No Place for Wolverines

by Dave Butler

Willson smiled and banged on the wooden door. It swung open to reveal a looming Hank Myers, one hand on the door, the other arm tucked in a sling. He said nothing, just nodded at them to come inside. Myers followed as they walked into the living room to the left of the front door. She recalled the chaos, the blood, the broken glass, and the upturned furniture from her last visit. Someone had done a thorough job of cleaning up, and the large picture window had been skillfully replaced. The pine floors shone in the afternoon sun.

  “You must be Jenny Willson,” said Stafford Austin, getting up from a chair and extending a meaty hand toward her. “Have we met?”

  “I’m not sure met would be accurate,” said Willson, trying but failing to exert as much force with her hand as Austin was with his. “But we did talk briefly at an open house in Golden a few months back. I’m hoping you’ll answer some questions today that you wouldn’t answer back then.”

  “Ah, yes, I think I remember. You asked me about my investors, but wouldn’t tell me who you were. I’d wondered since then. And who is joining you today?”

  Berland moved forward and stood beside Willson.

  “This is my associate, Mike,” said Willson. “He’s here to take notes.”

  “Mike …” said Austin questioningly, obviously prompting for a last name.

  “That’s right, Mike. Because you were so keen to talk to me, I’ve brought someone along who shares my interest in what you have to say.”

  Keeping her face free from emotion, Willson watched Austin. She could tell that the big man was struggling to control the situation. His eyebrows were moving up and down, he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, and his gaze was jumping between the two of them. From her perspective, it was an excellent start to the visit, better than she had expected.

  “Shall we sit?” Austin said, “Hank will take your coats.”

  After giving their coats to his injured partner, Willson and Berland sat in adjacent seats opposite their host. Myers returned and stood in a far corner, watching silently, his good arm crossed over the injured one. At a nod from Willson, Berland pulled a digital recorder from his back pocket and placed it on the coffee table. With a click that echoed through the room, he powered it up and turned the small machine so that it faced Austin, then opened his notebook and slid a pen from his shirt pocket.

  Willson sat back and crossed her legs. The leather couch creaked and squeaked beneath her. “Now that we’re here, what would you like to talk to me about, Mr. Austin?”

  “As I said on the phone,” Austin said, moving forward in his chair, “I understand you’ve been asking about my project. In light of the formal multi-agency review process — with which I am co-operating fully — I’m wondering why you’re asking these questions. I’ve never seen you at any of the project review meetings. What role do you play?”

  “There are many people in Parks Canada, and in other federal agencies, I’m sure, working to ensure that we understand the full scope and scale of the project, its impacts and benefits, the capabilities, and intentions of those behind it. Not all of us are directly involved in the formal review process, but people like me are there in the background, offering our support. It’s as simple as that.”

  “You’re simply an average federal civil servant, toiling away in the background, asking questions that are a … normal part of the process?”

  “Something like that. Are you suggesting otherwise?” She loved this part, when interviewer and interviewee were dancing a veritable verbal tango, somet­imes twirling together, sometimes shifting in opposite directions.

  “I don’t know you well enough to be sure. For now, I’ll have to take you at your word.”

  “Good,” said Willson, nodding. “Mr. Austin, you asked me here. What would you like to share with us?”

  Austin rested his elbows on his knees, steepled his fingers, and peered at Willson. She wondered if he had either forgotten about Berland or was ignoring him on purpose.

  “I want to assure you, Ms. Willson,” Austin said, “that we’re very serious about the ski area. We have the necessary financial backing for the project and the team in place to make it a reality.”

  Willson waited, saying nothing, showing nothing. It was as if he’d said all he wanted or needed to say, and by making his simple statement, he had cleared up all questions and now expected her to cease her investigation. Is he that stupid and arrogant, she wondered, or does he always get his way?

  “I hope that clears things up and allows you to move on to other duties.” Austin shifted back in the chair.

  Willson was quiet for a moment, then broke out laughing. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “What do you mean? I’m very serious.”

  “You called me all the way out here to tell me that? A single sentence? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “I didn’t say that. I wanted you to hear my confirmation in person, in case you had any doubts.”

  “I’ve got a whole valley full of doubts, and those won’t magically disappear just because you tell me that everything is fine. You do think I’m an idiot.”

  A smug smile came over Austin’s face. “Again, I don’t know you well enough to know for sure,” he said. “Do you have any specific questions I can answer?”

  “I certainly do, and I’m sure that Mike has some as well.” She looked to Berland, who was nodding his head and smiling. “Let’s start with the question I asked you at the open house. Do you have any of your own money invested in this project?”

  “I do.”

  “How much?”

  “Well, that’s none of your business. It’s private company information. What I can tell you is that I’m a consultant on the project, and because I want to see it go ahead, I’m not receiving my normal daily rate for a venture like this. Like others, I’m an investor.”

  “You’re a consultant in the project, and you’re also the president of the company? Probably the person who decides which consultants get hired? That sounds like double-dipping to me.” She saw Austin’s cheeks flush.

  “You’re showing your ignorance about how the business world works,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “Everyone involved in this is fully aware of the nature of my connections. There’s no issue there.”

  “Hmm,” said Willson, pausing to look at her notebook. “What about your investors? Besides you, who else has money in this project?”

  “My investors will remain confidential. They refuse to be targets for those misinformed people who oppose the project. But the provincial government has documents on file that confirm my investors’ commitments and their capability to finance the project.”

  Berland spoke beside her. “Are those investors aware of your past criminal activities, Mr. Austin? I’m referring to Chile, Salt Lake City, and most recently … Boise?”

  Austin’s eyes snapped toward Berland, his cheeks flushing a deeper red.

  “What’s your role in this, Mike?”

  “As Jenny told you earlier, I’m her associate. That means I associate with her and take notes at meetings like this one.”

  “Well, Jenny’s associate, I urge you to be very careful about making unfounded accusations. They could land you in court.”

  “Yes, I suppose they could, although that was just a question. I’m guessing that once a judge saw the hundreds of pages of court documents from those other jurisdictions we have in our files, he’d throw your case out. So honestly, I’m not really concerned about that. But I do wonder what your investors would say if they saw those documents. The affidavits and victim statements and, of course, the trail of fascinating, some would say disturbing, financial records. Perhaps then your investors’ involvement with you would be just as short-lived as our appearance in front of a judge.”

  Austin glanced at Myers, still standing in the corner like a statue, then back at Berland. “You’re treading on thin ice,” he said.

  “I’m on thin ice?” asked Berland, pointing dramatically at his own chest. “I wond
er if the men looking for you, the ones from South America who want their money back, the money you absconded with in your last ski hill scam, have any idea that you’re here in Canada now. I wonder what they’d do if they found out …”

  Now Austin’s face paled. It seemed Berland had found a weakness in the man’s bravado.

  “Let’s shift gears for a moment,” Willson said, attempting to keep Austin off balance. “What’s your involvement in the plans to build a new highway from Alberta to B.C., through Banff Park and then down the Blaeberry? And what do you know about the plans to use that route for an oil or gas pipeline?”

  Austin’s eyes shifted back to Willson. “I’m certainly aware of it … and aware of the benefits it would bring to my project. But that’s a federal government initiative, probably being discussed well above your level. At this time, I have no direct involvement in those plans.”

  “The stories I’m hearing are false, then? The ones that say that you’ve already approached at least one road builder in Alberta about the project?”

  “I’m not sure where you heard that from, but as of today, that’s definitely false.”

  “Did you have anything to do with the arson at Albin Stoffel’s office and the death of his research assistant?” Berland asked.

  “That was a sad and tragic accident. I’ve had numerous conversations with the RCMP, and they have no evidence to suggest that I was in any way involved.”

  “Interesting way to put it,” Berland said. “Not a denial, but not admitting anything, either. To me, it seems a fortunate coincidence, for you and your project, that one of your main opponents experienced such a dramatic loss. Whoever did set that fire will soon be facing murder charges.”

  Austin exploded from his chair. He stabbed his finger at Berland, then at Willson. “The two of you have overstayed your welcome. Get the hell out!”

  “That’s fine, Stafford,” said Willson, standing and moving toward the front door. “But I’m very disappointed. I’d hoped to learn more today, but it seems again you’ve left me with more questions than answers.”

  Austin stood holding the door, Myers lurking behind him, as they put on their coats. “Ms. Willson,” he said, “I hope there’s no question in your mind that I want you to shift your attention to other things. The same goes for you, Mike.”

  Willson turned in the doorway to face the two men. “There’s no doubt in my mind at all,” she said. “You said earlier that you don’t know me well. That’s true. Anyone who did would have no doubt that what you want doesn’t matter to me. I hope there’s no question in your mind about that.”

  “Does your mother approve of you having such an aggressive attitude?” Myers said, shaking his head. It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d arrived.

  “What did you say?” asked Willson, taking a step toward Myers, her hand unconsciously moving to the gun on her belt.

  Myers did not move, did not flinch. His face was a stone. “You heard what I said, and what Stafford said. You should think hard about how your misguided meddling could impact those around you.”

  Willson pushed her face closer to Myers’s, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you mention my mother ever again, do you fucking hear me?”

  A mirthless smile spreading across his face, Myers slowly closed the door, leaving Willson and Berland standing on the outside.

  CHAPTER 26

  APRIL 8

  “Those are the most common options for businesses to attract capital, at least in a way that complies with our laws and, most importantly, meets the requirements of the B.C. Securities Commission,” said Courtney Pepper, sitting at her desk across from Willson, Berland, and Fortier. The three of them were packed into the small office, which looked out on the main street of Golden. Outside, groups of skiers walking by looked like neon streaks as they headed to the Golden Taps pub a few doors down.

  Pepper was a CPA who’d been a high school friend and teammate of Willson’s before their lives and careers had diverged after graduation. Now, both were back working in their hometown, with Pepper owning and operating an accounting firm specializing in small and medium-sized businesses.

  When Willson had learned from her mother that Pepper was back in town, she’d been excited to see her old friend again. That is, until the moment the three of them had entered the office and Fortier had kissed her, introducing her to the other two as his fiancée. Willson knew that her gaping mouth and wide eyes at the sight of the glittering chunk of stone on her old friend’s finger had not gone unnoticed by anyone in the room, least of all Pepper. Are you kidding me? she’d thought. Not again! Why the hell didn’t Ben say anything when I suggested we meet here? This wasn’t the first time she’d been interested in someone only to discover that she’d badly misread signals and made an ass of herself. And Willson assumed that, with her luck, it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Thanks for putting that in layman’s terms, Court,” said Willson, the kiss still fresh in her mind, “so that even someone like me who gets a rash whenever I go anywhere near math can understand.”

  “No problem. Glad I could help.”

  “What if someone wanted to attract capital to a project … in a way that didn’t necessarily comply with those laws?” asked Berland.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said Pepper, her head tilting slightly.

  “Look,” said Willson, “We’re in the midst of an investigation, Court, and we’re trying to figure out what’s really going on behind the scenes with one of our persons of interest. That’s the reason behind Mike’s question. I need your commitment that you’ll keep what we’re talking about today to yourself.”

  “As long as we’re not talking about one of my clients, and you can confirm that this is purely hypothetical, and I won’t be required to testify to anything I’ve said, then no problem. Otherwise, I’m risking my designation.”

  Willson handed Pepper a copy of the corporate summary she’d received from the local government agent. “Is Stafford Austin, Collie Creek Resorts Limited, or any of the company’s directors a client of yours?”

  Pepper scanned the document. “No, none of those people are my clients, and I don’t do any work for that company. Isn’t this the group behind that ridiculous ski area proposal up in Yoho? The one they call Top of the World?”

  “Yes, and I guess we know where you stand on it!” said Willson, chuckling. “Good. What I want to ask you is how an individual like Austin, who seems to have a track record of what might be called shady business deals, would or could run a project like this outside the law. I don’t know if he is or isn’t, but I’m trying to build a clearer picture, figure out what questions to ask, and of whom. Any advice you can offer would be much appreciated.”

  Fortier jumped in. “We do appreciate your help, Court. I’m just a small-town cop with no experience in business, so a lot of this is Greek to me. We don’t have expertise in our detachment, and I’ve been trying to persuade someone in our commercial crime section to help me out, but I haven’t had much luck so far.”

  “My pleasure, if this is all … hypothetical,” said Pepper with a grin. “Do you know anything about the deals he’s been involved with in the past? I could give you a better answer if I had a sense of what he’s done previously.”

  Despite Fortier’s protests, Berland (who had again been introduced as a colleague of Willson’s) gave Pepper a summary of what they knew about Austin’s previous business dealings in the U.S. and Chile. “He always seemed to act as a witness for the prosecution,” he said, in conclusion, “or to leave town before he being charged with anything. As a result, the documents we have are less than complete.”

  “If his past is any indication of the present or the future,” said Pepper, “then it strikes me that the situations you described could have been either pyramid or Ponzi schemes. Without more details, I can’t say for sure. I’m no expert in forensic audits, which is what’s needed to know for certain.”

  “I’ve heard of b
oth of those,” said Willson. “What’s the difference?”

  “I’ll try to keep this simple. The Ponzi scheme is named after Charles Ponzi, who was notorious for first using it in the early 1920s. In essence, it’s an investment fraud that promises high financial returns or dividends that are not available through traditional investments. The early investors don’t know it, but their returns come not from legitimate profits, but from their own money, or from money invested by subsequent investors.”

  “So, it’s a shell game,” said Willson, “moving money from one person to another, making it appear to everyone as though the whole thing is legitimate?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” said Pepper. “In a trad­itional Ponzi scheme, like the one Bernie Madoff became infamous for, there’s normally no legitimate investment at the heart of it all. The scheme unravels either when the promoter flees with everyone’s money, when enough new investors can’t be found to continue payment of the promised returns to existing investors, or when the scheme is discovered due to complaints from victims or from professionals like me who uncover questionable things in the financial statements.”

  “And what about pyramid schemes?” asked Willson.

  “Based on what you told me,” Pepper said, “that might have been going on with the mining deal in Utah, but it’s hard to know. It could also have been nothing more than classic stock fraud, what they call a pump and dump. Pyramids are also known as multi­level marketing schemes. In those, participants earn money not so much from selling products, but by recruiting new participants to pay money to join the program. When they get others to sign up, they then get a cut of whatever the new members sell — either products or new memberships. In those schemes, the folks who get in early can do well. But those lowest on the pyramid often come in too late to get anything other than shafted.”

  “I think Austin might have been involved in one or both of these kinds of schemes in the past,” said Berland. “I’ve, uh … done research on both, and what you’ve said matches with what I’ve learned along the way. Both situations leave behind a trail of victims with less money than when they started. And they’re often people who can’t afford to lose that money — it’s their life savings, money for their retirement.”