The CEO: White Collar Crime Finance Suspense Thriller

by Peter Ralph

  “I never lost fifty million dollars in one transaction and, even if I had of, I wouldn’t have sold my shares, and left everyone else in the lurch. We want your resignation.”

  “You forget, I have a contract that still has over a year to run, and by my calculations it’s worth ten million.”

  “That’s including bonuses, and I think it’s safe to say you’ve seen your last bonus,” Harry scoffed. “Now you can resign, and save what little honour you have, or we can sack you, but either way you’re going today.

  He’d hoped it would come to this, and he fought back the impulse to smile. “Are you supporting Harry, Ed?”

  “I’m sorry, Douglas,”

  “So, I’m the scapegoat?”

  “A scapegoat’s someone who’s blamed for others’ mistakes,” Harry said. “You’re no scapegoat.”

  “I’ll sue.”

  “And so will we,” Harry said, “to recover that mid-year bonus that should’ve never been paid.”

  “We don’t want drawn out litigation,” Ed said.

  The soft voice of reason.

  “I won’t resign.”

  “You’re fired then,” Harry shouted. “Get out.”

  “Who’s going to run the company?” William Cleary asked.

  “I will, until we find someone else,” Harry snapped, angry that the question had even been asked.

  “Hold on,” Ed said. “Unfortunately he’s right; he does have a contract, and we’ll have to pay him something, even though the honourable thing to do, would be to resign.”

  “I’m not resigning.”

  “So much for honour,” Harry snorted.

  “One year’s salary,” Ed said.

  “No, no,” Harry shouted, “give him nothing.”

  “It’s nowhere near enough,” Aspine snarled, “I’ll see you in court.” It was about as much as he could hope for, and another two million would be the icing on the cake. But why not try for more?

  “You just lost fifty million dollars of shareholder’s funds! Your fancy lawyer’s not going to be able to hide that. You’re the company’s lawyer, Stan,” Harry said, glaring at Aspine. “That’s right isn’t it?”

  “It won’t make any difference, Harry, Ed’s right. He has a contract and, if we terminate it, we’ll have to compensate him. It’s better for the company to make a clean break, rather than having it dragged through the newspapers and courts for ages.”

  “Why is it that when anyone else messes up they pay for it, but when it’s a public company CEO he gets paid?” Harry bellowed, thumping his fist on the table.

  “Douglas, if you want to maintain any credibility in this town, you’ll resign.”

  “I’m staying, Ed.”

  The room went quiet and the tension started to build. Aspine tapped his fingers on the table and smirked, while Harry looked like he’d explode. The silence was broken by Stan Pettit. “You’ve heard our chairman’s offer. Take it or leave it?”

  “No!” Harry shouted.

  “It’s not eno...”

  “If that’s the case, we’ll just let the courts determine your level of compensation, if any. I move we dismiss Mr Aspine without compensation, forthwith.” Stan said.

  “I’ll second that,” grinned Harry.

  Fuck! He’d over-played his hand, never expecting Stan to be the one who’d call his bluff. “I want the minutes to record that I wanted to stay on as CEO, but at the board’s request, and to avoid protracted litigation, I’m reluctantly tendering my resignation.”

  “Without compensation?” Sir Edwin mocked.

  “I’ll just clear my office of personal belongings, while you prepare my letter of resignation and cheque,” Aspine said, ignoring Sir Edwin’s remark.

  “Ed, why don’t you go with him? Stan and I will get the paper work done.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Harry,” Sir Edwin said, miffed that he’d been spoken to that way.

  “You employed him; you sang his praises, so now you make sure it’s only personal items that he leaves with,” Harry growled.

  “Worried that I’m going to pinch the stationery are you?” Aspine sneered.

  Aspine didn’t look back as he gunned the Ferrari through Mercury’s security gates for the last time. Fifteen minutes later he was at the Macquarie Bank depositing his termination cheque. He strolled out onto Collins Street and was pondering the few remaining loose ends he had to tidy up, when one of them phoned. “Doug, there’s a rumour doing the rounds that you’ve been sacked.”

  “That’s bullshit, Brad. I resigned.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “Why would I be?”

  “You know, about buying those apartments at inflated prices with the company’s cash.”

  “No, I’ve got that covered, but it’d help if you were to go on an extended overseas vacation in the next few weeks. You should have enough cash, and I’m sure Stacey would enjoy the sights of South America.”

  “I’m rolling in it thanks to you, and I’ve always wanted to see Argentina and Brazil, but I’ll be going by myself. Why would any male in his right mind take his girlfriend to Rio?”

  “You’re an exceptional salesman, Brad. I’d like to work with you again when you get back from overseas.”

  “You sound like you already have a new position.”

  “I don’t, but by the time you return I will. When are you going to resign?”

  “Later this week, as a mark of loyalty to you and, besides, they tell me Harry Denton doesn’t like paying salesmen.” Brad chuckled.

  “We’ll have to catch up for drinks or dinner before you venture on your travels.”

  “Sounds good, Doug. Let’s make it soon.”

  It was early afternoon when Aspine arrived at his travel agent’s office in Armadale and booked a first class return flight with Qantas to Los Angeles. She’d been surprised by the brevity of the trip, but he explained that he was only going to see an old friend, and four days was more than adequate.

  The final loose end was going to be the most difficult, and require the most deceit. “Put me through to, Kerry Bartlett.”

  “Yes, Mr Aspine,” the receptionist responded.

  “Kerry.”

  “Wha-what ar-are we go-going to do?”

  “Settle down. There’s nothing to worry about,” Aspine said, having never heard Kerry stutter that badly before.

  “We we-we’re go-going to ja-jail. Wha-what am I go-going to do now you-you’re not here?”

  “Calm down. You’re blowing things out of all proportion. No-one’s going to jail. If you just hold your nerve, we’ll be fine.”

  “Har-Harry Den-Denton’s call-calling in the au-auditors, to do a sp-special audit.”

  Shit! He hadn’t counted on that, but couldn’t let Kerry know he was worried. “And they won’t find anything,” he said. “Kerry, can you come around to my house tonight? I told you I’d never let you down, mate, and I meant it. Is seven o’clock okay?”

  “I-I’d li-like that. See you to-tonight.”

  “Keep your chin up, it’s nowhere near as bad as you think.” He should’ve guessed that Harry would call in the auditors, and he hoped that Kerry was as clever as he’d said he was.

  Aspine hadn’t been in a Flight Centre travel agency before. It was far larger than the agency he used, and travel brochures adorned the walls. “Can I help you, sir?” The fresh-faced trainee agent asked, flicking the hair from her forehead.

  “No thanks, I’m just browsing.”

  “Is there any country, or way of life that appeals?”

  “When I find a suitable destination, I’ll be back to book,” he said, tucking the brochures on US domestic routes and the Caymans under his arm.

  He spent hours on the internet, checking out the banks licensed to do business in the Caymans. The history and backing of the Royal Bank of Canada really appealed to him, so he phoned and asked to be put through to the manager.

  Almost immediately a man with
a distinctly English accent said, “Phillip Carradine, speaking. How can I help you, Mr Aspine?”

  “I’d like to establish an account with your bank; I’ll be in Miami next Tuesday. Could I fly down and see you on Wednesday afternoon?”

  “I’d be delighted to see you. Will you need us to set up a corporation and trust for you?”

  “Probably. Yes.”

  “And will you want to deposit monies into the account immediately?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll need to stay at least one night. I’ll book you into the Hyatt, Seven Mile Beach.”

  “Thank you, Phillip.”

  “Let me have a contact number or email address.”

  The line went quiet before Aspine said. “I’d prefer not to at this stage. You’ll understand why, after we’ve talked.”

  “I already do. That’s fine, Mr Aspine. We have many clients who require absolute privacy. I look forward to seeing you on Wednesday.”

  Aspine pocketed his prepaid and smiled. He was about to close another loose end.

  Fiona Jeczik devoted three minutes of her program to Douglas Aspine’s unexpected departure from Mercury, revisiting what she cynically described as his negative achievements. She’d spoken to Harry Denton in the afternoon, and he was one of the few businessmen that she genuinely liked, and he’d accidentally on purpose, let a few things slip. “So what is this man’s legacy?” she concluded. “Is it the pain and suffering that he inflicted on his workers and their families? Is it the near destruction of a fine company? Is it the massive salary, bonuses and benefits that he received, or is it the fifty million dollar loss that he incurred as a result of a hasty and ill-thought out property acquisition? Douglas Aspine’s CV will say that he resigned. Let me assure you that he did not. I am reliably informed that the board of Mercury Properties demanded his resignation. Why they paid him a year’s salary is totally beyond me,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s hope that this man is never again appointed CEO of one of our conservative, and well- managed companies.” The music to finish Your Family Today came on, and the cameras panned away from her. She was well satisfied with her response to Aspine’s crude attempt to intimidate her.

  Aspine heard the front door chimes, but found it hard to drag himself away from the television. He was trembling with rage, knowing that his visit to Fairhills had had no impact. The bitch obviously thought that he was bluffing − she’d soon learn that he wasn’t. “Good evening, Kerry,” he said, struggling to regain his composure. “Come in.”

  “Hel-hello Doug-Douglas. I’m so-sorry ab-about today.”

  He smelt of spirits, his shirt was stained, and his pimples were a sickly yellow.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll rebound, and when the time is right, I’d like you to join me in my next position. You’re a fine financial controller.”

  “Wh-what am I go-going to do about the twen-twenty-five mil-million dollars?”

  “I thought you said that the auditors would never find it.”

  “I did bu-but th-that was be-before I knew they-they’d be sp-specifically looking for an-anomalies. An-and I th-thought we’d be rev-reversing it against fut-future profits. Th-there’s no profit in the off-office bl-blocks.”

  “Can’t you reverse five million in the September quarter’s accounts, and another five million in December, and just keep doing it until the books are kosher again?”

  “If I d-do th-that the prof-profits will look terr-terrible.”

  Who cares about the level of profit? I’m no longer CEO, and I’ve been paid my bonuses. “Can’t you add the first five million to the losses on the office blocks?”

  “You-you don-don’t und-understand. It’s har-hard to hide what I-I’ve done with-without profits. I wis-wish we’d nev-never done it.”

  Aspine poured himself a Jack Daniels. “Would you like one?”

  “You know I-I don-don’t dri-drink.”

  Shit. He’s an alcoholic in denial. “Sorry, I forgot. Kerry, if you stay at Mercury for another year, you’ll be able to undo all you’ve done and no-one need ever be the wiser. I know you’re a lot smarter than those bloody auditors. If you remain positive this little problem will solve itself over time.”

  “I do-don’t know.”

  “No matter what happens, I want us to remain mates. I’m going overseas for a few days next week, but I’m not fleeing the country or anything,” Aspine laughed. “Kerry, you’re welcome here anytime. I’m not going to let you down, mate, not ever!”

  “Th-that’s goo-good to know,” Kerry said, a picture of misery. “I’m s-so wor-worried about the sh-shame that I’ll br-bring on my fam-family and fr-friends if we go to ja-jail.”

  “Jail? We’re not going to jail. Come on, get a grasp; in a year’s time we’ll look back and laugh about this. If you think you’ve got a problem, I want you to come and see me, and we’ll talk it through to a solution.”

  “Th-thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Aspine said, as he put his arm around Kerry’s shoulders and walked him to the door. “That’s what mates are for.”

  Kerry would have to nursed through the next year. He was the weak link and would require a lot of attention.

  Charlene Deering was jubilant. She’d just finished watching Your Family Today. “Bobby,” she yelled, “do you remember that arse’ole I was dating? He just got himself fired. Whoopee.”

  “The guy who’s townhouse I broke into? The prick who has that DVD of you?” the tall, dark haired man, with the towel wrapped around him, asked.

  “What’d you have to bring that up for? I’d almost forgotten about it. Jeez, you stink of chlorine. Go and have your shower.”

  “I was about to when you called. If you were cleaning pools all day, you’d stink too.”

  “I wish you’d got that DVD,” Charlie moaned.

  “Me too. Do you want me to try again?”

  “I’d really like to get it back.”

  “Maybe he’s forgotten about it?” Bobby said.

  “He never forgets about things that he can hurt others with.”

  - 38 -

  THE FLIGHT TO Los Angeles was uneventful and Aspine slept for nearly ten hours. He was travelling light and, once he’d cleared customs, he made his way to United’s counter and booked a flight to Miami, paying cash. At Miami airport he made a booking on a Cayman Airways 737 to Grand Cayman Island.

  The Cayman Airway’s stewardesses were stunning, brown skinned, long legged young girls with welcoming smiles, which was a nice change from the guys on Qantas, and the boilers on United. He hadn’t been to the Cayman Islands before and knew little about them, other than the intricacies of their banking systems. They represented the fifth largest financial centre in the world, out-paced only by New York, London, Tokyo and Hong Kong. There were tens of thousands of corporations with registered offices, and more than six hundred banks with branches and offices in the islands. There was no personal income tax or capital gains tax, and corporations did not attract company tax, goods and services tax or bank debits tax. The banks at one time had been as secret as the Swiss but, more recently, the IRS had been able to access bank accounts, and the attraction of the Caymans as a tax haven had diminished. For Aspine this was no longer a worry as, if the Australian Tax Authorities ever investigated him they’d first have to get past his lawyers in Hong Kong, then the bank in Hong Kong and finally past the bank in Zurich. In the unlikely event of this occurring, he’d have plenty of time to move the monies he was about to transfer to the Caymans.

  As the plane commenced its descent he looked out of the window at the tiny island below. The flight path took them over crystal clear ocean water and white sandy beaches, before the pilot made a bumpy touch down and the passengers burst into applause. He’d experienced the same occurrence in the US many times, and it both amused and unnerved him, to think that the pilot was being applauded for doing no more than his job.

  He cleared customs, and half a dozen dark skinned kids fo
ught to carry his bags, but he shooed them away and went looking for a cab. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the heat was oppressive and he was sweating profusely. “Hey Mon, are you looking for a taxi? I got air conditioning.” The bearded, overweight man standing next to the old blue Chevrolet said.

  “Where’s your cab?”

  “What do you think this is, Mon?” The driver said, patting the Chevvy’s bonnet. “Where are you going?”

  “Do you know The Royal Bank of Canada, Georgetown?

  “Yes, Mon.”

  The road from the airport to Georgetown carried an assortment of old cars that had seen better days. The air conditioning in the Chevvy wasn’t working and the fan circulated hot uncomfortable air, but Aspine didn’t complain. The taxi driver talked incessantly, but he couldn’t understand him and merely grunted when he thought that it was appropriate. As they turned into the main street of Georgetown, he was struck by the modern buildings. The traffic was heavy and, as the cab crawled along, he felt the sweat pouring down his chest. “Five minutes, Mon,” the driver said.

  Aspine entered the bank and was hit by the chill of air conditioning. Within five minutes he was sitting in Phillip Carradine’s office, sipping iced tea. Carradine was tall, and distinguished looking for someone who was still on the right side of forty, and unmistakably English. “Phillip, I want a company set up to act as trustee of a trust. Can you organize the documentation for me?”

  “The bank, through one of its nominees, can act as trustee.”

  “No thanks,” Aspine said bluntly. “I want to be able to look after my own affairs. Discretion, privacy and, might I say, secrecy are paramount. I want to be able to access the account via the internet, and to transfer monies in and out by the same medium.”

  “That won’t be a problem. Do you have a company name and how much will your initial deposit be?”

  “I like the name Phoenix or a derivative thereof, and nearly ten million Australian dollars.”