by Owen Parr
“What about Thomas Wetherly?” asked Agnes.
“Place him below Susana. Right now, he’s like a dangling participle. He’s there without supporting anything,” I replied. “Now, Mr. Pat, about Maestro. There’s too much of a coincidence to think he’s not connected through the bank to the investment firm. Susana told you Wetherly Stevens has banked with AmericanCiti forever. That was the word she used, right?”
“She did say ‘forever.’”
“So, here’s my thought. Maestro knows both senior Wetherly and Richard Stevens. He also knows Sofia from when she opened her account at Abacus. Then, he meets Susana through Sofia. He then becomes tight with the sisters, so much so that he has his own sister fake the records at Harvard. Why would he do that?”
“He’s setting her up for something down the road?” Patrick asked.
“It’s more like up the road. Say Maestro knows the history of the firm, knows that both partners want someone else to manage the company. Perhaps he concocts the plan for Sofia to hook up with Stevens or senior Wetherly and for Susana to knab Thomas Wetherly. Now, Susana has two degrees from Harvard and is a go-getter. She beds Thomas and joins the firm. Sofia tries to bed senior Wetherly, and when that fails, she settles for Stevens. What do you have?”
“A well-planned and well-executed attack to take over the company and their money,” Agnes replied.
“But why? Why do they need to take over the firm? Think hard, look beyond the obvious.”
Everyone looked around the table. They sat there, clueless.
Patrick offered in the form of a query, “They’re using the firm for some illicit business?”
I pointed to Patrick and smiled. “Exactly, Mr. Pat. Last night at the restaurant, Susana said to Maestro that she was worried about your questions because she thought maybe you knew about ‘our other stuff.’ So, we need to find out what that ‘other stuff’ is.”
“That’s all well and good. However, that sounds like current events. How does that move us any closer to finding out about your dad’s killer from twenty years ago?” Patrick questioned.
“Clues are like building blocks, Mr. Pat. Right now, we’re building the foundation one block at a time. Everything started in 1997. Somehow, somewhere, Paolo Mancuso entered into this equation. If we reverse engineer back to 1997, it may all come together.”
“I need to finish my deep dive into Maestro. And, you wanted me to research his sister at Harvard, right?”
“Yes. Although, we know what she did already. Maybe we can leverage her into disclosing why, just to confirm my theory.”
“But, the moment we talk to her, she’ll tell Maestro,” Patrick said.
“Let me work on that. Maybe Special Agent Marcy and I can take a quick trip to Boston and meet up with her.”
“Joey, did you have a chance to talk to your mother?” Patrick asked.
“I did, Mr. Pat. She has no recollection of much. She did say Wetherly Stevens sounded vaguely familiar. But, and this might be good news, she kept a bunch of stuff from my dad stored away. In that stuff, she says there’s a little black book.”
“That my lad could be a treasure trove. Who knows what’s in that little black book.”
I smiled. “Maybe more than we want, right? I should be getting it today or tomorrow. She had to make a special trip to the storage facility.”
We all heard a distant “Hello?” coming from the pub side.
“I’ll go see who’s there,” Agnes said.
Moments later, Agnes returned to the office shaking a small box. “From Briana Mancuso, Naples, Florida.”
31
Marcy and I took an early morning flight from La Guardia to Boston Logan Airport. Reluctantly, Marcy had agreed to help me with my scheme to question Ana Maestro. Ana was divorced with no children and had changed her name back to her maiden, Maestro, which had allowed us to find her easily. She had worked at Harvard in the records department for the last twenty-five years before being promoted to supervisor of the records department.
Our Uber driver merged into I-93 out of Logan Airport on our way to the school. Marcy asked, “You think this lady is going to keep quiet after we speak to her?”
I looked at the driver to see if he was paying attention to us. He was wearing earbuds, so I assumed he wasn’t. “It’s up to you to put the fear of God into her and keep her quiet.”
“But, if she tells her brother the FBI questioned her, they’re going to suspect something.”
“As it is, if Maestro checks out Patrick’s private detective license, he’ll know he works for Dom and me. So, let’s hope for the best.”
“Are we staying the night?”
“No. Agnes booked our return flight for five this evening.”
“Okay. I did some research on Wetherly Stevens with the Bureau.” Marcy stopped to glance at the driver, and then back at me.
I whispered, “It’s okay. This guy is in a world of his own. Tell me.”
“It seems the firm was investigated back in 1997 for money laundering. However, the case was dropped, lacking sufficient proof after one year.”
“Did you have a chance to look at the file?”
“No. But, an investigator at the FBI, read me a few things from it. Wetherly Stevens had a huge client who was suspected of being tied to organized crime. Gambling, prostitution, numbers, the whole nine yards.”
I rolled my eyes. “It sounds like my dad’s business. Go on.”
“I did ask if your dad’s name appeared in any of the files, and it didn’t.”
“Yeah, well, Dad wasn’t a capo, just a caporegime—captain. What else did they have?”
“The investigation came to a halt without any proof to indict anyone when the investigator was killed. The FBI knew he had an informant, a CI, but no one but the agent knew the identity.”
“Shit!” I said a little too loud, attracting the attention of our driver. Lowering my voice, I asked, “You think the confidential informant could have been my dad?”
“As I said, the only person who knew the identity of the CI was the investigator.”
“How was the agent killed?”
“The agent was found dead, strapped to a chair in an abandoned warehouse in Queens. He was shot in the forehead at close range.”
“And no clues were developed from that?”
“Hang on a second, Mancuso. Allow me to finish the story. He had been missing for two days. He was tortured before they killed him. He had been shot once in each kneecap.”
“They wanted to know what he knew and if anyone else knew.”
“Exactly, and he most likely gave up the name of the CI.”
“Any clues from the scene?”
“None.”
“Was it before or after Dad’s—” I stopped short.
“Two days before, according to the records.”
“Too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“It’s quite a stretch though.”
“Somewhat. But, think about it. It fits. I can’t imagine my dad being a snitch for the authorities though.” I thought about it again. Could he have been?
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, but a CI doesn’t become one out of the goodness of their heart. Maybe they had something on him, and he had no choice.”
“Yeah, that’s more likely. Catch the little fish and make him give up the bigger fish.”
The Uber driver removed one earbud and said, “We’re here folks. The administration building is on your right.”
As we walked into the building, Marcy asked, “Did you get anything out of the little black book?”
“I’ll tell you on the way back.”
It took us a while for someone to locate Ana Maestro. Finally, a thin lady with poorly dyed, thinning blonde hair, round spectacles, and a frown on her face approached us. She had a loose pink dress that looked two sizes too big for her and a belt around her waist.
“I’m Ana Maestro,” she said without extending a hand.
&nbs
p; Flashing her creds, Marcy said, “Ms. Maestro, I’m Special Agent Marcy Martinez with the FBI. This is John Watson. Is there a place we can talk privately?”
She became visibly upset as she looked at both of us. “What is this about?”
“We need some privacy,” Marcy repeated.
Ana looked around. Following her gaze, I saw an empty bench in a hallway. “There is fine,” I said, pointing.
All three of us walked toward the bench. Ana sat in one corner, Marcy in the middle. I squeezed in next to Marcy.”
“What is this about?” Ana queried again.
“Ms. Maestro, I’m going to ask you some questions here. If you cooperate, we can leave it at that. However, if you don’t, we may have to question you at our office. Is that understood?” Marcy asked, beginning to apply the pressure.
“I’m I in some kind of trouble?”
“It all depends. You should know that lying to the FBI is a criminal offense,” Marcy added sternly.
I was afraid this lady was going to lawyer up before we even got started, so I offered, “We’re not here to charge you with anything. We just want to ask you questions on a case we’re involved with.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice quivering.
Marcy took over. “Let me go straight to the point. Your brother, Charles Maestro, said that you helped him entered faked records in the university’s database for a Susana Roth. Did you do that?”
Ana’s hands began to tremble. “Oh my god, did Charlie tell you that?”
“That’s what he said.”
“He, he, was going out with this lady twenty years ago. Anyway, he said he was trying to help her get a job, and all I needed to do was to have her show up momentarily as having graduated from here. But, I took that information down many years ago.”
“So, you falsified her records showing she graduated with two degrees?”
Ana did not respond. She continued to tremble.
“Ms. Maestro?
“Yes. Law and finance. But, I took them down almost immediately. Maybe two months after she got the job. I’ve never done that again. Oh my god. I’m I in trouble?” she asked, taking off her glasses and covering her face with her hands.
“It depends what you do going forward.”
Ana looked at Marcy. “What do you mean?”
“You need to keep this conversation private. You can’t call your brother and tell him we were here. Is that understood?”
“Is Charlie in trouble?”
“We don’t know. This is an ongoing investigation. If you call him, well then, that could become a charge of conspiracy and get you both embroiled in bigger things. Am I making myself clear?”
“What now?” Ana asked.
“Now, go about your business. We’ll be in touch if we need additional information.”
I wanted more information on Maestro, so before we ended the session, I asked, “We know your brother worked as a real estate broker, then for Abacus Federal before joining AmericanCiti Bank. What else can you tell us about him?”
“You said you spoke to him. Didn’t he tell you?”
“You tell us, please.”
“We were both adopted by the Maestros when we were little. Grew up in Queens, New York. Not much to tell. We had everyday lives. Charlie went to State University of New York at Buffalo, and I attended Boston University. From there we got jobs, and that’s it.”
I probed farther. “Has your brother ever been in trouble with the authorities?”
“Oh my god, no. Not that I’m aware.”
“Do you stay in touch?”
“Occasionally. Birthdays, Christmas. We talk maybe every six months or so.”
“Has he ever asked you to falsify any other records?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, no, never.”
Marcy got up from the bench. “Okay. We’re done here. Remember what I said about calling your brother.”
“Yes, yes, okay. I understand.”
Walking out of the administration building, I used my Uber app to call for a ride back to Logan Airport.
“What do you think?” Marcy asked as we stood outside waiting for a white Toyota Camry.
“I think I’m hungry,” I said, looking around at the massive campus.
“Smartass. About Ana?”
“All she did was a favor for her little brother. An illegal favor, but she knows nothing else. She looks very sick, you know.”
“She didn’t look very good.”
“Lost a lot of weight, losing her hair. Very pale.”
“Chemo?”
“More than likely.”
“So, now it’s confirmed how Susana got two degrees from Harvard.”
“And it didn’t cost her a penny. Yet, she told the partners she owed over two hundred thousand in school loans.”
“And they paid it?”
“She scammed then out of the money. They gave her a bonus when she joined the firm to pay off the loans.”
“She worked them right off the bat.”
“Now I know why Agnes found no records. Ana took them down after she joined the partners and got licensed. Pretty shrewd operators.”
“Where do you want to eat?” Marcy asked, as our Uber approached the curb.
“You think I can get Ana to give me a law degree?”
“While you’re at it, have her give you a PhD in bullshit. You’ve earned that one.”
“Let’s eat at the airport. Maybe we can get on an earlier flight back to New York. This puzzle is beginning to take shape.”
“Are you going to keep me in suspense about the little black book?”
I smiled. “I’ll tell you on the plane.”
“You always do this.”
“It’s called a cliffhanger.”
Marcy’s nose wrinkled, and she patted me in the ass as we got in the Camry. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
32
I had already gone through my morning routine at the pub when Agnes and Patrick walked in. Gathered around our conference table, Agnes inquired, “How did it go with Ana Maestro?”
“Are Larry and Harry coming in?”
“Bevans & Associates dropped a small case on us yesterday. A client’s son was arrested for petty theft with a bunch of friends at Saks Fifth Avenue. I’ve got them working on that until you need them for this.”
“Bevans gave us a case? I thought we were on their shit list because of young Wetherly.”
“They asked for Larry and Harry to handle this. I think we still are, but since these two guys worked for them before they joined us, I figured they’re comfortable with them.”
“It could also mean they might hire them back if they drop us later.”
“Joey,” Patrick began, “all you did was your job on Daufuskie Island. They can’t hold that against you.”
“We’ll see. I would hate to lose that source of revenue.”
“There are plenty of other criminal law firms that would love to work with you. Criminal cases are not going out of business any time soon,” Agnes said.
“In any case, Ana Maestro simply confirmed what we knew. She did falsify the records for Susana Roth. It seems her brother was dating her at the time.”
“Huh, but I found nothing when I did my search.” Agnes pointed out.
“That’s because she erased everything after Susana got licensed and landed at Wetherly Stevens.”
“I was starting to think my skills have slipped.”
“They covered their tracks. That’s all,” Patrick said.
“What’s more interesting is what Marcy uncovered about the partners. It seems they had a client who was under investigation. A person tied to organized crime back in 1996. No charges were ever filed, and the investigation came to a halt when the investigator for the FBI, working with the NYSE, was shot in the forehead after being tortured.”
“That’s horrible, but interesting,” Patrick said.
“It gets even more interesting,”
I said, pulling myself up to the table and resting my elbows on it. “This FBI agent had an informant, a CI inside the organization who was feeding him information. The identity of the CI was only known to the agent.”
“Are you going to tell us that Paolo Mancuso was the CI?” Patrick said, wide-eyed.
“It so happens my dad was shot two days after the agent was murdered.”
“Is there a way to connect these two incidents?” Agnes asked.
“I think the clues are in my dad’s little black book.”
“Didn’t you look at the book?” Patrick asked.
I smiled. “I did. But every notation, other than dates, is in some code. I guess my dad was cautious with his notes.”
“So, all we need to do is break the code,” Agnes said, bouncing a little in her chair. It was obvious that this news excited her.
“That might be a job for a cryptanalyst,” Patrick said.
“I’ve already called my mother and asked her to send me anything she may have in the storage facility that belonged to Dad. Who knows? She may still have a book, among ‘all the crap,’ as she called it. Something that can decipher the code.”
“How much did she keep?” asked Patrick.
“She said she kept personal items of his for sentimental reasons. Hopefully, there’s a book or two that can break the code.”
“It’s a long shot,” Patrick said. “Where are we without breaking the code?”
“Agnes, did you find anything else on Maestro?”
“No, we have everything on him. He worked for a real estate company, then Abacus Federal, then AmericanCiti Bank. I tried to find if the partners tied into him at some point, but nothing on that.”
“We do know they had accounts at those banks, right?” Patrick asked.
“We do, Mr. Pat, but that’s all we know. Could be a coincidence,” Agnes replied.
We all went silent for a few minutes. We were close, but no cigar, as they say.
“Do you have the little black book?” Agnes asked.
“I gave it to Marcy to take to the Bureau. Maybe someone there can start analyzing it.”
