The Eavesdropper

by Edward Trimnell

  But in a way, she had, hadn't she? Ellen had told me that there was another man.

  Maybe it had even been her subconscious intention for me to figure it all out. She had revealed facts about the two Russian mobsters, Andrei Sokolov and Boris Kuznetsov, She had known things about Sid and Bethany: the long duration of their affair, how the affair had been a factor in wrecking Sid’s marriage.

  So maybe she was torn. But in the end she had decided to keep me in the dark.

  Why? She was, no doubt, ashamed of her complicity in the fraudulent activity—however brief that complicity had been. Was she simply keeping her private business private?

  Under more ordinary circumstances, that would be a perfectly reasonable policy. But these were not ordinary circumstances. Did Ellen have an obligation to tell me the truth about Sid, too? About her own guilt?

  Perhaps. Perhaps not. She knew that I was romantically interested in her. I had demonstrated that very clearly.

  It was complicated, in other words.

  Chapter 91

  Complicated or not, my relief was now being edged out by anger. I had been a dupe not only of the conspirators, not only of Ellen, but also of the FBI.

  “Why didn't you approach me, too?” I demanded. “You could have told me what was going on—just like you did for Ellen. I—I was almost killed today.”

  I stood up from the table, as if to storm out. But where would I go? And what would happen after that?

  “Hold on,” Stewart said. “and please sit back down. We didn't intentionally keep you in the dark. None of us thought that Sid would even think about harming Ellen Trevor. That didn't fit our profile of him, nor of any of the group. The Russian mobsters were in the background, of course, but there was no reason to believe that Ellen Trevor was in imminent danger.”

  “Of course not,” I shot back. “Why should Russian mobsters be considered an ‘imminent danger’ to anyone?”

  “Keep in mind,” Carson said, “that Ellen was given full immunity in exchange for her cooperation. No one forced her hand in any of this. Remember, too, that she originally cooperated with Sid Harper, agreed to help him secure payment for the fraudulent invoices. She only changed her mind when she discovered that the FBI was already onto it. And the revelation of Sid’s long-running affair with Bethany Cox certainly helped to seal the deal. Now, would you please sit down?”

  I finally complied. I was still coming to terms with it all. In only a few weeks, all of my assumptions had been rocked. First, Sid, my mentor and benefactor, and now Ellen.

  Twice she had been a product of my imagination. At first she had been the Brown-Eyed Girl, on whom I’d projected everything that I had once wished to find in Claire. And then once I’d known her as Ellen Trevor, I hadn't really known her at all.

  “Why would Sid do something like this?” I asked—though Ellen Trevor had already told me.

  “First of all, the money. Had the scam continued, Sid could have tucked away a few million dollars. The younger woman, Bethany, was a factor, too” Stewart said. “But also, resentment at his employer. Sid Harper had been pushing to make vice president for years. They passed him over one time too many, in his mind.”

  “I still don’t believe it,” I said. “He was a manager in the purchasing department. Why would he—”

  But I did believe it, now that I knew all the reasons. I just didn't want to believe it. I wanted the old Sid back, the one whom I had trusted, the man who had looked out for my best interests. But that Sid had been an illusion, a projection of my wishful thinking. My longing for a father figure, perhaps…

  Carson laughed. “What? You think that petty jealousies and resentments are limited to people at the bottom of the totem pole? People like you?”

  That was harsh; but yes, maybe that was what I had thought.

  “You know how it is with some people,” Carson went on. “The more they get, the more they think they’re entitled to. Sid Harper decided that if the company wasn't going to give him the promotion that he believed to be his just due, then he was going to take it back in chickens, as the old expression goes. Bethany Cox, who had already started an amateurish version of the embezzlement scheme, laid the opportunity in his lap. And so he ran with it.”

  “But there’s more,” Stewart said. He produced a large envelope, the kind that can enclose full, unfolded sheets of letter paper. From the envelope he removed a large photograph.

  “Maybe you’ve seen this guy, Elias Trevor. Ellen Trevor’s younger brother.”

  Agent Stewart slid the photo across the table to me. I lifted it from the table. When I saw the face in the photo, I could only stare in disbelief.

  I was looking at a mugshot of the young man whom I had caught stalking my daughter that day at the Ohio Winter Days Festival. I immediately recognized his pale, ratlike face and scraggly beard. Ellen might be the Brown-Eyed Girl, the young woman who had captured my attention in the elevators of Thomas-Smithfield. But good looks and charm didn't necessarily run in her family.

  I remembered what Ellen had said about her brother: He looks up to Donnie.

  I was taken aback by yet another blow. Not only had Ellen Trevor been an early member of the embezzlement conspiracy and Sid’s lover. Her brother had been the craven, creepy little man whom the conspirators had charged with frightening Olivia, in an effort to intimidate me.

  I didn't want to know any more about Ellen Trevor. I already knew enough.

  “What about Bethany?” I asked.

  Special Agent Stewart let out a long sigh. “Yes, Bethany,” he said. “It was a very unfortunate outcome for her.”

  Chapter 92

  “I know that you and Ms. Cox weren't close,” Stewart began, “but this may come as a shock to you, nonetheless.

  “Sokolov and Kuznetsov killed Bethany Cox in Donnie Brady’s apartment. Based on the timeline we put together, you probably missed them by a few minutes. In fact, you probably passed them on the road while you were driving Ms. Cox’s car back to Thomas-Smithfield.”

  I allowed myself a moment to take that all in. Bethany dead. It would have been difficult for me to describe my emotions as that fact settled in my consciousness, and even now I’m not sure how I feel about it.

  I wasn't happy to hear it, of course. Bethany had always been unkind to me. But still.

  “But why?” I asked. “I was supposed to be their target—not Bethany Cox.”

  “The Russian mob isn't known for its subtlety,” Carson said. “The gangsters, Sokolov and Kuznetsov, had apparently decided that things had gotten out of hand. Sid’s phone call alarmed them. Our guess would be that they were never comfortable with Bethany Cox and Donnie Brady as part of the deal. Who knows? Maybe they were no longer comfortable with Sid, either. We’ll never know.”

  There was a certain irony here. I had actually saved Donnie Brady as part of my spur-of-the-moment plan to save myself. He had returned to Thomas-Smithfield because I’d revealed to him that Sid was both sleeping with Bethany and plotting to cut him out of their embezzlement scheme.

  “Did you capture the Russians?” I asked hopefully. “Sokolov and Kuznetsov?”

  “Andrei Sokolov and Boris Kuznetsov were killed in a shootout with another one of our teams early this afternoon. Their intention was to flee out of state—probably to somewhere in the southeast. But we caught up with them on a rural highway in Kentucky. Luckily, it was a sparsely populated area.”

  I let out a long sigh. “That’s good,” I said, without any sense of guilt whatsoever. As long as those two lived, my life would be in danger, I knew.

  “It is good,” Carson agreed, “for you and a lot of people. That empty warehouse in North Carolina, the one that Sid took you to—That was a location that had been used by Sokolov and Kuznetsov as a killing ground. We’ve already sent in a team to cordon off the area around the warehouse, and we’re going to start excavating soon. I’m sure we’ll find bodies buried there.”

  I shivered. “What about Ellen Watson?
” I asked.

  Carson looked to Stewart, as if asking if it was okay to answer my question. I realized that I had now stepped beyond a simple inquiry of the aspects of the case that directly concerned me.

  Stewart nodded, and Carson spoke.

  “Ellen Watson, your group admin, wasn't a primary conspirator. She failed to report Brady, Cox, and Sid. But she didn't actually engage in any wrongdoing that we can concretely prove. So she isn't in any trouble with the federal government. But as to whether or not she keeps her job at Thomas-Smithfield, well, I wouldn't want to take any bets on that.”

  Chapter 93

  Before we concluded, they gave me one final piece of information about Ellen Trevor—the erstwhile Brown-Eyed Girl.

  Ellen Trevor had cut herself a good deal. She knew that after her part in the original embezzlement scheme was exposed, she would never find work again as an accountant.

  She was still young; and as a completely discredited, staff-level professional with nothing but an accounting degree to go on, she would have no way of making a living.

  So as part of her agreement to cooperate with the FBI, she required that they set her up with a fresh start in another city: a new identity,

  And so Ellen Trevor was now someone else. Did she even keep her first name? I had no idea; Carson and Stewart weren't about to tell me.

  I assumed that she would eventually find work in another accounting department somewhere. The federal government had set her up with a new set of equivalent educational credentials, a new employment history.

  Could the federal government do that? Yeah, I supposed that they could.

  That was the end of Ellen Trevor—as far as I was concerned. Until it wasn’t. A week after my meeting with Carson and Stewart, around the time that I was becoming adjusted to my new life, I received an email from a mysterious source.

  It was a Yahoo email address that consisted of the name ‘Ellen’ and a string of letters and numbers. I knew that this wasn't an email account that Ellen had ever used for day-to-day communications. It was far too long and cumbersome. She had created it specifically for this purpose, and she had included her first name in the address to catch my attention. Still, it was a wonder that the message didn't go into my spam folder.

  Dear Frank:

  I know that you probably hate me. I deceived you. And even though—as I understand—things ended up working out very well for you, I’m sure you didn't appreciate being lied to.

  Please keep in mind that my life was already complicated enough. I was working with our government friends on the sly. At the same time, I was trying to dodge Sid, Donnie, and Bethany.

  Bethany. I feel so awful about what happened to her. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

  You came to me out of the blue at a time when my life was already complicated, and I didn't know how much to tell you. Do you remember that night at dinner, at the Thai restaurant? I tried to dissuade you, Frank, because I knew this would cause you no end of grief. I thought about coming clean with you, right then and there, so that you wouldn't need to get involved.

  But then I realized that you were already involved. They were already coming after you.

  I know that you also wanted more of me…in other ways. I told you that I had a complicated history. But once again, I couldn't tell you the whole truth. (And if you’d known the whole truth about me—about what I’d done—would you still have wanted me? Interesting question.)

  You’re a sweet guy, Frank. I did like you. And those two kisses—for as long as they lasted—were nice. If things had been different, well, who knows?

  But that’s a moot point now. As you were probably told, I’m no longer the same person I was (on paper, at least). One of the conditions of my new status is that I must refrain from any contact with anyone I knew before. I’m taking a risk even by sending this email.

  So this is the goodbye that I never had a chance to say. Thank you for everything you did, Frank. I wish you only the best.

  Ellen

  Ellen didn't need to tell me that I wasn't to reply to her message. Just as we weren't going to meet again, we weren't going to be pen pals, either. This was, as she had written, her goodbye. And it would be final.

  I didn't hate Ellen Trevor. Even as I was wounded at her final act of deceit, I was grateful that she had pulled in the authorities—the real authorities.

  I had been floundering on that count. I remembered my abortive meeting with Sgt. Burke. Organized white-collar crime was beyond the capabilities of the Beechwood Police Department. What had I been thinking?

  Chapter 94

  If this were a made-up story, the ending would be different. Ellen Trevor would have lived up to the Brown-Eyed Girl of my imagination. We’d be taking a victory lap right now, perhaps over a glass of wine at the Thai restaurant where we shared that one dinner together.

  But this is real life. And in real life, sometimes there is no princess, and sometimes our surrogate father figures betray us.

  But that doesn't mean that all is lost. I received a whistle-blower’s fee from the government. I won’t say how much; but I will say that my previous financial strain has been alleviated. After I paid off all my bills and debts, I took a nice chunk of it and started a college fund for Olivia.

  Sid and Donnie, the two surviving members of the conspiracy, are now in prison awaiting federal conspiracy, embezzlement, and racketeering charges. Given my vindication, Thomas-Smithfield rescinded my termination.

  They did better than that, actually. I was invited to the office of our CEO, a man named Chris Glenfield, for a sit-down meeting. This was a big deal, even after everything that happened. Few employees at my level ever have contact with Glenfield.

  Glenfield wanted something, and he was offering me something, as it turned out.

  “A very nasty business, all of this,” Glenfield said, leaning back in his chair. “I never would have suspected that Sid Harper would be capable of all that—though in retrospect, perhaps I should have seen it coming.”

  And at that moment, I could have sworn that Glenfield winked at me. There I was, having conspiratorial, off-the-record conversations with the Thomas-Smithfield CEO about Sid Harper. What a difference a few eventful weeks can make.

  “I appreciate your silence on this matter, Frank—may I call you Frank?”

  I nodded and let Glenfield’s false modesty pass without comment. Of course he could address me by my first name.

  “Luckily the federal authorities have chosen not to widely publicize this,” Glenfield went on, “and it all came together so quickly that no one in the press got word of the entire story. I read about the shootout between the feds and those dreadful Russians: Because it happened in a remote area in Kentucky, the media didn't show much interest in the matter. Did you really tangle with those characters?”

  “I guess you could say that I did,” I said.

  “You’re lucky to be alive to tell about it. Anyway, Frank, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about: I would prefer that you not talk about it. Everyone in the company knows that Sid was arrested, of course; but we want to keep the matter hush-hush. This is the sort of scandal that could cast a permanent blight on Thomas-Smithfield. I don’t want Thomas-Smithfield to become known as the company where a group of our own people—including a manager—conspired with Russian gangsters. That narrative could have a long-term negative effect on employee morale if it lingers and grows. Not to mention the company’s share prices. Do you get my drift?”

  “Certainly,” I said. I didn't add that Glenfield’s compensation package was probably highly dependent on the trend of the company’s share prices, that he likely owned a healthy number of Thomas-Smithfield shares himself.

  “So I would prefer this matter be discussed as little as possible, so that the rumor mill can move on to other things. Which it inevitably will. Can I count on your cooperation in this regard, Frank?”

  “I won’t discuss it with anyone,” I said.

  “Very go
od. I knew the company could count on you. I’ve reviewed your file. Despite Sid’s betrayal of the company, I believe that he made an accurate assessment of your efforts and talents before the two of you had your falling out. You should have a long and productive career here, if you choose to stay.”

  “Thank you, sir. I want to stay. I like my job.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. And I also believe that what you did for the company in this recent, unhappy affair went above and beyond the normal call of duty for a buyer in our purchasing department. Even a senior buyer,” he added with a wry smile. “Therefore, I’d say that a little bonus is in order…”

  The company gave me a bonus that added to my whistleblower fee. Once again, I won’t say exactly how much it was. But I was more than a little happy to read the amount on my bank statement.

  Chapter 95

  My ex-wife forgave me all of my recent transgressions, both real and perceived. My uninvited appearance at the Ohio Winter Days Festival made a lot more sense in light of everything that happened.

  “You did what you did to defend our daughter,” Claire said. “I suppose that’s good enough for me.”

  No, Claire didn't break up with Ryan and run back into my arms. (Like I said, real-life endings are usually a lot messier and more ambiguous than those of made-up stories.) She and Ryan are still an item, though I can report that his plans to move in are on hold. I’m holding out hope.

  Speaking of which: I’ve recently started dating another woman I met at work. Her name isn't Ellen, but Teri. She works in one of the company’s logistics groups. She hasn't asked me about the embezzlement scheme and the Russians, and I haven’t volunteered anything. (Maybe the rumor mill really has moved on to other topics, as Glenfield predicted it would.)