White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller (11 page)

Chapter 18

Elliot had said they were going to buy and sell CFDs on international markets so it wouldn’t impact the US markets. Todd knew that he was lying to himself, but perhaps Elliot was right. Maybe what he was about to do really was a victimless crime. This thought helped ease his troubled conscience.

On a deeper level, Todd knew that the international CFD providers would buy and sell stocks on the US markets to hedge their CFD positions. Not unlike bookmakers laying off big bets with other bookmakers. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that the CFD providers would distort the US markets and that the distortions would come about as a result of the inside information he provided.

Elliot had also said that they would only buy or sell CFDs in volumes that would not flag anything untoward to the authorities. If he stuck to his word, Todd rationalized that the probability of getting caught was minimal. The only problem that he foresaw was gaining access to Vanessa’s computer, but again Elliot had been right. There would be opportunities. Todd knew that if he was careful he could pull it off without anyone ever knowing or getting hurt.

If there was a plus to the dreadful mess that he found himself in, it was that his obsession with his racing system had disappeared. He hadn’t inputted one race into his iPad since he’d come home to find Ferguson and Fraser in his living room. The thought of Ferguson cold-bloodedly killing the Italian guy sent a shiver through him. He knew that he’d wasted the past eighteen months and that gambling on horse races was not the answer to his hate for accounting.

It was a bitterly cold winter morning, with a light smattering of snow on the sidewalk. Todd had his overcoat buttoned to the neck, and wore a thick woolen scarf as he trudged along 50
th
Street. His mind churned over numerous plans about how he was going to get the information. In many ways, he thought that he’d been lucky when Lechte had reassigned clients between Vanessa and himself. He now had an excuse to be in her cubicle when she wasn’t there. By the time he entered the offices, he had the bones of a firm plan.

He hung up his overcoat, went to the kitchen, made two cups of coffee and headed off to visit Vanessa. He sat down and pushed her cup across the desk toward her.

“Good morning and thank you.” She smiled. “Did you put sugar in my coffee?”

“No way. Half a Truvia packet and a touch of soy milk, shaken, not stirred.” Todd laughed.

“I had no idea that you were so observant. I’m impressed,” Vanessa said, “but why the coffee and why the visit?”

“I just wanted to reconfirm the date for Hallstrom’s results. I have four other companies that I have to sign off on in a very compressed period,” Todd said, specifically going over the companies and reporting dates. “I know you’re handling Crisco and Homewares, but if you need any help, I’ll find the time.”

Vanessa hit a key on her computer and scanned her diary. “They report on the 11
th
, so you’ll need to be finished by the 9
th
,” she said. Then just as Todd had hoped, she went over each of the companies that she handled. He was only interested in the dates for two. Virtex Software on the 18
th
and Philco Laboratories on the 20
th
. “I don’t think I’ll have any problems, but I appreciate you offering to help. If you have any trouble, particularly with the clients you’re taking over from me, just buzz and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Vanessa,” Todd said, standing up.

Arthur Ridgeway was an introvert who didn’t like talking to people he didn’t know. He was the perfect exemplar of a backroom string puller. A master planner, manipulator, and tactician, adept at telling others what to do, but without the skills or personality to execute the tasks himself. Prison had hardened him, and he had an underlying cruel streak. It had been ninety-five days since Fillwell Inc. had supplied the huge order to Trailer Parts, and they hadn’t been paid a cent. All other suppliers were being paid in thirty days or better. Ridgeway wanted to send a don’t-fuck-with us-message. The CEO of Fillwell was angry and had demanded to speak to someone with the authority to authorize payment. It was one of the few calls that Ridgeway had been sweating over.

Fillwell’s CEO was all bluster. “Mr. Ridgeway,” he said, “your accounts people won’t pay us and told our credit department that you’re the only person who can authorize payment.”

“That’s true,” Ridgeway replied. “I can authorize payment, but we’re short on ready money. We’ve got a heap owed to us, and we’ve got a lot of stock out on consignment. When that gets sold, we’ll be back on top and able to pay you.”

“That’s not my problem,” Fillwell’s CEO shouted. “You knew our terms when you bought those axles and suspensions. You’ve got seven days before we commence legal proceedings.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Naturally, we’ll instruct our lawyers to vigorously defend the action. That will drag proceedings out. Are you sure you don’t want to save yourself the legal hassle and stress? We’ll probably be able to pay you in another month or so.”

“What defense? You don’t have any defense. We’ll get judgement and execute on it.” The CEO laughed derisively.

“Well, we’ve had complaints of cracks in the suspensions you supplied, and we’re testing the hardness of the steel used in your axles. We’re not unreasonable and could’ve overlooked these quality defects but from what you’re saying, I should instruct our lawyers immediately. I doubt you’re going to get judgement without fighting a long, drawn-out court battle.”

“You bastard. You slimy bastard,” the CEO shouted. “There’s nothing wrong with our products. They go through the most rigorous quality control and testing. You’re a lying bastard who’s just trying to string payment out. Let me tell you why you have no cash and what your real problem is. Your sales people are selling our products at less than cost and rule number one, business 101, is that revenue has to exceed cost.”

“Thanks for the information and advice,” Ridgeway said. “I know what our selling prices are. I set them. We’re using your products as loss leaders, but the losses are more than compensated for by the margins on the equipment that we’re importing from China. By the way, how do you know what our selling prices are?”

There was a long pause. “Everyone in the market is talking about them.”

“Really? I don’t want that. Perhaps we should have supplied our customers at full list price and then banked a rebate into their accounts at the end of the month. You’d know all about that, though.”

There was an even longer pause. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m instructing our lawyers this afternoon.”

Ridgeway could sense the CEO trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “I’ll see you in court,” he said.

Five minutes after Ridgeway finished his conversation with Fillwell’s CEO he was back on the phone to his chief rumor spreader. Ridgeway liked to call her his anti-public relations agent. “Fiona,” he said, “I want it all over California this afternoon, that Fillwell Axles Inc. can’t pay its debts and that anyone doing business with them should insist on cash. Be sure to warn against taking checks.”

Arthur Ridgeway put the phone down. He didn’t like talking to people, but sometimes it was cathartic.

Chapter 19

Karen Deacon turned on the television to see the Pirates run onto Daley Field before seventy thousand roaring fans. The commentator was saying:

The Cougars had a horrible game last week, and if they’re going to improve, it has to start with their quarterback, Devlin Cooper. Coach Deacon defended him after his dismal performance against the Twenty-Niners.

It’s Reggie Harper kicking for the Pirates. Bradbury’s returning, and it’s a good drive start across the 30 for the Cougars where Cooper will take over.

The Cougars break the huddle. Cooper sets the offense…the snap…Cooper feints to the left and then turns to the right…oh no! Two hundred and seventy pound Pirates linebacker Barry Drinan has blindsided Cooper and buried him in the turf. It’s nasty, folks. Cooper’s not moving, and his helmet’s on the ground. That was as brutal hit as I’ve ever seen. Trainers are all around Cooper, but it’s hard to see him playing on. I can see replacement quarterback Jeff Sweeny warming up. They’re bringing out a stretcher, but wait, Cooper’s getting to his feet and waving the trainers away. He looks groggy, but the Cougars fans are going crazy cheering.

Karen turned the television off. She couldn’t watch. He’d done what he said he was going to do and nearly killed himself. She had seen the looks on the trainers’ faces and knew they had feared for him. He had grinned when he got to his feet and waved the trainers away. It was the dopey grin of a boxer who had taken a brutal punch. Karen felt sick.

Three hours later Karen was stressed and worried about Devlin, so she turned the television back on. He was battered and dirty. She had never seen him like this before. The game was in its dying stages, and Karen prayed that Devlin would get through it without taking another hit. The crowd was roaring, and the commentator was screaming: 

Cougars are down 13-7, no timeouts and less than a minute left in regulation. Devlin Cooper just can’t seem to get it together out there. I don’t think he’s recovered from that huge hit in the first minute. He’s fine between the 20’s but once he gets into the red zone, he looks like an undrafted rookie. One costly mistake after another, not something we’re used to seeing from an All-Pro. Cougars break the huddle as if they have a 6 point lead instead of a deficit. No urgency whatsoever. I don't understand. Cooper walks up to the line of scrimmage. It’s second and goal and the clock’s ticking…38 seconds. Cooper needs to get this into the end zone or hustle up to the line and stop the clock. Cooper takes the snap and drops back. Protection is good, but he’s only got two receivers downfield as he’s in a max protect package. Cooper rolls right, tucks the ball and takes off running. He makes a great move at the 15 and spins out of another tackle at the 10. There’s only one man to beat, but no, no! Cooper’s pounded at the 3 with 12 seconds left, and he’s not getting up. He’s down as his team rushes to the line of scrimmage to snap the ball and kill the clock for one last shot to get into the end zone. Too late, it’s all over, folks. The referee calls timeout for the injury with 8 seconds left. The Cougars have no timeouts left, so that’s an automatic 10 seconds run off the clock which means the ball game’s over. An unbelievable finish for the Cougars, and especially for Cooper, who is finally up. He’s walking off the field all alone, not a trainer or teammate in sight. Talk about a dead man walking! That’s what Devlin Cooper, the Golden Boy of the NFL just one year ago, appears to be today.

Tears streamed down Karen’s face. Then she felt a sudden buildup of bile in her throat and rushed to the toilet.

The mood in the locker rooms is never happy after a loss. Cooper’s ribs were strapped, and his head swathed in tape, cotton wool, and bandages. Even with all of this padding, blood was still seeping from his wounds. The helmet had provided enough protection to save his life, but not enough to ensure he remained unscathed.

The coaches were in the corner of the room engaged in animated conversation. Occasionally they would glance at Cooper and then there would be head shaking and hand gestures.

The players were quiet, but a few of them commiserated with Cooper and told him he’d have a better game next week. Cooper looked up and giant, offensive lineman, Corey Wilson, was beckoning him. Cooper hobbled over to the other side of the room expecting that Wilson wanted to commiserate with him. Wilson glared at him and then in a menacing whisper said, “You motherfucker. You threw that game today. How much were you paid?”

“That’s bullshit,” Cooper replied, but couldn’t hold the big man’s eyes.

“You mighta fooled the coaches, and you mighta fooled the media, but you didn’t fool us,” Wilson said, glancing around the room.

Most of the players on the offensive line were staring at Cooper. None of them were smiling.

“If you ever do it again, we’ll do the same,” Wilson said. “We’ll act like we’re trying, just like you did today. We’ll make sure we’re brushed aside, and it won’t be just one or two of the defense that sacks you like it was today. It’ll be the whole defensive line. You’ll be lucky to walk off the field alive.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilson said turning his back on Cooper.

The mood in the rooms turned from unhappy to poisonous.

In the week prior to Virtex Software Inc. reporting, Todd kept a close eye on Vanessa’s cubicle. The only time she left it for any amount of time was when she was at a client’s. When she was out, Todd dropped memos and documents in her in-tray but her desktop was always turned off. When she went for coffee or to the bathroom, there was always someone hanging around her cubicle. Her supervisors and other subordinates would wait just outside for her to return while partners like Doug Lechte would take a seat in the visitor’s chair. Todd worked as late as Vanessa, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. However, her team was very conscientious and, unfortunately, worked the same or similar hours to her. Elliot had been calling every night, pouring the pressure on, but being careful not to say anything incriminating.

By Friday morning, Todd still didn’t have anything. Elliot was furious and called demanding to see him. “You’ve seen what we do to those who play us for fools. I’ll send the limo to pick you up at the front of your apartment at 8 P.M.,” he shouted.

Ferguson was in the back seat. He quickly frisked Todd, then put a black mask over his head.

“What’s this about?” Todd asked.

“The boss doesn’t want you to see where you’re being taken. It’s for your own safety.” He laughed.

The limo seemed to drive around corners for about five minutes, and Todd knew this was to confuse him. Eventually, the limo got onto a long stretch of road and Todd sensed it was FDR and that he was being taken to Chinatown. The limo got off the main road and a few minutes later stopped.

“Don’t touch the mask,” Ferguson said, as he got out and opened Todd’s door.

Todd heard a door open, and Ferguson pushed him inside. He could smell alcohol and food cooking and guessed that he was in a restaurant. He could hear an undercurrent of voices as Ferguson hustled him up some wooden stairs, and another door opened.

“You can take the mask off,” Elliot said.

Todd rubbed his eyes and looked around the room before glancing at his watch. It had taken forty minutes, so he knew he wasn’t in Chinatown. Elliot was sitting behind a large desk cluttered with cell phones, documents, and a desktop. The timber paneled walls were bare. As Todd’s eyes adjusted to the lights, he looked around the office. It was plain with six visitors’ chairs. In addition to the door that he’d entered by, there was another door to the left of Elliot’s desk.

“Where am I?”

“If I’d wanted you to know I wouldn’t have had you blindfolded. All you need to know is that it’s my place of business.”

“It’s a restaurant,” Todd said.

“Really? Are you hungry, kid? Would you like something to eat?”

“No, just tell me what it is you want? I don’t want to be here a minute longer than I have to.”

Elliot came around from behind his desk and pushed Todd in the chest with some force causing him to fall onto one of the chairs. “Do you think we’re playing games?” he said, jabbing his forefinger hard into Todd’s chest. “I want that information about Virtex and I want it now.”

“I-I’ve tried,” Todd said. “I haven’t had an opportunity. I’m trying. You have to believe me.”

Elliot dropped into the chair in front of Todd and stared into his eyes. “I’ve got people who are on my back. Not nice people. You better pull your finger out.”

“She often works on Sundays,” Todd said. “I’m going to the office this weekend. An opportunity might arise. If she’s not there, she may have hidden her login and password in her desk.” He knew this was a longshot. Worse, security would have him in the office but not Vanessa, so there was a strong probability that his unauthorized login might subsequently be detected. The one plus about Sunday was that if Vanessa was there, she’d almost certainly be working on Virtex Software.

Elliot was far from appeased. “I don’t fucking care how you get the information. Just get it! Put the mask on him and take him back, Ferguson.”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Todd said.

Elliot nodded at the other door.

It was a small bathroom without windows and when Todd switched the light on an overhead extraction fan whirred noisily. He had hoped he might find something that would give him a clue to where he was. There was nothing.

It was 10 A.M. when Todd got to the office on Sunday morning, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The lights above Vanessa’s cubicle were on, so he strolled over and said, “Good morning.”

She looked up from the files on her desk. “What a shock this is. I never thought I’d see the day that Todd Hansen worked on a Sunday.” She laughed. “You’re not making a run for partner, are you?”

“Not likely,” Todd replied. “I’ve got deadlines I have to meet. I can assure you, I’m not looking to make partner, and I’m not here by choice.”

“I know what you mean. I’m struggling too. I’ll be glad when this week is over.”

“What time did you get in?”

“Oh, I’ve been here for a few hours,” Vanessa said, glancing at her watch. “I’m just off to make myself coffee. Can I get you a cup?”

Hallelujah!
“Thanks, black with none. I need a heart starter,” Todd said, as he watched Vanessa walk down to the kitchen. She looked like she’d been poured into the white jeans she was wearing, and he spent a few seconds that he didn’t have, admiring the contours of her butt. Once she was out of sight, he moved quickly. Sure enough, her screen was opened to Virtex and Todd knew where to look. He took out his iPhone and took pics of each of the screens that showed the results. After finishing, he brought up the screen Vanessa had been working on. It took less than a minute, and he was sitting behind his desk when Vanessa brought him his coffee.

It was mid-afternoon when Todd got back to his apartment. He knew that Elliot would call, and he would again be taken to his office. Virtex’s results were good, and would most definitely surprise the market to the upside. The company was also forecasting that the good times would continue.

At 7 P.M., the limo pulled up and Ferguson frisked Todd before placing the hood over his head.

Elliot asked many questions about Virtex’s results, often repeating himself to ensure Todd’s answers were consistent. “You’re positive that the market doesn’t already have this information?”

Todd shook his head. “I’m certain, outside of senior management and us, no one knows.”

“Okay, make sure it doesn’t take you as long to get the goods on Philco. I don’t know whether we’ll even be able to use this,” he said, jabbing his index finger on the sheet of paper that he’d jotted Virtex’s results on.

Lying bastard,
Todd thought. It would be two days before the market had the same information. There was plenty of time to make a killing.