“Hijo do Dios. Let me get this straight.” Papa always played dumb. He had been asking Ted morality questions as long as Ted could remember. “You are not the police. You are not the federales. But you had to commit illegal acts because you’re smarter than the police. They can’t do their jobs so you had to?”
“Papa, it’s not like that.” What was he, six years old again? This was like the time he had been caught stealing candy from Señor Morales store. “We had a client. She hired us to find out.”
“This client, she couldn’t rely on the police?” Even over a distance of fifteen-hundred miles, Papa’s words stung. “They weren’t smart enough to catch the bandidos?”
“She couldn’t tell the police.” Ted said. “Donna, Mrs. Harrison, was working for her. She performed some illegal acts. If our client had gone to the police; that would have come out.”
“So, you were hired to cover up someone else’s breaking the law?” This was it. This was where Papa lowered the boom. “No matter how you tell it, Mijo, you were involved in a crime. It doesn’t matter whether the police caught you or not. It doesn’t matter how good your reasons were. You still committed a crime. This is between you and God. I thought we taught you better than that.”
The words hurt. Ted felt the temperature rise in his face and ears. “Papa, I don’t want to disappoint you, but this is the real world. Things are never black and white.”
“So, there is no difference between right and wrong anymore? Now you can justify anything if you have the right motivation? The ends justify the means?”
“You don’t understand. Cat, Catrina does a lot of good in the world. She needs to take cases like this to pay the bills. She can help a lot of other people because of this.” Ted had never won an argument with Papa.
“This new Anglo world you live it, it isn’t right. God knows the difference between right and wrong. He doesn’t justify immoral acts for moral reasons. You come home, Mijo. Come back to L.A. You come to work with me in the restaurant. I need your help. This is too much for me. Your sister is going to school. She can’t handle managing the restaurant and taking classes at the same time. We need you here.”
****
Ted sat in an overstuffed chair in front of the huge gas fireplace in the lobby of the Millennium Towers building. Outside the cold November rain pelted down incessantly. There would be floods this weekend. The Weather Service was already putting lowlying areas on alert.
The weather fit Ted’s mood. This was as bad as the Inside Passage affair. Four people were dead. Ted didn’t really know any of them. Granted, three of them deserved it, but no one had the right to take another person’s life. And all of it over some electronic toy, a toy that may never come to market. What kind of world was this?
He brooded on Catrina and his job. He had taken the job, taken a huge pay cut, because he wanted to help people. He really believed that Catrina did help people. She protected people that couldn’t protect themselves. But at what cost? She seemed to have a sliding scale of morality. In order to right one wrong, she was willing to commit two more.
Ted couldn’t live like that. Papa had drilled a code of honor into him. If he couldn’t rely on his familia’s values, then he was adrift in an angry world.
Maybe Papa was right. Maybe this Anglo world was tainted. Maybe he needed to return to his roots.
A tall, thin balding man walked past Ted and into the nearby Starbucks. Jackson Schmidt. The man Ted was waiting to see.
Ted picked up his backpack and followed Schmidt into the coffee shop.
Schmidt got his coffee and sat at a table by the window that looked out into the lobby. He pulled a copy of The Wall Street Journal from his book bag and unfolded it.
Ted bought a mocha latte and walked over to Schmidt’s table.
“Mister Schmidt.” Ted sat down, uninvited, at Schmidt’s table. “We haven’t met. I’m Ted Higuera. I work for Flaherty and Associates, Investigations.”
Schmidt looked at Ted for a minute. “Mister Higuera, I really don’t know how I can help you. This is my private time. If you want to talk to me, please call my assistant to make an appointment.”
Ted pulled his backpack unto his lap and unzipped it. “I’m not askin’, Jack, I’m tellin’.” He slipped into his barrio accent. “You been a very bad boy, dude. This is Reconciliation Day.”
Schmidt quickly folded his paper and started to get up.
”Leave me alone or I’ll call Security.”
“No need. They already know I’m here. You wanna make a big scene and call the cops too? Maybe the Security and Exchange Commission? Sit down, Jack. I’m about to explain how this is gonna play out.”
Schmidt stared at Ted open mouthed.
“I said, sit down.”
Schmidt meekly sat.
Ted reached into his backpack and pulled out a file folder. “I’ve got some charts and shit I want to show you.” Ted slid a spread sheet to Schmidt. “Recognize that?”
Schmidt picked up the piece of paper. His eyes widened.
“I have nothing to do with this. It looks like some kind of posting errors.”
“So you’ve never heard of Sarbanes-Oxley? You sign the annual report; you’re responsible for this shit. And that’s not all, dude. Check this out.” Ted slid another piece of paper across the table.
Schmidt didn’t pick it up, just stared at it.
“That’s right. Those are the payments made to Webber Inc. Remember them?”
“They’re a consulting firm. I believe that they were hired to work on the Delphi project.”
“Bingo, Jack. Now who would have hired them?”
“I don’t know. That was handled by one of my accountants. I’m not sure which one.”
“How does Gina Lombardi sound? That name ring a bell?”
“Yeah, right. Gina. I’m sure she’s the one. She set up the contracts.”
“Let’s talk about Webber Inc. for a minute.” Ted studied Schmidt’s face. It was pale, wide eyed. “The principle there was a one Mr. Jacob Webber. Remember him?”
“No. I mean, I recognize the name, but I don’t remember ever meeting him.”
“Are the pieces beginning to come together? We’ve interviewed the clerk at the shop where Webber Inc. had its PO Box. We’ve interviewed the teller at the bank who set up their accounts. Both said that Mr. Webber had all the correct ID.”
“So what does all of this have to do with me? It’s probably Ms. Lombardi. She probably set up the fake company.”
“How do you know it’s a fake company?” Ted leaned closer to Schmidt. “I didn’t say that. I just said that Webber had all the correct ID.”
“I already told you, I never met Mr. Webber.”
“That’s good. Because Mr. Webber died in August of 1961.”
Schmidt looked like he had just been punched in the gut. “I don’t understand. Then how did he. . . “
Ted leaned back in his chair. He was going to take his time. He was really enjoying this. “Both the clerk and the teller identified Mr. Webber for us. Tall, thin, balding. They even picked him out of a photo array.”
“What do you want from me?” Schmidt whispered.
“We’re talking about something over six million dollars here, Jack. Felony embezzlement. That should be good for at least twenty years. Dude, it really sucks being you.”
“How much? What am I going to have to pay you?”
Ted waved his arm. “Alison, I think Jack here wants to talk to you.”
Alison and Catrina appeared from out of nowhere and took chairs at the table. Schmidt stared arrows of hatred at them.
“You follow my orders,” Alison began. “And you won’t go to jail.”
Schmidt let out a deep breath.
“I have to think of the company,” she continued. “We’ve already taken two huge blows. Terry’s death and the Delphi project have not been viewed as positive on Wall Street. If word gets out about your little caper, our stock will tank.”
“Alison, I
was only thinking of the company.” Schmidt’s breath rate increased. He looked at the wall behind Alison. “I was building an emergency cash reserve. I needed to hide it. I didn’t trust Terry. I thought he might try to force you out. I needed the money to help you hold onto you position.”
“Don’t even go there,” Alison spat. “We all know what you were doing. Your own personal golden parachute. You were betting against Delphi, against me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
In that instant, Ted realized Schmidt’s true crime. He had been disloyal to Alison. For that he was about to pay.
“Here’s what you're going to do.” Alison ticked off her points on her fingers. “First, you’re going to pay back all of the money, every penny of it. I already have a forensic accountant going over the books. We’re going to find every last dime you misappropriated.”
Schmidt seemed to deflate in front of Ted’s eyes.
“Next,” Alison continued. “I want your resignation on my desk by the end of the day. No appointments today, no outside phone calls. Turn in your cell phone. Now.” She held out her hand. “You’re out of the office for the rest of the day.”
Schmidt reached in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He looked at it a minute, then dropped it in her hand.
“You will never apply for another CFO position. As long as you live.” Alison dropped the cell phone in her purse. “I’m going to keep a sharp eye on you. You’re going to report in once a month to Ms. Flaherty here. We’re going to know what you’re doing, where you’re living. If you ever get near a financial system again, this information goes to the police. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“One more thing.” Ted spoke up. “I want a written confession. You’re going to put into writing that Gina Lombardi had nothing to do with this. You forced her to make those ledger entries. She didn’t know anything about what you were up to.”
Chapter 33
“Adelita se llama la joven.” Ted tore open the plastic bag filled with hojas, the dried corn husks used to wrap tamales, and dropped them into a sink full of hot water. “A quien yo quiero y no puedo olvidar.” Determined to put all the sadness of the past weeks behind him, this would be a Thanksgiving feast to remember.
Next he placed a large pork butt in a big stock pot, filled it with water and spices and set it on the stove to boil. He looked at this watch. The meat should be cooked by noon.
He and Chris started the tradition their sophomore year of college. They gathered in all the “orphans” they could find, everyone who didn’t have any place else to spend Thanksgiving, and cooked a tamale dinner. This was the traditional holiday fare Ted had grown up with.
Cat was coming over for dinner. After all, he promised to invite her over for tamales when he was hired. He had made up his mind to make up his mind. He committed to himself that he would talk to Cat today.
But what would he tell her? He changed his mind every five minutes. When he got out of bed this morning, he decided that he had to quit. Papa was right. Even though Cat was doing good work, he couldn’t work for her anymore. If a man didn’t have his sense of honor, of integrity, then what did he have?
By the time the tamales were started, he had talked himself out of it. Papa was too old school. There were people that needed Ted. Work that only he could do. If he didn’t protect these people, then who would? Besides, he had worked hard, sweated bullets for four years to get out of the barrio. Did it make sense for him to head back now?
He rinsed off a bag full of pinto beans in the colander, then put them in a second stock pot. He wasn’t a kid any more. He was just fooling himself. Playing super hero. He dug a ham bone out of the freezer and dropped it into the pot of beans. He added a peeled, chopped onion, a few cloves of garlic and a couple of diced jalapeños to the pot.
Chris’ kitchen looked as homey as ever. Sarah had made her presence felt in the living room and bathrooms, but the kitchen was just as Ted had left it. Chris and Sarah would be there for dinner. Their dad was spending his Thanksgiving in Idaho with Candace’s family.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and thought about Gina. He wiped a tear from his eyes. She was spending Thanksgiving with her ex’s family. She thought that her kids needed to spend the time with their grandparents.
He felt a lump in his chest. She was going back to her ex-husband. She was doing it for her kids, so that they could grow up in an intact family.
How could she do it? He understood it was better for the kids, but she didn’t love the jerk. She loved Ted. How could she put her own feelings aside for the benefit of her children? She had told him that someday he would understand. Bullshit!
“Morning, amigo.” Chris came in from the garage with his arms full of groceries. “I’ll get the sangria started right away.”
That was a job Ted could entrust to a gringo with no cooking skills. When the meat was cooked he would teach Sarah how to make tamales.
Chris poured a gallon jug of hearty burgundy into an old wooden cask they kept for sangria. “You hear from your Dad again?” Chris added triple sec and sugar and began slicing fruit.
“Yeah. Talked to him last night.” Ted pulled the secondhand Kitchen Aid mixed from under the counter and began measuring out masa harina for the tamales. “He still wants me to come home. He’s insistent that I have to help him with his restaurant. I think he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”
“Would you really leave Seattle?” Chris stopped slicing and looked at Ted.
The pork was cooked. Ted lifted it from the stock pot with a long fork and a carving knife and set it on a cutting board. “I don’t know, dude. I never want to live in LA again, but familia man.” He poured some of the liquid from the pot into a measuring cup for the masa harina and began making sauce for the tamales from the rest. “Where’s your lazy sister, dude? She’s supposed to be helping.”
Chris dumped his sliced fruit into the cask, put the lid on it and set it on the back porch. “If I know her, she’s still sleeping. She wouldn’t get out of bed before noon if her life depended on it.”
“Quit talking about me.” Sarah dragged into the kitchen in her bathrobe. Her hair looked like she combed it with a blender. She reached for a cup in the glass-doored cabinet, then poured herself some coffee. “What’s the big rush anyway? We’re not eating dinner until tonight.”
“Chica, making tamales is an all-day event. If we don’t get started early, we won’t be eating until Christmas.” Ted cut lard into the masa, then added the pot liquor and began to mix it.
Sarah plopped down at the kitchen table and looked like just breathing was hard work. “I’ll get the decorations out of the attic after I’ve had a chance to wake up.”
Ted stepped back to the counter by the sink and began shredding the pork. He took a fork in each hand and pulled the tender meat apart. When it was all shredded, he put it in a big bowl and mixed in some of the sauce he made. Then he added a little of the meat back to the pot of sauce.
“Time to start rolling tamales. You guys want to help?”
“I’m up for it,” Chris said. “But I don’t know if the bride of Godzilla here is awake enough to make a fist yet.”
Sarah threw a spoon at her brother. “Watch who your calling names, buster. Remember, I know stuff about you, you don’t want anyone to know.” She drug herself up from the table and ambled over to the counter.
“Start with an hoja.” Ted pulled a corn husk from the sink and shook off the water. “They’re nice and soft now.” He spooned out a large portion of masa from the bowl. “Spread the masa evenly on the hoja like this. Put a spoonful of meat in the middle, then fold it up and tie it off.” Ted neatly wrapped up the tamale and tied it up with a strip off of an hoja. “Then put an aceituna in the end.” He stuck a large black olive in the open end of the tamale and put it on a cookie sheet.
Ted’s tamales looked professional. He could tell the ones Chris and Sarah made. They looked like a little kid’s grade school pr
oject. Fortunately, he worked twice as fast as they did and the great majority looked good.
****
Dinner was a great success. All told, a dozen “orphans” had shown up. Sarah’s big paper turkey looked great as a center piece, with little Mexican flags sticking out of each side.
Most of the guests were from Ted and Chris’ college days, but Sarah had drug a few strays home with her. Catrina fit seamlessly in with the rest of the crowd. She was by far the oldest one there. She regaled the crowd with stories from her days on the Port of Seattle Police Department.
Since Ted had orchestrated the meal, he was off the hook for dishes. Sarah and her friends carried the dirty dishes back to the kitchen and Ted took his glass of sangria in search of Catrina.
This was it. He had to talk with her.
Catrina stood alone on the front porch, gazing off into the distance.
“¿Que pasa, mujer?” Ted asked as he stepped through the door.
Cat looked very good in dark slacks and a red sweater. The gold hoops dangled from her ears and the chain circled her neck matched her hair.
“I was just thinking. We’ve come a long way in such a short time.”
“Where’s your son? I thought Matthew was coming with you?” This was the first time Ted could remember seeing softness in Catrina’s eyes. She had an almost vulnerable look.
“On no. He’s having Thanksgiving with his girlfriend’s parents. He’s doing it to get back at me. Forcing Mom to spend Thanksgiving alone. I can hardly wait to see what he comes up with for Christmas.”
Ted sat on the porch swing. “Cat, I’ve got to talk to you.”
She turned to face him; looked in his face. “I know.”
There was that wounded look. How could he tell her?
Silence hung in the air between them.
“Yes?” Cat finally spoke.
“I can’t do this anymore.” There, he had said it. He had to get it all out. “I’m leaving Seattle. Moving back home. My father needs me. Since he bought the restaurant he’s been in over his head. He’s one of the best chefs in the world, but he can’t run a business. They’re bleeding money.”
Hacker For Hire (Ted Higuera Series Book 2) Page 29
