todd wanted to know. He touched his stomach gently. It was sore from the punishment Harry the Horse had inflicted.

"This was the only place I could think of that you'd recognize without my actually saying the name." Jesse slipped into the seat as he held it for her. "I don't feel comfortable talking on my office phone," she said quietly.

"You're serious?" he asked, sitting down in the seat across the table.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Hi." The waitress interrupted their conversation. "What can I get for you?"

"Diet Coke," Jesse answered quickly without looking up.

"And I'll have a chocolate milk shake, please." Todd smiled pleasantly at the woman.

"Sure." The waitress ambled slowly away.

Todd put his elbows down on the table. "It's a great old place, don't you think? Hasn't changed at all since we used to come here in high school."

Jesse laughed. "It's changed a lot. The furniture is different. They used to serve pizza and burgers, now it's Mexican. And the name is different."

Todd smiled. "I was talking about the flavor of the place. Take a look." He nodded. "Boys in letter jackets still chasing girls in short skirts. Those things never change."

"I should tell the girls to watch out for those kinds of boys."

"Hey, I had one of those jackets."

"Exactly," she teased.

The waitress was back quickly with their drinks. She served them and then moved to a table of loud teenagers.

"So what did you do this weekend?" Todd picked up his chocolate shake and sucked on the straw.

"Studied." There was no need to get into the day of sailing with David.

"I called you at midnight on Saturday and got your answering machine."

She knew he would be hurt if he heard the truth, and she always avoided causing someone else pain if she could. "I was home, but I let the answering machine pick up. I was tired." She began tearing the paper napkin into small pieces.

"Nah, you're just like me that way. You can't let a phone ring without answering." He watched her fidget.

"I was home," she said firmly.

Todd put down the milk shake, and his expression became serious. "Jess, I've missed you."

"What?" She had heard him, but was trying to buy time. Trying to figure out how to respond. He had taken her completely off guard.

"I've been thinking a lot about you. I guess I realized at lunch last week how much I'd like to see you more. I know how good it feels to see you tonight. You've been avoiding this for a long time, and I think I know why. But hasn't enough time passed?"

She didn't want to deal with this now.

"I'd really like for us to date again," he continued. "I want to take you to dinners and just hang out together. We'll take it slow, and I'll be very much a gentleman until you tell me it's okay. I won't assume anything. If too much comes back, we'll stop."

"I can't."

"It's that guy who picked you up in the limousine, isn't it?" Todd was suddenly angry.

"No."

"No?"

"No! I told you, I just met him last week. He works at Sagamore."

"Were you with him Saturday night?"

Jesse looked away quickly. She couldn't deny it.

"I knew it."

"It's not like that, Todd. We're just friends. We were just talking business."

"At midnight on Saturday?"

"Yes."

"He's a suit, Jess. He's boring."

For the first time she heard real emotion in his voice. "Let's talk about why I wanted you to meet me here," she said. Jesse suddenly needed to talk to Becky. Maybe she could still reach her tonight.

Todd held up his hands. "Is it that you're worried I can't make a commitment, that I'm not serious about anything? That I do these things on the weekend that are going to get me killed? I can change, Jess. Really."

"I don't want you to change," she said softly. "Please, let's talk about how we're going to find out if there's anything going on in the Elbridge Coleman campaign. I found something this morning I think is really important."

For a moment Todd said nothing, searching her face for the truth. "Okay." He smiled as best he could. "What did you find?"

Jesse reached across the table and touched his arm gently. "Are you all right?" This was so difficult.

"I'm fine. Don't you pity me. I hate pity. Come on, tell me what you have."

"Todd, are you sure you can do this with me now? Maybe we should forget it."

"Jess!" he said loudly, holding up one hand. "It's business. I can handle it if you can." He smiled broadly to reassure her. "Whether you agree to date me or not, we're still very good friends. If somebody is chasing you around shooting out your car windshield, I'm going to find him and make him wish he'd never been born."

He was so loyal. "Okay. Thanks."

"So what do you have?"

She took a sip of Diet Coke. "I wanted to get a profile of the people working for Elbridge Coleman, so last week I obtained a list of individuals working for his campaign from the Federal Election Commission. This morning I had a friend of mine in the systems group at the branch run a report for me. It listed any place from which any person working for the Coleman campaign had received wages in the last two years."

"How did you do that?"

"I got the Social Security numbers of the people working for Coleman. Then I gave those numbers to my friend and had him search through the IRS data bank for any employer that had made withholding deposits to us on behalf of those Social Security numbers."