Deadly Game

by R. B. Conroy

  Ted nodded again.

  “I don’t think it’s a secret to anyone that I was opposed to accepting these funds last fall.”

  “Yes, that was kind of Barnes’s baby,” Strom offered.

  “It certainly was Strom, and Barnes doesn’t want to pay the money back. He seems hell bent on stopping me; he’s more determined than I’ve ever seen him. I’m not sure what’s driving him.”

  “He has a dog in this fight for certain, Alex. He owns quite a bit of Midwest stock as I’m sure all of the board members do. I don’t agree with Barnes, but maybe he sees his investment being threatened and he thinks that keeping the bailout money will help. It could be as simple as that,” Ted said matter-of-factly.

  Alex scribbled nervously on his napkin. “You’re right, Ted. Barnes and several of the board members are getting older and their retirements are an issue, but I don’t think Barnes is that worried about his Midwest stock. He has huge holdings and is a very wealthy man. It’s more than that with him—he’s on a mission. I’ve never seen him so determined. And as of late, I have discovered some things that concern me.”

  “Such as?” Ted queried.

  “Well, you know our friend, Vito Taglioni, over at First Financial Services?”

  “Yes, yes, I know, Vito. Who doesn’t?”

  “Well, First Financial handles all our big bond deals here in Indy. The other day, I discovered, quite inadvertently, that Vito has opened satellite offices for First Financial in all the cities where Midwest has offices.”

  Ted’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Well, he certainly has the right to open an office wherever he likes as long as he gets all the red tape right.”

  Alex felt exasperated. “That’s not all, Ted. Barnes has opened offices in all the same cities and he and Vito have been making a fortune for the past year peddling those bonds. Something smells fishy and I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sorry, Alex. But Vito has every right to open a storefront in any city he chooses,” Ted replied.

  Agitated, Alex scribbled more aggressively. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something with Barnes?”

  “Not unless he handles your account himself—which I’m certain that he doesn’t. Otherwise, the man has a right to make a living.”

  “A very good living!” Alex squirmed in his seat.

  “No law against that.”

  Alex pushed on. “Remember when Nicky and I went to Europe last year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, in my absence Barnes asked Strom to call an emergency meeting of the board.”

  Ted replied, “As a board member, Barnes has every right to do that, even though it seems inappropriate with you out of town. Did he document the meeting so you would know what took place?”

  Alex grimaced. “He documented it alright, Ted. Barnes is no dummy. But what he did in essence, without making it appear so in the minutes, was open the flood gates on subprime mortgages, something he knew I was vehemently against. The result was that he and Vito got rich and now Midwest has millions of dollars worth of bonds going belly-up every day.”

  Ted leaned back against the shiny cushion on the booth. “Did the board approve the action?”

  “Yes….yes they did; but they didn’t know his objective. He did a masterful job of masking his intentions. He merely made a motion to leave the decision on how to acquire more mortgages up to the local managers in each town and the board approved.”

  “And?”

  “And….those managers and their originators are on commission, Ted! You can’t leave underwriting decisions up to them! They love subprime—any warm body can qualify for a subprime mortgage. The board gave them the green light and they started making mortgages to anyone who walked in the door! Barnes knew it would be a disaster for the bank, but he also knew that he and Vito could make a fortune in the meantime. And all this happened while I was out of town.” Alex shook his head in disbelief.

  “Inappropriate maybe, but certainly not against regulations. Ignorance is no excuse under the law. Your board should have known better than to approve such a potentially problematic policy, especially with you not at the meeting.”

  Strom’s face flushed with embarrassment. He felt the sting of the attorney’s insinuations.

  The usually measured Alex leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table top. “Damn it, Ted! Something stinks here and you know it! With Barnes’s political ambitions and close connection to the current administration in Washington, who knows what he’s up to? Midwest did over six hundred million in mortgages out of our Chicago branch alone last year—a billion six total in all offices. And for some reason our controller, Jack Montrose, has been running up to the Chicago branch every other week lately. Something is not right here, Ted.” Slightly embarrassed by his uncharacteristic outburst, Alex glanced around the room.

  “Hmmm…..Montrose. Wasn’t he Barnes’s hand-picked man?” Ted queried.

  “Yes, Barnes highly recommended him when Stackhouse retired—said he was the smartest CPA in town. We interviewed several people and Jack held up well during the interviews, so with Barnes’s blessing, I hired him.”

  Ted leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Why does Montrose say he is going to Chicago?”

  “He says Louie Compano and his father made a mess of things. He claims the files are a disaster and many of the entries on the computer are incomplete and coded improperly and they are requiring a ton of file maintenance.”

  “How big is Jack’s staff?”

  “He has ten accountants under him.”

  “But he always goes himself?”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed, “Yes. He said that it’s such a mess up there that he has to go personally. He doesn’t feel he could trust it to one of the younger accountants.”

  “Aren’t they all CPA’s?”

  Alex nodded.

  “Hmmm…well, it’s probably fine, Alex, but I would keep an eye on that Chicago situation. You might want to poke around a little bit—maybe talk to Compano and see what he knows. But we all know Louie is not an organized person. His shop could be in a mess. It’s probably just what Montrose suggests.”

  Alex was taken aback by his good friend’s lukewarm support of his suspicions. He sat up, his face flushed red. “Damn it, Ted! You’re on retainer here, but you act like some attorney I just bumped into in the men’s room a few minutes ago. Something smells to high heaven here. I don’t give a hoot what the regulations say! And when I tell my over-paid, hotshot attorney about it, I shouldn’t have to sit here and endure endless references on how everything appears to be normal. I’m starting to wonder what I’m paying you for!”

  Eyes wide, Ted twisted nervously in his seat. “Sorry Alex, I’m just trying to look at both sides.” He paused as if in deep thought and then continued, “Greed can be an ugly thing, Alex, and you’re right, these boys have been surprisingly active the past couple of years. I am going to request the necessary documentation on all of Vito’s branch applications just to be sure they’re up to snuff. Those approvals happened awfully fast. At the same time, I’ll request random photo copies of several of their mortgage files to be sure they are following the guidelines set by the local managers. Something tells me that these guidelines have never been put into writing. Also, I want a full accounting of all transactions by both First Financial and O’Brien and Son that involved Midwest, including the complete money trail. I want to know who got paid for doing what and when. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I will ask your outside auditors, Dulin and Dulin, to do an audit on Louie’s office. Particularly in regard to all the file maintenance Montrose has been doing lately. If we find a rat in the woodshed, I’ll move in at a moment’s notice; I promise you that.”

  Alex leaned back, sighed and shook his head. “It’s about time you came to life, I was beginning to wonder. Maybe I’ll leave you on retainer for a little while after all.”

  Ted shook his head, “On retainer for a while my ass! I’m the best attor
ney in town and you know it.”

  A calmer Alex grinned.

  The ice rattled as Strom lifted his water glass toward the center of the table. “We have some real challenges in front of us, fellas. Let’s all work together and get to the bottom of this thing.”

  The men touched glasses and smiled warmly at one another. The conversation soon shifted to more personal topics. All sense of divisiveness quickly vaporized as the close friends reminisced about silly pranks on the golf course and other special times together.

  “Grubs up!” The smell of minestrone filled the air as the brusque waitress arrived and banged the long plates on the table. “Enjoy fellas, and please don’t slobber on yourselves.” Libby grinned as the men roared their approval.

  Chapter 8

  The Boston College fight song resonated through the sunlit lounge at Meridian Hills Country Club.

  “Another Scotch, Willie.”

  “Sure thing. Mr. O’Brien, if you promise to turn that thing off. I’m a Notre Dame fan.”

  Barnes coughed up a hoarse laugh as he lifted his cell phone from his vest pocket, and hurriedly scanned the screen.

  “Yes Vito, what is it?’

  The familiar voice blared from the phone. “What the hell is Alex up to? He’s got me real nervous all of a sudden.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Blue and Gates sent me a memo today. Said they want copies of all my branch applications for the past three years. They also asked for copies of all my transactions with Midwest Consolidated over the same period. This stuff is making me real nervous Barnes.”

  Barnes yanked the soggy cigar from between his teeth and snuffed it out in a nearby ashtray. “He can’t request information on your branches—he’s not your attorney. He works for Midwest.” Barnes coughed and waved the drifting cigar smoke away from his face.

  “You’re wrong about that one. I called my attorney, Shawn O’Brien. Know him? He says that according to new regulations passed by congress last May and I quote, ‘Any and all agencies providing for profit services to a federally chartered lending institution shall provide to such institution, upon request, any and all information pertaining to said transactions. Failure to do so will be punishable by blah, blah, blah,”

  “Hmmm…..they’re always changing those damned regulations.” Barnes downed the Scotch and banged it on the bar.

  “What if he finds out about….?”

  Barnes quickly interrupted, “He won’t. They’re just checking on the mortgage backed securities and bonds we’ve been selling. Alex is embarrassed that so much happened under his watch, so he’s checking everything out.” Barnes could hear street noises on the other end of the line. “Are you downtown Vito?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then close your damned window. It’s hard to hear you over all the traffic noise.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “That’s better. Now listen to me Vito, don’t call Shawn any more about this. I know you usually work with him, but we better leave him out of things at this point. Just call me if you have any questions.”

  “Okay Barnes, but I’m nervous about those branch applications. All seven were approved in less than a week. It usually takes months or even years just to get a hearing and then you have to beg, borrow, and steal to get an approval. President Moretti’s pal at the SEC did a hell of a job ramming them through. To get seven branch applications approved that quickly never hap-pens unless you have inside help. And Blue is a frickin’ expert on such matters. If he figures out what we’ve been up to, he’ll dig deeper into our relationship with Moretti and then we’ll really be in deep shit.”

  “Moretti can handle Blue.”

  Barnes slid off the bar stool, walked over and looked out the large window fronting the golf course. He was now safely out of earshot of Willie and several tables of poker players that dotted the elegant lounge.

  “Listen Vito, let’s just hold tight and see what develops here. This new administration likes to play Chicago style politics; they can get plenty rough if necessary. Alex will be taking on the whole Federal Government if he pushes too hard. He’ll snoop around for awhile and try to make us uncomfortable, but I don’t think he will press too hard right now. I’m sure he suspects that we have ties to the Moretti camp, but when push comes to shove, he’ll back off.”

  “Let’s hope so, Barnes. We wouldn’t look good in prison stripes!”

  “Calm down, Vito. Montrose knows what he’s doing. I gotta run, I have a 1:30 tee time. Keep in touch, Vito, and let me know anything and everything you hear.” He turned and hurried toward the members’ locker room at Meridian Hills Country Club.

  “Okay, but I’m warnin’ you, Barnes, if….”

  Barnes stopped quickly and pulled the phone tight to his ear. He interrupted his tempestuous friend, “Now you listen to me, Vito. You were nothing but a small time operator with a bad paper trail out of Chicago when I met you. Now you’re a rich man. If we hadn’t helped Moretti with those donations, you’d still be living in a one bedroom condo in downtown Indy. Don’t you ever threaten me again! Do you understand?”

  Always intimated by Barnes, Vito was silent.

  Barnes clicked his phone shut without saying good-bye and hurried into the locker room to change for his golf game with Bill Worthem, a frequent golfing companion and the head of the Democratic Party in Marion County.

  Barnes threatening outburst toward Vito was not uncommon. A product of an Irish ghetto in the heart of the mean streets of Boston, he could play plenty rough when necessary. Brilliant as a child, he never had much of an affinity for the books, choosing instead to join an Irish gang at age fourteen. Fearless, and always aching for a fight, he soon became the gang’s leader. He remained leader until he was arrested on an assault and battery charge at age eighteen. The charge was the result of a brutal beating by Barnes and two other boys of a rival Irish gang member over a turf war on the Southside. His fellow gang members were eventually convicted on felony charges and sentenced to two years for assault and battery with intent to inflict bodily injury.

  But lucky for Barnes, his father stepped in. Barnes’ father ran a popular meat market in downtown Boston and was well connected politically. He provided young Barnes with a good attorney, and after a brief hearing, he was able to get his sentence reduced to just six months. The judge in the case, smitten by the boy’s charm and good looks, had asked for the boy’s school records before final sentencing. Shocked by his 144 IQ and almost perfect SAT’s, the judge made an unusual ruling. The court ordered Barnes to either enroll in college and get a four year degree or go to jail. His father, wary of his son’s bad behavior, gladly enrolled him in Boston College for the fall semester. Aware of the many horror stories circulating around town about the Massachusetts’s penal system, Barnes took the deal offered by the judge and was soon a pre-law student at Boston College.

  Sporting several scars, both physical and emotional, from his days as a gang-banger, the young Barnes immediately took to the more secure and civil environment at the ancient university. He was able to use his leadership skills honed on the mean streets of Boston to become president of his class both his junior and senior years.

  After graduating cum laude in 1972, his application to attend the prestigious Harvard Law School was soon approved. In his senior year, he was elected Head of the Harvard Law Review and graduated with honors in 1974. After graduation, he was immediately hired by one of the most esteemed law firms in Boston, where he practiced law until he, and his wife Ellen, decided to move to her hometown of Indianapolis in 1989.

  By all accounts, Barnes was considered to be one of the finest trial lawyers in both Boston and Indianapolis. The feisty litigator never forgot his days on the tough streets of Boston and was not opposed to using bullying tactics when he felt necessary. He would often confide to his wife Ellen that “courtroom battles were easy. If you win, nobody comes after you later with a stick and club. And if you lose, you don’t have to
drag your battered body to the nearest emergency room for treatment.”

  While at Harvard he became heavily involved in the Young Democrats organization. He carried his political ideologies, spawned in the ultra-liberal Boston area, into his law career. He served brief stints as a prosecuting attorney in both Boston and Indianapolis. He gave generously to the Democratic Party and hoped to someday be appointed ambassador to his beloved home country of Ireland. With a new liberal President from Illinois just elected to office and the current Ambassador to Ireland about to retire, his chances seemed better than ever to fulfill his dream.

  Vito Taglioni, a childhood friend of President Moretti, had initially introduced Barnes to President Moretti a few years earlier at a fund raiser in Indianapolis. The two hit it off almost immediately. It wasn’t long before the then candidate, Moretti, and Barnes were speaking openly of the possibility of an Ambassadorship to Ireland. Just recently, Barnes had received a personal, hand-written note from the President reassuring him that he had not forgotten their discussions. He also thanked him for his “most impressive” support during the campaign. Barnes was elated, showing the note to anyone and everyone who would look at it. With his passions excited and his goal very much in sight, the determined Barnes was not going to allow anyone to stand in his way of becoming Ambassador to Ireland.

  ………

  Beads of perspiration glistened on Vito’s forehead. He shoved his BlackBerry into its waist holster and gripped hard on the wheel. The dressing down by the ill-tempered Barnes had upset him, but with the pending audit by Blue and Gates, he had to be on the best of terms with Barnes. Having Barnes displeased with him, if only briefly, only served to heighten his anxieties. Tough and macho looking on the outside, Vito, in many ways, was still just an insecure kid from Chicago.

  Vito glanced up at the large sign on the front of his office building as he swung into the parking lot. It read First Financial Securities, with an inscription below reading, Trust Is Our Middle Name.