“I’m waiting for a callback from one woman. She remembered a lot of details about the night she went to one of Rob’s investor meetings. She paid by check and is fairly certain she can get a copy of it.”
“Which gets us to Rob—how?”
“I made sure the woman understood I needed to see both front and back of the cancelled check. From that, I hope to get numbers that will tell me the account it was deposited to, and that may lead us to the money.”
“Sounds like a roundabout method.”
“It is. The good news is she wrote the check to an entity called Fearless Filmmaking.”
“A new one!”
“Yes, and this was only a few months ago.”
“So it’s likely the account still exists.” Gracie was so excited she nearly tipped over her mug.
“We shall hope so. At least all these new names are ones Rob never shared with me, so I have a feeling he thinks no one knows about them.”
Sandy’s phone rang just then, startling both women. Gracie crossed her fingers.
“Yes? Yes, Mrs. Peabody. Oh, that’s great news. Both sides of it, yes please. Can you take the photos with your phone? Oh. Well, that’s okay. Get a photocopy and put it in the mail for me.” Sandy gave her home address and reiterated how important it was to send the copies immediately. “Keep your original in a safe place. We’re hoping to bring the case to court and it could be evidence.”
She ended the call and turned to Gracie, whose mood had quieted again.
“It’s only a couple of days. She promised to mail it today. Hang in there.”
She walked over and gave Gracie a hug.
“Meanwhile, let’s keep calling the folks on our lists. If nothing else, touching base will give them some reassurance, and we may even come across more information that will help us track the money.”
Gracie perked up. “Whatever it takes to keep Mom in her own home.”
Chapter 47
Amber set Mary up with her spare computer at the breakfast bar and showed her the basics of exploring social media.
“It’s always a good place to start when you want to know what people are doing, thinking about, or bragging about. Remember how I located Abby Singer that way?” Amber said. “Have fun with it—I’ll be over at my desk digging into that information Pen gave me.”
Mary began with the most popular site for those over fifty, since that was their judge’s age range. Facebook showed a slew of Alderstons, but only two in southern California. One was younger, but the one that caught her eye was a Lois Alderston of Glendale. Her most recent post began with ‘Look what Layton got me for Christmas!’
“Amber, that judge’s first name … is it Layton?”
“Yeah.” Amber didn’t take her eyes from her own screen.
“Bingo. I found his wife.” Mary looked at the posts. Only a few showed. Apparently you had to ‘friend’ someone to see everything they wrote, but in this case she might have come up with what she really needed without revealing herself. She read the most recent two entries:
Luxury owner’s suite on the SS Wellington! Woo-hoo!! First time I’ve ever been treated so royally.
The post accompanied a photo of a huge fruit basket alongside a box of chocolates and bottle of champagne. Three other photos showed a large shipboard suite with stunning aqua seas in the background.
The next post showed an extremely rotund man in baggy trunks on a lounger by the pool. On a table beside him were two beer glasses and a plate heaped with nachos. He held out one hand, as if to say, Don’t take my picture, but his face showed clearly.
“Yep, it’s our man,” she told Amber. “Looks like he sprang for quite the Christmas gift.”
“Price it—see what that trip costs,” Amber suggested.
Mary felt slightly out of her depth—martial art classes were more her speed than internet searches—but she got the knack of Google pretty quickly.
“What do I put—Caribbean cruises?”
“Get more specific,” Amber advised. “Put the name of the ship and something like ‘luxury owner’s suite pricing.’ No point in dallying with a hundred million useless search results.”
Mary followed instructions and up popped a link to the cruise line’s official website. It didn’t take but a few clicks to get to Accommodations and Pricing. And sure enough, there was the owner’s suite photo, all decorated up in the same scheme she’d just seen on Lois Alderston’s Facebook page. “Got it. Whoa, that baby’s pricey. They’re getting ten days for what I paid for my car.”
Amber got up and looked over her shoulder. “And isn’t it interesting … it’s about the same amount Rob took out of his account right before the arraignment.”
“Now, if we just had a way to find out whether Judge Alderston paid in cash,” Mary mused.
“Maybe we can. For now, let’s just get screenshots of these Facebook posts and the cruise line’s price list.” She instructed Mary on which keys to press, and immediately emailed the shots to Sandy, Gracie, and Pen.
Within two minutes Mary’s phone rang. Gracie. “I bet I can tell you the travel agent who booked this trip,” she said, her voice shaky with excitement. “Her name’s Tonya Bridwell, and she advertises herself as California’s cruise specialist. ‘We’ll get you there in style.’ And last-minute bookings are welcome. Mom used her a couple of times, but she says Tonya is only friendly to people who want the high-end cruise packages, the ones who spend the most.”
“Sounds feasible,” Mary said. “I’ll give her a call.”
She turned to Amber when the call was done. “So, how am I going to get the travel agent to admit whether the judge showed up with cash in his chubby hands?”
“Pretend to be a friend of Lois’s?”
“That’ll work.” She found Bridwell Travel online and got the number, insisting on speaking directly with Tonya.
After gushing about what a great time her friend Lois was having on the cruise and telling the agent she wanted to do the very same one, she found Tonya warming up. Tonya verified the pricing and that the owner’s suite would next be available in four weeks.
“Lois hinted that maybe Layton got a discount by paying cash—is that true?”
“We are sometimes able to negotiate cash discounts,” Tonya said, being a bit cagey.
“That Layton, I’ll just bet he did. The man loves to walk in and flash some money. I remember a time we were all— Oh, never mind that. For a man who loves to spend money, he also loves to get a deal. So did he? Get a discount by paying cash?”
“If what you’re really asking is whether you could get the same deal … yes. Twenty thousand even, and the owner’s suite is yours for the cruise. When can you come into my office?”
Mary almost flubbed her next lines, but managed to pretend she was setting up a real appointment while remembering to give a fictitious name, address, and phone number. Her hands were shaking as she ended the call and pressed the button to stop recording the conversation.
“We’ve got him,” she said.
Chapter 48
Amber smiled at Mary’s good news, pleased she’d thought to show her less-techie friend how to record the conversation before dialing the travel agent. Meanwhile, Amber had been delving deep into the locked areas of three different banks.
Rob Williams was no dummy when it came to moving money around and disguising transactions—she had to give him that much, although why he hadn’t closed the various accounts after taking out the money still puzzled her. The fact that the near-empty accounts still existed was definitely making her current efforts easier, and it would have been such a simple matter for him to close the accounts, knowing after a year or so they would virtually vanish.
She’d found connections between his personal account and that of Intrepid Dog Pictures—that had been simple right from the start. Less straightforward were the links between the other business entities Pen’s agent had divulged. Valiant Flame Films appeared to be completely separate from G
allant Man Films, banking wise, but when she entered both names into a Google search, at least two websites linked them to shared film projects.
Reading the articles attached to the links, though, was when it really got interesting. A partner in Gallant Man Films had registered a complaint that expenses had greatly exceeded projections and he’d not been able to recoup his investment. This had happened ten years ago. Although a separate search showed this person to be well acquainted with film production and Hollywood’s ways, in other aspects his story sounded eerily similar to what had been happening recently.
She followed a link to the movie in question, discovered it was now way down in the backlist of titles on Netflix, and brought up a page with the film description. Rob Williams was nowhere to be found among the producers, executive producers, or director. In fact, a search of the entire Netflix website came up with no results matching the Rob Williams they knew. Where was his supposed Oscar winner? Why didn’t his name come up alongside all the big stars he’d claimed to have worked with?
There was one person she could ask, knowing she would get straight answers—her father. Edward Zeckis had a bunch of colorful and varied past experiences, and in one of those past lives he’d been a film editor, valued as part of Santa Fe’s movie industry because he not only had a talent for putting scenes together in memorable ways, but also because of his business sense. The latter was one reason he and Amber had exchanged words over her choice to leave college, but their close relationship since her childhood overrode what he saw as her youthful folly. He had to admit there’d been plenty of folly in his own youth.
“Hey, Dad,” Amber said when he picked up. “I know I probably caught you and Mom either finishing meditation or about to start your pre-dinner glass of wine …”
“We’re right between. What’s up?”
Cutting to the chase was a trait shared by both father and daughter, and Amber wasted no time formulating her questions about why someone in the movie industry would have so many bank accounts and such a variety of business entities.
“You want the long answer or the short one?” he asked.
“Short.”
“Taxes. Run money through enough different shell corporations, drum up enough expenses, you can shelter almost all the income from taxes.”
“What about investors? Can you shelter it from them too? Make it so they never see a penny of profit on their investment?”
“Wow—how did I raise such a smart little girl?” He chuckled.
“I’m guessing, actually, but is that true?”
“It is. It’s why it’s critical in a contract whether the language states gross, adjusted gross, or net profits. Why is this coming up, honey? Have you invested in something?”
“Not me. A relative of a friend, and it’s a little complicated.”
“I’m guessing it’s a lot complicated, since you’re calling me. Anyway, tell your friend to read the fine print. The wording is everything.”
“Is there ever a way to find out the real story—what was really earned?” Amber wasn’t sure why she was asking. They had every reason to believe at this point Rob Williams had simply pocketed the money.
“Whew—I don’t know. Find a lawyer or accountant who’s been burned and see if they’ll cross the line and turn over evidence? Maybe? It won’t be easy. Those are usually the ones who actually do get paid, and paid very well, to not let go of secrets.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Hey, sweetie? Be careful.” There was indistinct conversation in the background. “Oh, and Mom sends her love.”
“Love you guys too.” Amber put her phone down, pondering what he’d said.
Was there a whole tangle of corporations set up by Rob Williams to hide the true nature of his dealings? It seemed likely. Could five women peel away enough layers of the onion to get to the heart of the matter? That part felt scary, getting into the tax records and delving deep. She knew she should talk it over with the rest of the group before proceeding. But her fingers lingered over the keyboard, itching to begin the search.
Chapter 49
Sandy placed another glass ornament into its compartment in the storage box and closed the lid, just as Amber arrived.
“I don’t know why I put up a tree every year. It’s just for me and, I suppose, the cats. They get a kick out of knocking all the little danglies off so they can watch me put them back.” As if to prove the point, Heckle and Jeckle wandered through the room, brushing their backs against the lowest of the branches.
Amber laughed and called the two black cats over to her. “I liked your tree this year. My apartment is so small, I can barely handle one of those little table-top ones. By the day after Christmas, it’s back in the box for another year.”
“Well, with everything else going on, I’m more than a week late in getting this organized. At least the ornaments are off. I’ll work on getting the tree back into its box and the whole thing out to the garage later. When did the others say they would be here?”
“Mary can’t make it. She’s got classes at the gym all day. Gracie was making waffles for the family and says she’ll come as soon as they’re off to their other activities.”
“Ooh, we should have gone to her house. Waffles never happen around here, unless I toss a box of frozen ones into my grocery cart now and then. What about Pen?”
The ringing doorbell answered her question. Pen was decked out in wool winter-white slacks and jacket, with a lavender silk blouse.
“Wow, you dressed for the occasion,” Amber teased, indicating her own leggings and baggy tunic sweater.
“I’ve a book signing downtown later, an indie shop where the owner likes to do it up with tea and crumpets. They think it goes with my English accent, although personally I don’t care at all for crumpets.” She set her bag on a chair in the living room. “At least I’ve dressed the part.”
Sandy stacked the Christmas decoration boxes in one corner and fluffed the pillows on the sofa. “Sorry about being so disorganized.”
“You should be,” Amber teased. “After all, we’re accustomed to yours being the haven of order, while my place is … I’m not sure what you’d call it.”
“Early American Dorm,” Sandy offered with a laugh.
The sound of Gracie’s minivan out front got their attention. She bustled in, bringing a hint of the chilly day and a whiff of bacon. “Okay, girls. Scott took the kids for a Saturday at the mall. I’m free for awhile.”
Amber started the conversation by passing along what her father had told her about the various layers production companies could form, ostensibly for tax purposes but also a convenient way to assure no one made a profit on the film.
“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what Rob Williams has done. None of the accounts I located had much money in them at all.”
“But why bother with the elaborate setup if he never intended to make the movie at all?” Gracie asked.
“Good question. My guess is that he had delusions of grandeur, thinking he actually would become a huge Hollywood mogul. Maybe he saw himself as the next Stephen Spielberg, but even with the money he gathered he never got the backing of a studio, or never managed to sign the actors he wanted.” Amber shrugged. Her dad hadn’t known the answers to those questions either.
“Dad did seem to think there would be some sort of written records somewhere. Unless Rob wanted to find himself in deep trouble with the IRS, he must have filed tax returns.”
“Banks do report money movement,” Sandy said, “and with the amounts Rob was collecting, I’d bet the government knew about it. I agree with your dad—surely, tax returns were filed.”
“We could try to get copies,” Gracie suggested. “If it’s possible to match figures from those with the amounts we estimate he collected from his investors …”
“There must be an accountant or lawyer with those documents,” Sandy told them. “We would need some official reason to request them. Or … it isn’t as if we haven’t brok
en in and retrieved documents before.”
“Another thought. I could pose as a messenger,” Amber said. “Tell the accountant Rob asked me to go pick up his records.”
Pen looked a bit antsy. “It all sounds horribly complicated. And then what do we do with the information? We would have to be forensic accountants to decipher it all. And do we all want to run the risk of crossing paths with the IRS and having them question how we came by these private records pertaining to the claims we’re making?”
“Or we turn it over to the law and they put their actual forensic accountants on the case,” Sandy said.
The room went quiet. The law had not served them well.
Gracie broke the silence. “My mother is heading this way in a little over two weeks. I don’t have time to wait for the slow process of the law. Can’t we just—?”
“She’s right,” Amber said. “Our true goal is to get justice for the victims.”
“A lot of the people we talked to gave almost everything they had to Rob Williams,” Sandy said. “They can’t afford the legal costs to pursue this in court.”
“And don’t forget, we’re going after that crooked judge, too. Rob’s business records won’t necessarily get him.”
In the pause that followed, Sandy noticed the mail truck stop at her mailbox. She got up and went out to meet it. When she came back inside, she had a triumphant look.
“I was hoping this would arrive today,” she said, ripping into one of the envelopes. “The photocopy of Mrs. Peabody’s check to Fearless Filmmaking.”
“Another one?” Amber was puzzled.
“Yes. I didn’t bring it up yet, thinking we could get more information from the check. And here it is.” Sandy studied the back of the cancelled check. “I recognize the bank’s routing number. The deposit went to New York Commercial Bank.”
Amber already had her tablet out. “Account number?”
Sandy read it aloud and Amber began her search.
Movie Mogul Mama Page 18
