Game Theory--A Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thriller

by Colleen Cross

  Kat sat down in Nathan Barron’s chair, trying to get a feel for a man she hadn’t met yet. The desk surface was bare, save for an empty inbox and a telephone. It contrasted with Zachary’s office, where disorganized stacks of paper and three computer screens competed for attention.

  Kat opened the side desk drawer. She pulled a thick sheath of papers out of a manila file. She studied the top sheet, a spreadsheet. A series of numbers were added and subtracted in each of about a dozen columns.

  She flipped through the pages underneath. They were all in the same format, only the headings and numbers were different. “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know,” Zachary said. “Yesterday was the first time I’d been in here. He always keeps his office locked.”

  “You don’t have a master key?” Odd that Zachary, as co-owner, wouldn’t have keys to every office. She turned her attention back to the first spreadsheet. Heading each column was a set of initials and numbers. It was a code of some sort. If so, it must be cryptic for a reason. What did Nathan Barron have to hide?

  Zachary shook his head. “Nathan had a special lock made for his office door. I brought a locksmith in yesterday to make me a key.”

  Kat set the spreadsheet aside. She had arrived at Edgewater almost two hours ago. Before searching Nathan’s office, she had reviewed all checks issued from Edgewater Investments itself and from its hedge fund, Evergreen. It had been strange to look at them, as many carried Victoria’s signature—she’d only left the company’s accounting department upon formal separation from Zachary. Aside from the usual payments for expenses like rent, office supplies, and payroll, Kat noted some very large invoices and cancelled checks for investment research. She pulled the file with the documents from her briefcase and handed it to Zachary. “What do you know about these?”

  Zachary sat down at his father’s desk and opened the file. He sifted through the first few pages. “Research Analytics? Never heard of them.”

  “Shouldn’t you know about them?”

  Zachary looked up from the invoices, clearly puzzled. “Why would I?”

  “They’re Edgewater’s biggest expense,” Kat explained. “They provide research analysis on currency, your area of expertise. Shouldn’t the name be familiar to you?”

  “You’re right. But it isn’t.” Zachary unlocked Nathan’s bottom drawer and tabbed through the files.

  “May I?” Kat exchanged places with Zachary and powered up Nathan’s computer. She attached a portable hard drive to the computer and mouse-clicked to start copying Nathan’s files. While she waited for the data to copy over, she pulled the files one by one from his desk, searching for more clues. Other than his files and office supplies, the desk drawers contained a few credit cards and some loose change. She wasn’t too hopeful—Nathan hardly spent any time at the office. That likely meant he had very little on his computer.

  After Nathan’s files had successfully copied onto her portable hard drive, she clicked a few of them open one by one. Nothing significant jumped out, just a few marketing letters about Edgewater’s fund performance.

  Zachary stood behind her chair as she closed the last file. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. But there’s one more place I’d like to check.” She opened Nathan’s email and accessed his contact list. Hundreds of contacts came up, in stark contrast to the paucity of computer files. She scrolled down the list, noting billionaire philanthropists, royalty, and heads of state. Nathan moved in a rarefied circle.

  Near the bottom of the list something caught her eye. A group listing under W for something called the World Institute.

  “Zachary, what’s the World Institute?”

  He leaned closer and squinted at the screen. “World what?”

  She clicked open the entry to reveal a list of names within it. “This World Institute group listing—ever heard of it?”

  “Not sure...I think it’s some sort of global think tank Nathan belongs to.”

  “What exactly do they do?” She scanned the list. Current and former heads of state. The head of the International Monetary Fund—along with members of at least two royal families.

  “Something to do with currency theory, I think. Nathan mentioned it once or twice, back when we actually spoke to each other.”

  “Currency theory—wouldn’t that interest you?” Why didn’t Zachary know more about something clearly related to his field of expertise?

  “Not really. I trade currency—I don’t theorize about it. Theory is for academics.” He rested his hand on the back of her chair as he scanned the list of names.

  Kat scribbled a note to herself to find out more. She disconnected her hard drive and placed it in her briefcase. She’d sift through the remaining records byte by byte back at her office.

  “Look at this.” Zachary bent over and plucked a paper out of Nathan’s waste paper basket. “He’s not even hiding it.”

  Kat studied the paper.

  “What’s wrong with a flight to London?” It was a travel itinerary. A flight and six nights at a luxury hotel.

  “For starters, he’s supposed to be meeting with our New York bankers, London’s got nothing to do with our business. Of course, he doesn’t care about that.”

  “The lines between personal and business travel sometimes blur. That’s common in family business.”

  “Family business?” Zachary spat out the words like poison. “We’re family in name only.”

  “The flight was yesterday. Any idea what’s going on in London?”

  Chapter 10

  Kat’s breathing quickened as she climbed the hill, unable to concentrate on anything more than her slow jog up the ten percent grade. Uncle Harry’s house was halfway up, close but still an impossible thirty meters away.

  Her legs burned, unaccustomed to running up the long incline. Already Friday and it was her first run this week. With Harry’s increased needs and her growing workload, it was difficult to get a decent run in, or to find any time for herself. This might be her longest run for a while, so she wanted to make it hurt, to make it count.

  The steep grade gave the illusion of a road to nowhere, rising almost vertically until it touched the horizon, ending abruptly. At least that was the view from the bottom. When she was growing up, after her dad left and she went to live with Harry and Elsie, she’d wanted to just keep on going. Up to the top of the hill, where she would pretend there was nothing above the asphalt but sky. There she’d drop off the face of the earth—away from her past, present, and most especially, away from Hillary.

  She’d started out early to fit in a two-hour run before Harry woke. The steady downpour had trickled to a shower. Not that it mattered anymore. Her clothes were soaked, and her running shoes squished from landing in too many puddles.

  Kat finally crested the hill and slowed to a walk at the top. Harry’s Cape Cod house came into view a half-block away. It was a far cry from the immaculate condition Harry had always kept it in. Moss had overtaken the lawn, and paint peeled from the window frames.

  After the car accident, she’d taken to checking in on Harry every morning, getting him breakfast and bringing him to the office, or to her house on weekends. She knocked on the door and waited a few minutes. No answer. The television was blaring. Judge Judy was berating someone about a convertible that didn’t belong to them.

  She bent down and flipped up the letter slot, her legs already stiffening.

  “Uncle Harry? It’s me, Kat.”

  Footsteps shuffled behind the door. Metal clicked as Harry unlocked a half-dozen bolts.

  “Nice to see you!” Harry smiled at her.

  As if they hadn’t seen each other in ages. As if she didn’t do this check-in every morning.

  “What brings you here?” Harry wore a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and wool pants cinched with a belt. He’d lost so much weight since Elsie died last year.

  “Just checking in. Feeling better than yesterday?”

  “Why? What happened yesterday?”
>
  “You were feeling sick.” Kat dropped her gaze to Harry’s forearm, purple with bruises. “Did you fall?”

  “Now why would you ask that?” Harry closed the door and frowned.

  “Your arm.” She held it and pointed to the bruises.

  Harry stared at his arm in wonder. “Yup, I guess I did. But I guess everything’s fine now.”

  Harry motioned Kat inside. “It’s about time you came by, Kat. I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

  She followed Harry inside the hall, where a wall of heat assaulted her. A stack of mail sat on the side table. She picked up the envelopes and sifted through them, looking for bills or anything else that needed prompt attention. Two Visa bills, a MasterCard bill, a phone bill, and his latest bank statement.

  She opened the first Visa statement and almost gasped when she saw the balance.

  Twenty-two thousand dollars and change. The other two credit card statements had similar transactions. All together they totaled thirty grand. That amounted to a lot of pension checks.

  Her heart thumped in her chest as she pocketed the statements. She walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her so she could examine them without arousing Harry’s suspicion.

  Six thousand at Tiffany’s. What on earth could Harry possibly buy at Tiffany’s? Another four thousand at various designer clothing stores. Troubling, since Harry only shopped at thrift stores. Interest and a balance carried forward made up the rest of the amount owing. Was it a mistake? Probably not, in light of the suspicious loan. And now she discovered three different credit card balances.

  She opened the latest bank statement and checked the ending balance. Harry’s overdraft was much higher than she remembered seeing in Anita Boehmer’s office. But, then, the statement Harry had brought to the bank had been a month old.

  She held her breath and flipped to the last page. A mortgage, taken out almost three weeks ago, was listed along with the home reno loan. Anita Boehmer never mentioned it. What the hell was going on?

  Kat sighed. The loan, checks made out to cash, and now credit card bills and a mortgage. In just a few months, Harry’s finances had completely spiraled out of control.

  She emerged from the bathroom and checked the thermostat. Eighty-four degrees. She turned it down to seventy-two and trudged into the kitchen.

  The small television on the counter blared out the morning news. “...Fredrick Svensson plunged to his death in a snowshoeing accident.” The CBC reporter lifted a hand to brush stray hairs from her face as the wind whipped across.

  “The accident in the mountains is thought to have occurred two days ago, when Svensson was last seen in the back country. Search and rescue located his body early this morning but will delay the recovery operation at least to tomorrow, due to the approaching storm front.”

  The sky behind the reporter was dark, with low clouds obscuring the peaks of the snow-covered mountains behind her. Several men laden with backpacks and skis on their backs stood off to the right of the camera.

  Kat turned the volume down and joined Harry sat at the kitchen table. Stacks of books were piled on the table, barely leaving space for his orange juice glass.

  “Did you eat, Uncle Harry?”

  He sipped his juice. “Oh, a long time ago.”

  The heat inside the house was oppressive. As usual, all the windows were closed tight. Kat unlatched the window in the breakfast nook and pushed it open.

  “What did you have?” She stuck her head out and inhaled the cool air.

  “Can’t remember. Don’t open that window—the burglars will get in.”

  “It’s stuffy in here. How can you breathe?” Something smelled rotten. She opened each cupboard one by one. A half-eaten hamburger inside the third door had sprouted gray fur. She picked it up with a paper towel and gingerly carried it to the trashcan.

  “Want some orange juice, Kat?” Harry picked up his glass from the table and motioned to Kat.

  “Sure.” Kat grabbed a glass from the cupboard and walked over to the table. She located the orange juice carafe behind a stack of newspapers and poured herself a glass. She froze as she noticed his bare ring finger. “Where’s your ring, Uncle Harry?” He hadn’t removed his wedding ring since Elsie died, or in the forty years of marriage before that.

  “Oh.” Harry raised his hand to his mouth. The corners up his mouth turned up into a bashful grin. “I think it dropped down the drain.”

  “Really? Which sink?” If it was still in the trap, Jace might be able to fish it out. She’d ask him to have a look tonight.

  “Uh, the kitchen sink. No, it was the bathroom.”

  Kat gulped her juice. Usually it refreshed her after a run, but this batch tasted a bit off. Harry had probably kept it out of the fridge too long. She pushed aside a pile of books and set her empty glass down on the table. “Coming to the office today?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. We can carpool. We’ll stop at my place for breakfast. I’ve got to pick up a few things.” Jace would watch Harry while she showered and changed for work. It was part of their routine to ensure Harry was eating. Food might help calm her stomach too. She winced as another cramp gripped her stomach.

  Kat’s thoughts slipped to Harry’s Visa bill. It was unexplainable, just like the mortgage, renovation loan, and thousands of dollars in checks made out to cash in his checkbook. Everything was spiraling out of control, and she felt powerless to stop it.

  Chapter 11

  Kat yawned, drowsy after her nap. This morning’s examination of Edgewater’s financial records had turned up nothing. Between keeping tabs on Harry and trying to make sense of Edgewater, she felt both physically and mentally exhausted.

  She glanced at Harry. He sat at the reception desk, head bent over as he scribbled in that damn checkbook of his. It had completely consumed him. She’d better distract him or it might kill him too.

  The noonday sun streamed in through the tall windows, illuminating dust specks as they drifted to the floor. She still puzzled over Research Analytics. Edgewater had paid the company fifty million this year, and two hundred and twenty million last year. Yet Zachary knew nothing about it. Whatever business service Research Analytics provided, it was obviously lucrative.

  She dialed the phone number listed on the Research Analytics invoice and gazed out the window while she waited for an answer. The storm clouds had finally dispersed outside, exposing the North Shore Mountains in all their snow-dusted splendor.

  Kat counted six rings and was about to hang up when a woman answered, sounding breathless. A slight accent? Kat couldn’t quite place it.

  “Yes, I’d like some information on your investment research.”

  Long pause, just breathing on the other end.

  “I can drop by this aft—”

  Click.

  Kat redialed. This time her call went unanswered, fuelling her suspicions. Legitimate businesses didn’t ignore customers or hang up on them.

  She flipped through the Research Analytics invoices a second time. Many of the invoice numbers were in sequential order. A fraud red flag. Most real businesses had more than one customer. Especially businesses with hundreds of millions in annual sales.

  Either Research Associates had no other customers, or the other customers they had were very infrequent. Kat bet it was the former.

  The Research Analytics invoices showed an address on East Broadway, just a few minutes’ drive from her office. She’d pay them a visit later this morning. She searched online to see what else she could find on the company. Nothing, not even a website.

  “Trouble?”

  Kat had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard Jace come in. He stood behind Harry, bent over.

  “It’s right here.” Jace pointed at Harry’s checkbook. “You forgot to carry the one.”

  Harry muttered something under his breath. Kat shot Jace a warning look. Harry got worked up whenever anyone tried to help.

  Kat’s thoughts returne
d to Nathan’s computer data. Trolling through the data all morning had uncovered nothing of substance in his remaining computer files. Except for his impressive contact list, a who’s who of global movers and shakers. The World Institute entry in particular intrigued her. Aside from wealth and power, what did all its members have in common?

  She glanced at Harry as he shielded his checkbook with his right arm. Jace stood behind Harry, looking over his shoulder. Only now Harry was more animated.

  Kat waited for Harry’s inevitable eruption. Dr. McAdam was at least right about one thing: it was better to agree, even if you didn’t.

  “Stop it, Jace,” Harry growled. “You make me want to pull my hair out.”

  Not a good time to remind Harry he’d been bald for decades.

  “Fine.” Jace pretended to pout. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Give it a rest, Uncle Harry,” Kat said. “Let me help you.”

  “Damn bank! The loan was bad enough. All these other charges are mistakes, too. It says I have an overdraft, but that can’t be right. Why can’t they make their statements less complicated? It’s like reading Greek!”

  Harry threw his pen down and got up from his chair. “Leave me alone, both of you!”

  “Uncle Harry—I can sort it out in an hour. Hand it over.” Kat rose from the couch and walked to the desk. She glanced down at his desk drawer. It was pulled all the way open, doing double duty as a do-not-cross line. The drawer was filled with tangled elastic bands and bundles of clipped papers. And of course, a metal strongbox, his version of a safety deposit box.

  “No.” He crossed his arms and glared at her. “I want to do it myself. It keeps me sharp.”

  “But you’ve been working on it for weeks. I review bank statements all the time. Just let me get your checkbook up to date. I’ll add up all the bank’s mistakes so you can call them.”

  “I’ve almost got it. Just a couple more hours...”

  “I need you to work on something else,” Kat said. “It’s time sensitive.”