The restaurant had several sections. All the tables were full except one. A couple brushed by them as they left, and the busboy hurried to prepare a table before the greeter seated them. Jake found the atmosphere comfortable. The diners were mostly Hispanic, some in business attire and some in shorts. Despite the noisy conversations, it was clear from the attention paid to the food that many were here for the important business of eating.
“I love this,” Sharon said. “Pages and pages of menu. Good prices too. All these names in Spanish, with an explanation in English. Dare I try the pollo cordon bleu?”
“I’ve never been disappointed here. They do a good job with everything. I’m going to have my favorite. Ropa vieja—literally ‘old clothes.’ Shredded roast beef in a creole sauce, and all I can say is, ‘Yum.’ Everything comes with black beans and rice, and they make their own bread here. The dinner rolls are addictive.”
Jake pointed at his menu. “I suggest we start with the ham croquetas.”
“They sound heavy. Are they fried?”
“You won’t be sorry.” Jake smiled. “They serve Gallo wine here, so you can drink all you want.”
Sharon set her menu down.
“Okay, I apologize. My sense of humor needs a tune-up. I regretted that as soon as I said it. The wine is very good, goes well with the heavier fare here. I hope the menu works for you.”
“Oh, yes.” A slow smile materialized on Sharon’s face. “We’re too grown up to play games. I like you, Jake. To show I forgive you for your so-called humor, I’ll buy you a nightcap at the bar in my hotel.”
Mmmm. Like the sound of that, Jake thought.
Wednesday morning, Jake lay in the bed of Sharon’s room, covered by rumpled sheets. Sharon stood at the window in a robe, her back to him.
This woman was special. The way she dressed, the quiet confidence in her movements—the scent of her, blending perfectly with her understated spicy and slightly sweet perfume—all captivating. Time slowed when they made love, investing every movement with meaning, as though he had tumbled into the unknown, into the presence of a mystery.
Sharon walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning toward him with a playful expression. “I think you and I have a lot more in common than you realize.”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed. “You’re running a fraud at Global Source Enterprises. Although you may not be aware of it, you’re in over your head.”
Jake tried to freeze his thoughts, but his mind started spinning. He’d been caught. Trying to maintain control as Sharon’s eyes stayed on his face, he croaked, “What are you talking about? Where are you getting this?”
“In my travels, I’ve seen it all, Jake, so don’t be coy. As a former auditor yourself, you should realize how transparent your scheme is to someone who’s been around.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand why you think I’m involved in something … Yes, I was an auditor, but I’ve never been around this sort of thing. If there is a problem at the company, I didn’t know.”
“You’re the only person besides Malcolm that has access to all the systems and files. And your reaction when I asked for backup documents.” She smiled. “Your eyes betrayed you.”
She made a tsk, tsk sound. “Your little diversion, telling me management might be cooking the books—that didn’t throw me off the trail. You sounded like you were selling me, not telling me.”
Jake started to speak, and she raised her hand. “I don’t want to catch you—I want to help you. You must realize you’re in a risky situation. It wouldn’t take much to expose your embezzling. Time is running out, and you’ve got no clue what to do. You and I can work this together.” Sharon fluffed her hair. “I can help you finish the job, and we can push the take up to $3 million.
“Am I going too fast, Jake?”
Jake stared and shook his head.
“Okay, we’ll need to synchronize a lot of bookkeeping details and exit at the right time. We need a plan to move out quick if somebody becomes curious. I’m going to talk to a money broker in Miami about how to handle the money.”
Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was this woman a crook? Was she willing to go in with him to finish the scheme he had started, or was this a sting? The door might burst open, and he would be handcuffed in seconds.
Sharon laughed. “Don’t be a bozo. Your problem is plain as a stiffie under sweatpants. Do you really think I would have bedded you to obtain an admission? I already had an idea of what you’ve been doing. I’ll bet I could prove it with a couple hours of work.”
She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, starting softly and building in intensity, setting off a jolt in his body.
“I like you, Jake. We have something good here. How about we do this one more time before we go to work?”
Jake pulled back. “What makes you think—”
“Oh, c’mon. You’re busted, and it’s okay.” She slid her robe off, and he bicycled the sheets down.
Afterward, lying back, he felt light and happy, buoyed by the prospect of help with the fraud. Although he didn’t know her, he had a good feeling about this redhead. She could see right through him, so it made sense to keep her close. Besides, juggling all the details by himself was risky. Two heads would help.
Jake propped himself on his shoulder. “Sharon, the warehouse manager, José Colón, is on to the fact something is going on. He approached me, and I gave him $10,000 to buy his silence and for his help in shuffling the inventory. I think he’ll be asking for more.”
“Of course.”
“Says he has gambling debts.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can scare him enough to make him go away.”
“Jake, that’s dangerous. I doubt you can scare him more than the people he owes money to.”
“I can handle myself. I’ll be careful.”
Jake Foster, master criminal, he thought. She’s right. If José has enforcers on his back, threats won’t deter him.
Sharon rose from the bed. “Now, go, or you’ll be late for work.”
A warning buzzed in the back of his mind. Something she’d said about a “stiffie in sweatpants.” Why was this homespun saying bothering him?
Chapter 6
Jake answered his office phone. “Foster.”
“Jake, I need to talk to you.” It was José.
“What about?”
“Well, things have changed since you gave me the money.”
Oh, boy. “Meet me at Tobacco Road in an hour. I’m pretty sure nobody from the company ever goes there.”
The most elegant thing about Tobacco Road was the neon sign above the entrance saying, Tobacco Road Liquor Bar. Open Till 5 a.m. Package Store. The room was dark and cramped—a few people clustered at the bar, and a small group filled a back table. When José arrived, Jake was at a table near a small stage for musicians, set against the side wall opposite the bar.
Jake gestured with his open hand toward the stage. “This bar has quite a tradition. A real blues place. A woman told me she once met Slash here at three in the afternoon when she was playing hooky from work. They say Keith Richards has been here a few times. Rumor is the place is going to close soon.”
This attempt to put José at ease fell flat, and he kept his eyes down. “Listen, I need some more money. The ten you gave me kept the sharks happy for a while, but now they say I owe over $75,000 now.”
“Whoa, how the hell did that happen, José?” Startled by his own loudness, Jake lowered his voice. “Are you leveling with me?” He stared until José’s eyes met his, then slid away.
José swallowed. “When I gave them the ten from you, they told me it was up to $15,000 with interest. So I still owed five. I said I had a source of money where I work. They gave me another twenty, and I took it to the casino.”
He paused and studied a poster on the wall. “I had a couple lucky nights and paid it all back, but they loaned me again, $25,000. I haven’t been able to make any payments on that.”
“And you think I’m your cash machine. Right?”
“Jake, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve done all you asked to cover up the inventory problem, but it keeps getting bigger. I need $100,000, so I can pay them and leave from here, before this thing you’re doing blows up. Can you have it tomorrow?”
A corner of José’s mouth twitched, possibly revealing a lie. Jake wondered, was this thing about gambling debts a bunch of baloney? Or it could be José didn’t owe as much as he was saying. Whatever, he would keep coming back for more as long as he could find Jake.
“José, I’m not sure how much I can come up with.” Jake paused. “But I’ll see.”
José’s peevish expression worried Jake.
Up till now, Jake’s fraudulent activity had been a success, almost too easy. Now José threatened his whole plan. The guy is flaky enough to tip someone off if he’s not happy. Rage arced through his body like an electrical charge. He blinked to suppress the urge to pick up a chair and bring it down on that fat, insolent head. “José, I’ll try to bring the money tomorrow night. It’s Friday, so the parking lot at the company will be deserted. Let’s meet in the far corner of the parking lot. In front of the big tree, away from the lights. Make it 9:00 p.m.”
José grunted, rose, and left. Jake unclenched his muscles, and his body vibrated like a huge gong. This crap was going to stop. He’d put José in his place Friday night. No matter what it took. No one would be around within blocks of them.
José deserved what was coming to him.
In his office chair, Malcolm Weaver leaned back and admired the crease in his slacks, which showed red thread running through the understated Glen plaid. Tan British Walker shoes went with the pants. He had wondered whether the effect was a little too much, but J.D. Phillips, his clothing consultant, had assured him it was the look he wanted. Casual but with a flavor of chief executive traditional.
He flipped back and forth through financial reports. They showed the company having a decent year. Nowhere in the reports was there any hint profits had been manipulated. He dialed his chief financial officer, Arthur Temkin, hoping he was still in his office.
Arthur arrived and stood outside Malcolm’s door, waiting as he always did for permission to enter. An ever-present yellow legal pad was in his left hand. Malcolm motioned for him to come in, studying Arthur’s penguin shuffle as he made his way to the chair and sat down.
Malcolm wondered at this meek, nervous man’s personality. He had seemed like more of a confident sort when he was hired, military service history and all. Must be one of those that needs to be told what do to, is afraid of his superiors.
“Arthur, the Yeh Lin Trading Company will be giving us a letter of intent to purchase our company in the next three days. The purchase price is $20 million, subject to usual due diligence. I need for this deal to close before our outside auditors begin preliminary year-end work. George Kohl, our investment banker, says we shouldn’t be surprised if the investment group stretches out their due diligence and pushes back the closing date. Typical behavior for them. We should be able to close before December. Right?”
“All things being equal, I believe so. Yes, sir.”
Malcolm scoffed. “Don’t hedge so much. You’re irritating me. I want to talk about the accounts with you.”
Arthur stiffened and paused before continuing. “George has pointed out the offer is at the top of the range for a company like ours. If they find reasons to doubt our reported profits, they’ll lower the purchase price—or they could decide to back out.”
Malcolm crossed his arms and tilted his head to one side.
“Mr. Weaver, I’m sure we’ll be okay.” Temkin’s thin voice didn’t match the confidence of his words.
Arthur cast his eyes around at the model airplane, the handful of books on a shelf, and the latest picture of Malcolm on his boat with a young woman. “Sir, as you’re aware, we’ve spent a great deal on maintenance of our material-handling and computer systems. The buyers may question why we added these maintenance costs to our assets the same way we would purchases of new equipment. They might ask why we didn’t book them as expenses.”
Arthur rubbed his eye with a knuckle. “But we can defend it all as reasonable judgment calls. The other measures we took, cutting expenses to the bone and laying off people, come under the heading of efficiency. Reengineering. We can’t operate this lean for much longer. Soon, sales will suffer from the impact of slow customer service.”
Malcolm glowered and pointed a long index finger at Arthur. “But you feel good about everything so far. You said you’re ‘sure’ our profit numbers will hold up under inspection. I hope that’s the same as ‘dead certain.’”
After a silence, he continued. “I’m confident you will give the deal your best efforts. Arthur, if we pull this off, I’ll negotiate an appropriate severance for you in the event the new owners lay you off. And you can count on a great reference.”
Arthur remained mute, so Malcolm went on. “George said the Chinese are strategic buyers who are in a hurry to use this company as a foothold and a vehicle to buy other businesses. He doesn’t think they’ll raise any issues during their due diligence, unless something alarming slaps them in the face. I hope he’s right.”
Malcolm stood and walked to the window, turned back, and stroked his thinning hair. He pointed at Arthur again.
“I’m relying on you to present our financials in a positive light. You can’t come across nervous or tentative. Do you understand if this deal doesn’t happen, I’ll have to make some changes around here? Your future is a lot brighter if this transaction closes. Are you hearing me?”
The only sound was an airplane overhead.
“Are you aware of anything else that could derail this deal?” Malcolm’s voice was harsh, almost accusatory.
“No, sir. Not to my personal knowledge.” Arthur hitched forward as though to rise from his chair but appeared to think better of it, sitting back again and waiting for dismissal. Not receiving one, he stood and headed for the door. His grip on his yellow pad loosened, and it dropped to the floor. He bent in a jerky motion to pick it up and left, his gait more wobbly than usual. Malcolm wondered if it was bad for the knees to walk with feet splayed so badly.
Malcolm took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He hoped Arthur was right. If the purchasers found problems, it would be a personal disaster. They’d back out and set the grapevine buzzing. Anyone else would pay a lot less. The price would drop by half or more. After paying minority investors, taxes, and lawyers from his earlier failed attempt at real estate development, he wouldn’t have enough money for a world cruise, and afterward a beach condo in Hawaii.
His thoughts turned to the bank auditor, Sharon Scott. She had been on his mind a lot lately. The bank said this would be the last time she would be checking on the company, and today and tomorrow were her last two days. If he wanted to make a move, it was now or never. Try for dinner tonight—if it went well, maybe she’d stay and see him Friday night too. He went to his mirror.
Malcolm straightened his posture, pinched his cheeks, and checked his appearance. Satisfied with his vigorous look, he strode down the hall and breezed into the stuffy, windowless conference room. Sharon continued sorting her papers before looking up. He tried not to show his irritation.
“Glad I caught you.” He hesitated. “Are you about wrapped up?”
“I think so. I had to do a little more work this time. I hope you don’t mind. I won’t bill you for my weekend expenses.”
“Oh, no, Sharon, I understand. We’ve been growing, and I’m sure that makes more work.”
He cleared his throat. “Actually, I wanted to ask you to join me for dinner this evening. I�
�d like the benefit of your personal observations as opposed to your audit findings. You’ve been here a few times, and I’m sure you can give me some objective opinions.”
Sharon finished sorting the papers into two stacks, then gazed at him in silence. Finally, she said, “Why, I’m flattered, Mr. Weaver. I’m not sure how valuable my opinions are, but I’m glad to share them. This has been a long day, so I hope I’ll be coherent.”
“Please call me Malcolm. I have a reservation at Carmen’s. Graceful atmosphere, excellent menu. Pick you up at seven?”
Sharon smiled. “I’ll be ready.”
At 7:00 p.m., Malcolm’s black sedan pulled under the canopy at the front of the hotel. Sharon stepped through the automatic door wearing the same clothes she’d worn earlier and hesitated by the car. Malcolm reached across and pulled the latch, opening the door a few inches. As she slid in, the roof light showed freshened hair and makeup, but she wasn’t wearing her glasses. A mixed message, not unusual in Malcolm’s experience with women.
“Did you do some more work after you got to your room?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. You seem like a hard worker, and I was just making conversation.”
At the restaurant, the deferential maître d’ seated them opposite each other at a table for four. A busboy glided in and removed the extra settings. Malcolm smiled across the table. “Sharon, I’m glad you stayed over to spend more time with us. I understand we won’t see you again.”
“That’s right—bank policy is to rotate auditors periodically.”
Malcolm cleared his throat. “I’ll confess, this is both business and pleasure for me. I’d like to get to better acquainted.”
“Mr. Weaver …”
“Malcolm.”
“Malcolm it is. I’m not sure what to tell you about your company. I’m a numbers person. I’d be lost giving a broad opinion.”
Malcolm snickered at her inadvertent pun—broad opinion, broad’s opinion. He hoped his dry cough covered the stifling of a giggle. Sharon’s eyes widened, and he realized she’d gotten it. Pressing his lips together, he felt the tensing facial muscles distorting his expression and permitted himself a small yawn to relax them. “Ooowee. That was stupid. Sometimes I say the wrong thing. Does that ever happen to you? I let the wordplay overrun common sense. I’m not like that, really. Sorry.”
Never Again, Seriously Page 5
