Game Theory--A Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thriller

by Colleen Cross

  “A specialist?”

  He stood in the doorway and stared at his shoes. “I won’t be able to keep seeing Harry. With his Alzheimer’s and all...”

  “You’re dropping him as a patient? Right when he needs you the most?” Kat swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

  “It’s complicated. He’ll be better off with a geriatrician anyways.”

  “But he’s been your patient for close to forty years. How is seeing a doctor he doesn’t know better for him?”

  “It’s not going to matter much. But I’ll recommend someone—just call the office tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “I am running a bit behind right now, so if you’ll just excuse me...”

  “But—”

  “Good luck.” Dr. McAdam pulled the door shut behind him.

  After forty years, that was some goodbye.

  Chapter 3

  The afternoon’s wet snow had turned to freezing rain with nightfall. It stung Kat’s exposed face and hands and soaked through her leather soles. She punched in Jace’s cell number but got his voicemail for the umpteenth time. Where was he?

  She hung up without leaving another message. She had been purposely vague in her original message, asking only for him to meet her in front of the medical building.

  Harry had been alone in the waiting room for less than five minutes. Now he was gone, and it was completely her fault.

  “Kat.”

  She jumped at the voice, barely audible above the driving rain.

  Jace waved from a half-block away as he hurried towards her. Even in his bulky ski jacket he was tall and athletic looking. “Sorry—I was out on a call. I got here as soon as I could.”

  He held her close and kissed her. “Out-of-bounds skier. Broken leg—he’s lucky we found him before the snowstorm hit. Never would have lasted the night.” As a search and rescue volunteer up in the North Shore Mountains, Jace often had callouts for lost skiers and hikers.

  That same weather system in the city meant endless torrential rain. Vancouver rain smothered you in stealth mode, in a chokehold lasting weeks and months. Slow but relentless, west coast weather beat you into submission before you even knew it. It was why there were more suicides here.

  The rain roiled diagonally in sheets as the wind circled through the tunnel carved from the downtown high rises. Kat couldn’t remember—had Uncle Harry worn his raincoat or his lightweight, non-waterproof windbreaker?

  He pulled back to look at her. “What’s up? Where’s Harry?”

  She avoided his gaze. “Gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

  She broke from his embrace and pointed to the concrete high rise behind her that housed the medical office. “We were at his doctor’s. He disappeared from the waiting room.”

  Jace didn’t know about Harry’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis six months ago. They had only rekindled their romance a few months before that, and she was waiting for the right time to tell him. Only there never seemed to be a right time, and it’d been too easy to hide the depth of Harry’s problem—older people are just expected to grow fuzzy.

  “Is he still sick? The flu should have passed by now—”

  She changed the subject. “He’s been gone four hours. I don’t know where he could possibly be.” Kat explained how she had repeatedly combed the building and the surrounding streets. She had searched everywhere. But no Harry.

  Four hours later she had nothing to show for her exhaustive grid search. She was completely soaked, exhausted, and at a loss on what to do next.

  She tensed as her stomach cramped. She must have caught Harry’s flu.

  “Why didn’t you mention Harry in your message? I might’ve got here sooner. Four hours is a long time. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Kat pushed him away. “You think you can do better?”

  Jace’s lips pressed into a frown. “No—I’m just saying two heads are better than one. Just involve me, before things get out of control.”

  She stepped back and crossed her arms.“Things aren’t out of control. I can handle it.” The more she kept Jace out of it, the better. Men left when things got uncomfortable. Like her dad did after her mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

  “No, you are absolutely not handling it. You’re a wreck.” He touched her cheek. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  Jace already did Harry’s home repairs, grocery shopping, and much more. Would their relationship survive, or would the burden of his care strain it beyond repair?

  She shrugged, not knowing what to say. Jace was right. She had just never expected Harry to be out of her sight. Especially since his doctor’s appointment was the sole reason for the trip. Now he was gone, a mistake she couldn’t undo.

  He softened his voice. “Did you tell the doctor how he’s been forgetting things?”

  Kat nodded. Jace simply thought Harry was forgetful.

  The endless crisis management of the last few months wore on her and she was exhausted from lack of sleep. Caring for Harry and running her full-time fraud investigation practice was impossible. She worried she would make critical errors in her work. She couldn’t afford to lose clients, or her reputation. More importantly, she couldn’t lose Harry.

  Kat tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she struggled to hear Jace over the wind. It whistled through the high-rise towers, the gusts increasing with each passing hour. She grew increasingly worried about Harry. Was he safe?

  Kat studied Jace. His inner calm pulled her in and embraced her like an aura. His steady gaze rested on hers as if no one else existed. It was what she loved most about him. Only now his face was tinged with worry, despite his efforts not to show it.

  Dr. McAdam wanted Harry in long-term care. Kat bristled at the thought. Harry had cared for her; now she needed to do the same for him. She wanted to hang onto him as long as she could. Kat dropped her gaze from Jace’s clear blue eyes and followed the water rivulets coursing down the front of his waterproof jacket.

  “I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, you were working on your story deadline.” She had to raise her voice to be heard above the wind.

  “Bother me? I’m not important enough in your life to be included?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Jace. It’s just that I—I just didn’t know what to do.”

  “You still should have called me.” Jace pulled her closer. Even through his jacket, she felt the strength of his embrace. Her fingertips traced the curve of his bicep as his strong arms encircled her.

  One more thing and she would break apart and shatter into little pieces. Pieces too small to be made whole again. She broke from Jace’s embrace. “I will. But we can’t waste any more time. ”

  Where would she go if dementia clouded her mind? Home. But Uncle Harry wouldn’t remember the way, and it was too far to walk from downtown Vancouver. Not that it would stop him. He wasn’t very logical.

  “Don’t get mad at me.” Jace stepped back and turned away. “I’m only trying to help.”

  Now she felt even worse.

  The streetlights cast a cold yellow light on Jace as he faced her, arms crossed.

  Gore-tex and Timberlands, ready for anything, always under control. She felt a twinge of resentment, though she was grateful. No one else dropped everything when she needed help.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m beat. The Barron hearing’s tomorrow and I’m not ready.” Zachary Barron’s future net worth rested entirely on her.

  Forensic accountants like Kat specialized in fraud detection and uncovering hidden assets. Or, in high-net-worth divorce cases like his, providing valuations and expert testimony. A nasty divorce battle, a hedge fund tycoon with a short fuse, impossible expectations, and millions at stake meant no room for error.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know—I’ve still got hours of work to do.” If things went wrong, Zachary Barron could ruin her reputation with a phone call. If, on the other hand, he won—the publicity would be priceless.


  “It’ll work out.”

  It always did for Jace. Her mind slipped back to the doctor’s office. What if Harry was hurt somewhere, or worse? She would tell Jace about the Alzheimer’s—once Harry was safe and sound. She winced as another cramp gripped her stomach.

  “Kat?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, yes—let’s go to the house. But we should call the police first. They’ll be much more effective than the two of us on foot. I know you don’t want to ...”

  Harry had been calling the police at least twice a week lately for imagined break-ins and thefts. Not all cops were sympathetic when called out for what inevitably turned out to be an old man’s delusions, a false alarm. Harry wanted to keep living in his home, and as long as Kat kept an eye on him, she figured he’d be safe. Until now. Things were getting much worse, faster than she ever imagined.

  “No—it’s okay. Call them.”

  Jace punched in the numbers on his cell phone as they strode to the underground parking garage.

  Kat checked her watch again as they headed down the ramp. The hearing was in less than eleven hours.

  As they rounded the corner onto the first level of the parking garage, the glare of the bright fluorescent lights played shadows on the gray concrete walls.

  Then she saw him. In the far corner, a figure curled up in a fetal position. He faced them, his back nested against the corner where the two walls met. His upper body was partially covered by a piece of cardboard. She couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be wearing a gray windbreaker.

  “Uncle Harry?” She broke into a run.

  The man sat up and pulled back the cardboard. He grinned.

  It was Harry.

  Kat reached him and held out a hand to help him up.

  “Can we go home now?” Harry said without missing a beat.

  Chapter 4

  The judge yawned as Kat finished her testimony. Bad sign. Financial analysis was often the difference between financial windfall and complete financial ruin in high-profile divorces. As a forensic accountant, she knew it was always a numbers game. High stakes were decided by the stroke of the judge’s pen. In this case, a bored judge.

  No matter how often Kat provided expert testimony, she always got nervous. And felt personally responsible if things went sideways for her client. Zachary Barron’s case was no different. She cursed herself for her lack of preparation. She was off her game. If she lost such a high-profile case, she’d ruin her reputation and maybe even her business. It was the last thing she could afford. She needed cash more than ever for Harry’s care, and she couldn’t blow it over a lack of sleep.

  Zachary Barron’s eyes bored into hers. Why was her client staring at her like that? Had she missed something? Said something wrong? No. She had to stop second-guessing herself.

  Finally Zachary glanced away.

  She exhaled. Relax.

  In court just ten minutes and things were already out of control.

  “Looks like you forgot a few zeros on your calculator, Ms. Carter.”

  Kat half-expected Connor Whitehall to wink like she’d just performed a parlor trick—a gray-haired lawyer chastising a much younger expert witness. His aging television-anchor looks, expensive suits, and thirty-something years on her created a powerful impression. An impression he used to discredit her.

  “I haven’t missed a thing.” Kat tried not to sound defensive. She clenched her hands together as she sat inside the witness box. The courtroom was empty, save for the warring Barron spouses and their lawyers. Victoria and Zachary Barron sat on opposite sides of the courtroom, studiously avoiding eye contact.

  Whitehall shook his head. He shifted his gaze to the judge and sauntered towards him. The judge’s head jerked up from whatever he was reading as the sound of Whitehall’s footsteps filled the silent courtroom.

  Kat thought she saw a look pass between them. The judge probably figured she was stupid too. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t listening.

  What if she had made a mistake? With less than three hours sleep and no time for a dry run this morning, she was hardly on top of her game. She’d brought Uncle Harry with her to the courthouse again, having run out of options. Leaving him home alone was too risky. He was convinced squatters in his house were trying to kill him. This time she’d parked him at the coffee shop in the lobby and bribed the waitress to watch him. She felt guilty about it, but she’d exhausted all other alternatives.

  She hadn’t missed anything, she reassured herself. Whitehall was just using old lawyer tricks to make her crack. She was the only forensic accountant in the courtroom, and the only qualified fraud expert. Still, tracing a tycoon’s assets was never straightforward.

  “You’ve missed hundreds of millions of dollars!” Whitehall spun around as the corners of his mouth turned up into a mischievous grin. “Yet you call yourself a forensic accountant?”

  Whitehall paused before strolling back to where Kat sat in the witness box. He leaned in close, exhaling coffee breath into her personal space. Kat held her breath. Why did she feel like the one on trial?

  “Objection!” Zachary Barron’s lawyer sprang into action. Finally. Kat felt like she’d been left to the wolves, or worse, a predatory lawyer.

  “Sustained.” The judge’s voice was devoid of emotion as he checked his watch. Counting the minutes till lunchtime.

  Divorces brought out the worst in people, more than criminal fraud, white-collar crime, or anything else. But these little wars were the bread and butter of her forensic accounting practice, providing steady cash flow.

  For once she was on the side of the client with money. He would pay her bill on time, in full. In her weeks of groundwork, she’d identified all the assets, verified the valuations, appraisals, and legal titles, and even turned up a few surprises. She just had to follow through and it would be over in twenty minutes.

  Kat glanced over at her client. Zachary Barron sat head down as he thumb-tapped yet another message on his phone. He was in his mid-thirties, just like her, but with more money than she’d ever see in a lifetime. He could potentially lose most of it in the next ten minutes if Whitehall got his way. So much was at stake, yet he treated the hearing like a distraction. She, on the other hand, was breaking into a sweat, and it wasn’t even her money.

  “Ms. Carter?” Whitehall asked.

  “Are you asking a question?”

  “Yes, I’m asking you a question. I’m disputing the valuation you have assigned to the matrimonial assets.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a question.” Kat returned Whitehall’s stare with her best look of puzzlement and consternation. Cheeky maybe, but two could play at this game.

  “Ms. Carter! This isn’t Jeopardy. You valued the matrimonial assets at thirty million. Why have you excluded the family business?” He tapped his pen against her exhibit, a little harder than necessary to make his point.

  Good. She’d finally got Whitehall riled up.

  Even Zachary glanced from the file he was reading and smiled. One thing she was sure of—if she had millions at stake, she sure as hell wouldn’t be catching up on office paperwork.

  Victoria Barron, Zachary’s ex-wife, ex-part-time financial manager, and walking billboard for plastic surgery, sat at the opposing table, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Her expression remained impassive, except for a slight ever-present smile. Kat concluded it was a remnant of too much plastic surgery.

  “May I?” Kat asked.

  She rose from her seat and strode over to the easel holding her exhibit of the Barrons’ assets. Kat focused her laser pointer on the Zachary’s side of the financial organization chart.

  On Edgewater Investments.

  It was complicated. Operating companies, holding companies, and offshore trusts. Zachary had been careful to keep very little in his own name. She spent the next ten minutes explaining the complex web of agreements and relationships amongst the entities.

  Whitehall raised his eyebrows, then walked away and slumped
into the chair beside Victoria Barron. He crossed his arms and gave Kat a look of contempt.

  She smiled back at him. “Shall I go on?”

  He glared at her.

  Victoria Barron, Zachary’s soon to be ex-trophy wife, was gunning for not only half the matrimonial assets, but also half of Zachary’s business. A hundred million rode on Kat’s interpretation of what was or wasn’t included in matrimonial assets. But Zachary had a pre-nup.

  “Edgewater Investments is Mr. Barron’s business. It is certainly not community property, so I have excluded it from the matrimonial assets to be divided.” She traced the pointer above the Edgewater box, to two other boxes, both holding companies. One was owned by Zachary Barron, the other by his father, Nathan Barron.

  “Not true. My client is entitled to half of that.”

  “If that’s the case, we should apply the same logic to Mrs. Barron’s business.”

  “That’s hypothetical,” he snorted. “She has no business.”

  Actually, she was in the business of getting married. And marriage number three was about to end. “Are you sure about that?” Kat asked.

  “Of course I’m sure!” Whitehall jumped up from his seat and marched towards her. “And I’m the one asking the questions, not you.”

  “You really should talk to your client. According to my records, she has sizable investments, as well as a healthy income. Didn’t she tell you any of this?”

  Whitehall stepped back, obviously surprised. He flashed an angry glare at Victoria Barron. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened into a perfectly round Botox O.

  Kat flipped to a second chart and rolled through the details of Victoria Barron’s winning wine and real estate investments, endorsement deals from her plastic surgery reality show, and recent fragrance deal with a cosmetics company. She had hidden it well, with profits funneled to offshore companies in the Caymans. But a spreadsheet was a deadly weapon in the hands of a good forensic accountant.