White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller Page 10

  “Yes, it’s a good deal,” Becker said, “but it should’ve been better. We paid twenty million too much because Harry got led up the garden path by that union weasel, Lou Gerrard.”

  “Yeah, it was poorly handled,” Arthur Ridgeway said.

  “Yes,” Becker said. “So poorly that I think the twenty mil should come out of Harry’s loan account. That way, he might exercise more care when he’s next involved in a similar situation.”

  “Fuck!” O’Brien exclaimed. “That’s bullshit. Where do you get off coming up with crap like that?”

  “If you don’t like it, you can always sell your stock and resign,” Becker said. “Maybe it’s time to put your feet up?”

  “I’d be happy to buy ya out for a fair price and pay ya the balance of your loan account, Harry,” Borchard said.

  O’Brien’s face was red, and his sweat-stained shirt was straining to contain his stomach. “I’m not selling,” he said, “and no one’s gonna stick me with a twenty mil charge.”

  Becker ignored him and looked around the table as he raised his hand. “All those in favor of charging Harry’s loan account with twenty mil.”

  The other directors, excluding O’Brien, raised their hands. “Carried,” Becker said. “You’re up next, Arty.”

  O’Brien stared at Becker with hate-filled eyes.

  “As you all know our trailer parts business has been under severe pricing pressure from a rapidly expanding new company, Superior Spares Inc. Mainly axles, suspensions, turntables and landing legs. High-value items. My spy found out that the manufacturer, Fillwell Axles Inc. is supplying Superior at the same price as us, but here’s the rub; Fillwell Axles are providing Superior with a significant volume rebate and paying it into Superior’s bank account at the end of every month. It’s strange because we buy far more but don’t get a rebate.” Ridgeway grinned.

  “Go on,” Becker said, having already been briefed by Ridgeway.

  “It took a lot of tracing but it turns out that Fillwell’s major shareholder is the father-in-law of the guy behind Superior. Fillwell is either funding the son-in-law or setting him up to go into distribution. Either way we’re getting screwed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re grinning about,” Borchard said.

  “You will after he finishes,” Becker said. “Tell us how you retaliated, Arty.”

  “I gave them some bullshit about expanding into Canada and bought six months stock from them. They were rapt to win an order of that size. They’re not gonna be so rapt when we don’t pay ‘em. It’s gonna seriously stretch their cash flow.”

  “Go on.” Becker smiled.

  “We’ve got six months’ supply; we’ve got Superior’s price lists, their customer lists and copies of their sales invoices. I’ve told our sales guys to drop their prices to twenty percent less than cost,” Arty said.

  “Fuck!” Borchard said. “Where’s the sense in that. I don’t get it.”

  “You would if you could understand Fillwell’s financials.” Arty Smirked. “In six months’ time, they’re going to be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and without Fillwell’s funding Superior will be fucked. It’s the deeper pockets strategy, and our pockets are far deeper than theirs. We’ll own them both and be a near monopoly. It won’t take long to get back what we lose, and we’ll own two new businesses.”

  Borchard tapped his pen on his table and pondered what he’d just heard. They were smart bastards all right, and he knew he couldn’t have come up with that scheme. It didn’t worry him, though. He’d just employ devious bastards like Ridgeway, and they’d come up with the schemes and he’d fund them. “I like it, Arty,” he said, “I like it.”

  “Well done, Arthur,” Becker said, thinking it was a pity that O’Brien wasn’t half as smart. “Brock, you wanted to hold the meeting. What do you have?”

  Borchard explained in great detail how he had blackmailed Devlin Cooper and how they would make a huge killing on the Pirates game.

  “You’ll have to tone it down,” Becker said. “Cooper having a bad game is going to be suspicious. The more money on the Pirates, the more suspicious it will look.”

  “You’re right,” Lydia said, “I wouldn’t outlay more than two million.”

  “Fuck,” Borchard said, “we’ll only make ten to twelve mil. I thought we’d hit the bookies across the country and make a huge killing.”

  “Lydia’s the risk assessor,” Becker said. “Betting a larger amount is a recipe for trouble. It’s a nice little earner, though. Once a season for fifteen years and we’ll pick up a hundred and fifty mil. That’s nothing to sneeze at. Oh, and we’ll place all our bets with illegal bookies. They’ll lay ‘em off with the legal bookies, but if anything blows up, I don’t want our payouts frozen.”

  Borchard crunched his knuckles. He looked angry. The Devlin Cooper collect was going to be far less than he had anticipated.

  “Do you have anything new, Lydia?” Becker asked.

  “No, but the falling oil price is sure to throw up some opportunities.”

  Still peeved, Borchard said, “What have you done about the Italian, Dermott?”

  “I had him removed,” Becker replied.

  Gasps went around the table. In Vulture’s first twenty-eight years, the company had undertaken some devious deeds but never murder. Now, in the space of two years since Borchard had joined the board they had the blood of three victims on their hands.

  “What do you mean removed?” Obrien asked nervously.

  “He’s gone,” Becker said. “Never to be seen again. I can’t make it any clearer.”

  “I didn’t think you’d have the balls,” Borchard said. “You’re full of surprises, Dermott. How are you progressing with the accountant?”

  “He’ll be onboard by tonight. We’re setting up CFD accounts in different corporate names with different brokers in Switzerland. We’re going to trade them actively with the aim of doing no worse than breaking even. When we make the insider trades they’ll be of a similar size to our earlier ones. That way we shouldn’t arouse the suspicions of the brokers or authorities. We could make fifty million.”

  “What’s a CFD?” Borchard asked.

  “It’s a derivative. It stands for Contract for Difference. Using them to trade stocks in the US is illegal. However, they’re legal in just about every other country, and you can trade CFDs over US stocks in those countries. Think of them as massively geared margin loans. I could buy twenty million dollars of Bank of America stock for an outlay of a million.”

  “Jesus,” Borchard said, “but you said they’re illegal for US companies.”

  “No, I didn’t. They’re illegal in the US,” Becker said, “but as I just said, you can buy CFDs on US stocks in other countries.”

  “I don’t understand,” Borchard said.

  “You don’t need to,” Becker replied. “Does anyone have anything else? No. Then we’re adjourned.”

  It was 7:45 on Wednesday night when a white van pulled up on Hartnett Street adjacent to Vanessa’s apartment building. Ferguson and Fraser were in the front dressed in dark gray uniforms embossed Pivot Electrical on the pockets. The peaks of the matching caps they wore were pulled down low over their foreheads. They didn’t have long to wait before Vanessa Hodge and her girlfriend left the building to go to their kick boxing class only two blocks away.

  “We’ve got an hour,” Ferguson said, taking a tool box from the back.

  “That’s more than enough time,” Fraser said. “Let’s go.”

  Two minutes later they took the stairs to the third story and more particularly to apartment #36. Ferguson took a leather key holder from his pocket with a dozen metal picks inside and in less than thirty seconds they entered Vanessa’s apartment.

  “There’s her purse,” Fraser said pointing to the coffee table. “Make sure you don’t make a mess.”

  “I know. I reckon her passport will be in the drawers next to her bed.”

  “You’re right,” Fraser re
plied, removing his iPhone to photo it.

  “Ah, I’ve got her driver’s license,” Ferguson said, passing it to Fraser.

  “Good, all we need is an invoice or receipt for rent or electricity. It looks like she keeps her unpaid bills attached to the fridge door. How easy is this?” Fraser laughed. “Is everything back in her purse as it was?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 17

  Todd knocked on Elliot’s door, telling himself not to show fear, but it was easy to think and hard to pull off. Elliot answered wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and the hotel’s white slippers. He had a Budweiser in one hand and a handful of mixed nuts in the other. “Come in, Todd,” he said. “Just stand there while I pat you down. I’m watching the Soup Nazi. It has to be the best Seinfeld ever made. I must’ve watched it twenty times. It’s got a few minutes to go. Take a seat. Can I get you a beer, soda, mineral water? Would you like something to eat? I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “I want nothing from you! Not ever. You killed someone last night for a few lousy dollars, and it’s like you’ve already forgotten about it. What type of callous bastard are you?”

  “Whoa, right there. I didn’t kill anyone. I have to hand it to you, kid. You’ve got real chutzpah. Look at you, you’re shitting your pants and yet you’re still accusing me. Was that your plan to prove you’re not scared? If it was, you failed,” Elliot said, stifling a yawn.

  “Liar.”

  “Did I pull the trigger? I didn’t want you to see what happened last night but since you did, can you imagine how easy it would be for the same fate to befall your parents or siblings or even you? That’s the last thing I want.”

  “You leave my family out of this,” Todd said, but as he listened to himself, he sounded like he was begging rather than threatening. It was hard, in the presence of a murderous thug, not to show fear.

  “Have a look at that Newman.” Elliot laughed. “He was the funniest character in the show.”

  “I don’t want to stay here a minute longer than I have to,” Todd said. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Don’t be a smartass, kid. You already know what I want,” Elliot said, putting his feet on the coffee table. His biceps bulged as he put his hands behind his head.

  “You know that I don’t audit those two companies. I can’t get the information you’re after.”

  “You’re starting to make me angry. You work on the same floor as that woman, what’s her name, Hodge? You can easily get what we’re looking for.”

  “No, I can’t. I can’t access her computer. I don’t have her login or password.”

  Elliot yawned. “You’re starting to piss me off. She has to eat lunch, have morning and afternoon tea and go to the john. Don’t tell me she logs off and on every time she moves. Besides, now that you’re working with her, it’ll be easy.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We know a lot about your firm. Keep that in mind before you lie to us.”

  “I still want to meet your boss.”

  “Are you fucking stupid? If you meet him after what you saw last night, we’ll have no choice but to kill you. Do you want to meet him that much? Take my word, you’ll be off the hook and owe us nothing after you give us the information on those two companies.”

  “Your word.” Todd smirked. “Can I take it to the bank?”

  “You’re such a fucking smartass. You’d be wise to watch your mouth. You’ve got my word, and that’s all you’re getting.”

  Todd was sick of being in the presence of Elliot. He was scared but hoped that his fear wasn’t palpable. His head was hurting, and he felt his heart racing. He needed to get out and fill his lungs with fresh air.

  “I’m about to order salmon,” Elliot said. “Do you want me to order for you?”

  “Hell will freeze over before I ever eat with you,” Todd said, standing up. “I’m out of here.”

  “Take this prepaid cell phone,” Elliot said. “We’ll use it to call you to set up meetings. No conversation will last longer than a minute, and we’ll never talk business. Recording the calls will achieve nothing, and it’ll be pointless trying to trace them. Don’t think you can trick us. We’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  “Yeah,” said Todd, opening the door.

  Opening a Gmail address in the name of VanessaHodge007 presented no problems for Fraser. The woman with him was a master forger and completed the PS 1583 for a mailbox with UPS in Vanessa’s name. Then she affixed her notary’s stamp to the copies of Vanessa’s driver’s license and passport. After scanning them, Fraser attached them to an email to the local UPS office. The covering email supposedly sent by Vanessa said that she would pay for the mailbox at the same time she picked up the keys.

  Passport photos are predominantly only of use to skilled and experienced immigration officials. The scanned copy of the photo of Vanessa’s passport did not reflect her beauty and showed a grim-faced young woman. The woman who entered the UPS office on 77th Street had been made up to look like Vanessa and was carrying the original notarized copies of the documentation. She appeared to have hurt her right hand and had some difficulty when signing for the keys.

  At first the illegal bookies were happy to take the bets for ten, twenty-five and fifty thousand on the Pirates. However, when the flood of money continued, they started laying off as fast as they could. In the space of thirty minutes, the Pirates firmed from six to one to the ridiculous odds of two to one. Television and radio sports commentators speculated about where the money had come from. They were unanimous in their opinion that the Pirates form had done nothing to warrant such a huge plunge.

  When Karen called, she was crying uncontrollably and wanted to know what she had done. Cooper brushed her off as he had done the other times she had called. They had warned him not to talk to her, and he feared they might have bugged her phone. He felt sorry for her but was sure she wouldn’t feel any better knowing the truth. He knew he’d feel better if she knew, and that she must be thinking that he’d dumped her.

  On the way back from training, Cooper got the limo to stop at a phone store and bought himself a bright green, prepaid cell phone. He didn’t want to run the risk of mixing it up with the one the hoodlums had said they’d use to contact him. His SMS was brief. The first coffee shop. Same time as last. Tomorrow. He didn’t use his name but knew Karen would know it was him.

  When Karen entered the coffee shop, Cooper was sitting in a dimly lit booth furthest from the door. He held his hand up. As she approached, he could see that her eyes were red and puffy. The waiter took her jacket, and she sat down. She was wearing a black coat, a white woolen sweater and designer jeans. “So you’ve finally decided to talk to me,” she said. “Got sick of being a bastard, did you?”

  Cooper raised his hands palms out. “Hear me out,” he said, “and then judge me.”

  Ten minutes later she said, “My God, what are we going to do? I could leave Tom and take the kids with me, but he doesn’t deserve that. I’m not sure it would help, though. Having a fling with a middle-aged woman and moving in with her are two vastly different things, aren’t they?”

  “If I had to I wou−”

  “Devlin, I’m sure you’ve thought it through. You’re only twenty-three. What would your parents think if you moved in with me? Your siblings? Your friends? Your teammates? God, why did I ever do it? You may not believe it, but I’ve never been unfaithful to Tom before. I could’ve been, many times. He just works so hard, and the romance in our marriage died long ago. Yes, we still have sex. The roll-on, roll-off variety. You pressed all my buttons the minute I laid eyes on you. Shit!”

  “I’m just going to have to do what they want. I’ve worked out a plan. I’m going to have to let myself get sacked in the early plays. That way the media will put my bad game down to being dazed. I think it’ll work, that is if I don’t get hit so hard that I need to be carried off.”

  “You poor thing.”

  “If I do
what they want, I think they’ll stick to their word. After all, once it’s out there for everyone to see, I’m of no value to them.”

  “Oh, my God,” Karen said, turning bright red. “If it gets on the net, my parents will see it. My kids will see it. Their friends will see it. My girlfriends will see it. I’d be better off dead.”

  “Don’t say that,” Cooper said. The same thought had crossed his mind about himself.

  Karen smiled wanly. “I have to say it’s a real passion killer. I’m glad you told me, though. I knew we were never going to be together in the long term, but it hurt to get dumped and not know why.”

  “If I think of anything that might help, I’ll text you,” Cooper said. “You’ve got the number of my prepaid cell, so if you come up with anything, do the same.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Karen said, signaling the waiter for her coat. “I’m going. We shouldn’t run the risk of being seen together.”

  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.