[Katerina Carter 01.0] Exit Strategy

by Colleen Cross

  “She hired you, didn’t she?”

  “So what if she did? She has to hire someone when five billion dollars goes missing. Optics, investors, the press, you know. Anyone would do.”

  Jace punched some buttons on the microwave keypad and it whirred into action. The scent of jasmine rice wafted through the kitchen, making Kat hungry.

  “You’re selling yourself short. Susan chose you because she knows you’ll find Bryant and the money.”

  “How? I can’t even manage my own financial affairs. I’m a homeless forensic accountant,” Kat said as she poured boiling water into a pale green Limoges teapot she had found in the back of a kitchen cupboard. She dropped a pinch of tea into a china diffuser and placed it in the pot. She carried it over to the table.

  “You’re not homeless. You have this place.”

  Your place, Kat thought.

  “Besides, Susan doesn’t know about your financial situation. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Once you get the money back—problem solved.”

  Kat nodded, but it wasn’t as easy as Jace made it sound. She retrieved two teacups and brought them over to the table and sat down. They matched the pattern on the Limoges teapot, hand-painted roses with a raised gold filigree motif. She traced the pattern with her index finger as she waited for the tea to steep, absorbing the warmth from the teapot. She imagined Verna Beechy sitting here, stopping for tea after a morning of gardening.

  “I’ve lost track of Bryant, and the money’s been gone for three days now. I don’t even know if it’s still in Lebanon. The bank won’t talk to me. Every day that goes by means it’s less likely I find him or the money.”

  If Bryant really was the thief. What if it were someone else? Then she was even further away from finding anything.

  “What’s our next step?”

  “Our next step?”

  “Let me do more, Kat. It’ll save you time.”

  “No—I’ve got to figure this out on my own. You can’t rescue me every time I fall down. If I can’t do it myself, maybe I should just quit. Save myself some embarrassment.”

  “Kat, I know you can solve it without me. But less than a week is a pretty tight deadline. Two of us can get things done a lot faster. Give me the grunt jobs, the fact checking stuff. I just want to make it a bit easier on you, that’s all.”

  “I suppose. Maybe you can help me figure out who else is involved. I know Bryant didn’t do it alone.”

  “Good, it’s settled,” Jace said as he set down the plates and sat across the table. Kat played with her fork, drawing a dividing line between the cashew chicken and crying tiger as she gazed out the window. Maybe she was in the wrong profession.

  A storm was building outside. The two oaks in the backyard swayed from side to side, and leaves swirled up in gusts as the afternoon sky darkened.

  In the top corner of the window she could see a visible chop in the Fraser River. It was what real estate agents called a peek-a-boo view. Suddenly a flash of red popped into her peripheral vision. Then it was gone.

  “Did you see that?” she asked Jace.

  “See what?” Jace said as he swallowed a mouthful of pad thai.

  “Someone’s in the backyard. Right over there,” Kat said as she pointed towards at the vegetable garden.

  “I don’t see anyone. It’s the wind stirring things up.”

  “No, I definitely saw someone.” But why would anyone be in the backyard?

  “You’re just tired. Your eyes are playing tricks on you. So, back to Liberty—why do you think someone else is involved?”

  Jace still wanted his story. And he was probably right about her seeing things. She was exhausted, and it was getting dark outside.

  “Remember the falsified production we saw this morning? Bryant didn’t need to do that to steal the money.”

  “And we don’t know why it was done.”

  “Not yet. But if we figure out who would benefit from it, we can answer that question another way. That’s where the GONE theory comes in.”

  “GONE? That pretty much covers Bryant, doesn’t it? Is that another name for embezzle and run?”

  “Pretty much. It’s an acronym forensic accountants use to describe the four major fraud factors,” Kat said. “It stands for Greed, Opportunity, Need, and Expectation of not being caught. We use it as a starting point to determine who might be suspect. Jace, you’ve written about Liberty before. What’s your opinion on the management?”

  “Well, the greed part covers pretty much all of them. They spend more time calculating their bonuses and stock option gains than conducting any business. Do you remember when they tried to put Liberty up for sale a couple of years ago?” Jace didn’t wait for Kat’s reply. “That was a farce. Nick Racine attempted to pull one over on the shareholders by getting cozy with some big hedge fund. He tried to unload the company at pennies on the dollar, with a tidy bonus to management as a reward. The Braithwaite Family Trust voted it down. They’ve been enemies ever since.”

  “That explains why there was no love lost between Alex Braithwaite and Nick Racine. Susan said they were barely on speaking terms. Of course, Susan didn’t like him either.” Kat remembered their conversation and Susan’s fear that Alex would blame her for the missing money. Susan’s comments seemed in sharp contrast to the man she had spoken to in Paul Bryant’s office.

  “Well, they don’t have to worry about him anymore. Alex’s murder means he’s out of the picture.”

  “The trust still exists though. The ownership structure hasn’t changed.”

  “True, but Alex’s sister, the other trust beneficiary, never involved herself in the business. Audrey always followed Alex’s lead. Nick will be able to get what he wants without too much interference,” Jace said as he refilled their teacups.

  “You think he’ll try something like that again?”

  “Definitely. Nick will do anything to enrich himself. He runs that company like his own personal fiefdom, using company assets like they belong to him.”

  “I noticed.” Kat had seen numerous examples while poring over Liberty’s expenditures for the last year. “Did you know the company has condos in Paris and London? Liberty doesn’t even do business there. It’s all about Nick’s lifestyle being financed at the expense of the other shareholders.”

  “It’s another form of theft, isn’t it? How do these execs get away with it? Might not be as blatant as robbing a bank, but they’re still stealing from their shareholders. ‘O’ was for opportunity, right?”

  “Yes—probably the most preventable one,” Kat said. “It’s the easiest to eliminate, but one I see all the time. Companies skimp on internal controls to save money, but it costs them in the long run. The best prevention is segregating duties amongst more than one person, especially when money or valuables are involved. Then there’s less opportunity for theft.”

  “So,” Jace asked, “who do you think has the opportunity?”

  “It’s probably limited to senior management. None of the board members have access to systems and data on a day-to-day basis. The board seems to be pretty hands on, though, so I doubt any of the first-line managers and staff would be able to commit fraud without detection. From what I can see, everything goes through Susan, and sometimes Nick if a second signature is needed. Liberty actually has pretty good internal controls. Senior management are really the only ones with access.”

  “How does that explain Bryant running off with billions?”

  “Forgery, pure and simple,” Kat said. “He faked Nick’s and Susan’s signatures.”

  “And the bank didn’t check?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. Besides, it was on a fax. Bryant probably cut and pasted their signatures from another document. Once the banks get to know you, they stop asking questions. You think they check everything, but they don’t. They get complacent.”

  “So he definitely had the opportunity. What did you say the letter ‘N’ was for?”

  “Need. That’s where you could hel
p me with some background. Things like gambling problems, substance abuse, anything requiring lots of money. Maybe things you’ve heard through the grapevine but didn’t have enough proof to run a story on. Also, someone living beyond their means would be a red flag.”

  “Oh, you mean like Nick? I know the Racine’s are a wealthy family, but unless mom and dad are bankrolling him, his global jet-setting must be far beyond his salary at Liberty.”

  “Hmmm. That’s interesting.” Kat had heard about Nick’s shoulder rubbing with the European jet set. His office wall was lined with numerous photographs of himself at celebrity galas, charity events, and golf tournaments. There was even one with a famous playboy prince. Kat wondered what kind of money bought you entrance into that rarefied world.

  “Anyone else?” she asked. “How about Susan Sullivan? Or the recently departed Alex Braithwaite?”

  “Well, Alex always thought he was entitled to a cut before everyone else. Did you hear about his wife’s fiftieth birthday party last year? They flew to Cancun on the corporate jet and Liberty picked up the hotel tab for a dozen guests. Apparently it was considered a business function since the guest list included business associates. So, yeah, I’d say he was bit lacking in scruples.”

  “Any more news on Alex’s murder?” Kat hadn’t been able to reach Cindy. She was on another one of her undercover assignments.

  “No suspects yet. Or should I say, they haven’t been able to narrow down the list. Braithwaite had lots of enemies. It includes people he double-crossed in business deals, even more people he owed money to, and finally a neighbor he is engaged in a property rights battle with.”

  “Money would be a strong motive. How much do you think he owed?”

  “Millions. He had a big real estate deal go south last year. His private investment company financed a development that was never completed. He was on the hook for twenty million on that and having trouble coming up with the funds.”

  Just like she was, Kat thought.

  “I’ll add Braithwaite to my list, but the fact that he’s dead means he isn’t going anywhere. So Nick Racine and Alex Braithwaite are suspects. That’s three potential suspects, including Bryant.”

  “I’d add one more,” Jace said. “Susan Sullivan. What’s interesting about Susan is that no one knows anything about her. It’s almost like she invented herself. I can’t dig up any history on her other than she was apparently Chief Financial Officer of an investment firm no one’s ever heard of. How she landed the CEO spot at Liberty with no prior mining experience is a bit of a mystery.”

  Kat swallowed the last bite of crying tiger, the spicy beef making her eyes water. “She told me she worked on Liberty’s last stock deal.”

  “Really?” Jace said as he carried their plates to the kitchen sink.

  Kat stared out the window as the first drops of rain tinkled against the glass. Jace was right about Susan’s sudden rise to the CEO spot, she thought while she watched a rivulet of water wend its way down the windowpane. Then she saw it again—a flash of red at the back fence.

  “Jace, look! By the gate—someone’s out there.”

  Jace turned off the kitchen tap and came back to the table.

  “I still don’t see anyone. What did they look like?” He stood behind Kat and bent over to look where she was pointing.

  In the few seconds she had turned to glance at Jace, the person had vanished. No one was there now, just the half-open gate, swinging back and forth in the wind.

  Kat turned back to face him.

  “Uh, I didn’t get a good look, but they were wearing red.”

  “Are you sure? Why would anyone be in our backyard?”

  “I don’t know, but they left the gate open.”

  “Probably from the wind. You’re just tired,” Jace said as he walked back to the sink. “What’s the ‘E’ in Gone stand for?”

  “Expectation that you would never be caught.”

  “Except you’re going to catch him. Or them.”

  Kat glanced at the window. It was now black outside, too dark to see anything but a few lights twinkling on the river. Takahashi had been adamant that Bryant had been framed. Nick had fired Takahashi and didn’t want her working on the case. Alex Braithwaite had been conveniently removed from the picture. Is that why he was murdered? Had he known about the doctored production?

  “Jace, I left my laptop at the office. I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll drive you over. We’ll load your stuff in the truck and bring it back tonight.”

  “Can we do that tomorrow?” She didn’t remember agreeing to move into the house, but she’d worry about that later. She needed to talk to Takahashi again. Why hadn’t she asked him about Alex Braithwaite? If she could convince him he would be helping Bryant, she might be able to get him to talk.

  She flipped open her cell phone and checked her voicemail. Takahashi still hadn’t returned her message from earlier today. She dialed his number, but again there was no answer, and leaving another message bordered on harassment.

  She traced out a timeline on a napkin. The doctored production started two years ago, around the time the previous CEO had been fired and Susan had started. Was it after Nick’s failed attempt to sell Liberty? Had Alex fired the previous CEO as Susan had stated? Or had it been Nick? After all, he was board chairman.

  The new Mystic Lake pipes had been discovered around the same time the production ramped up. Would a new pipe really contribute so much so quickly? Takahashi didn’t seem to think so, and he had been fired shortly after the find. If Bryant was also a trained geologist, why hadn’t he raised any concerns? If Takahashi was worried, why hadn’t he mentioned any discussions with Bryant? He could have voiced his concerns then. Or maybe he had, and that was why he was fired.

  If Braithwaite had discovered the fraud, he might have confronted the perpetrator. Everything was starting to point towards Nick—no scruples, a lavish lifestyle and a sense of entitlement. Was that why he had given the impossible deadline to find the money? Had he had framed Bryant? If he had, there was no telling what he would do next.

  She grabbed her purse and keys from the counter.

  “Coming back tonight?”

  “No, it’s late. I’ll just stay at the office.”

  “Something I said?”

  “No. Jace, I just need some time alone to think, okay? Nothing personal.”

  “Is it my snoring?” Jace snapped a tea towel at her in a mock bullfighting stance.

  But Kat wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

  “I just think better at night. And everything I need is at the office.”

  “Okay, suit yourself. We’ll move your stuff tomorrow.”

  12

  Kat woke with a start. Someone outside the office pounded on the floor-to-ceiling glass wall facing the elevator. “I’m gonna getcha, bitch!”

  She jerked into a sitting position on the reception area couch, feeling the scratch from Buddy’s claws as he scrambled out of the way.

  “Open the goddamn door! Lemmee in—NOW!” the man screamed. “Goddamn bitch!” The glass pane reverberated as a bearded man, eyes wild with drug-induced hysteria, pounded on the glass. Something had to give, and it wasn’t going to be the guy on the other side. The bright lights in Kat’s office contrasted with the darkened hallway outside, making his bulk appear all the more menacing. Still screaming, he now heaved all of his substantial weight against the wall. The glass wasn’t going to hold. Kat’s pulse quickened as she saw the glint of a knife in the man’s other hand.

  Kat’s building was too small and low rent for onsite security. Her mind raced as she debated her options. Her purse, with her cell phone in it, was in her office down the hall. The security company phone numbers were at the reception area right beside the glass wall, dangerously close to the lunatic. Too close. But she had to call someone. If he did smash his way in, she wouldn’t have time to get away. Why hadn’t she gone to the trouble of memorizing the number, or at least programming the
m into her office and cell phones? Kat cursed her stupidity.

  The glass wall screeched like fingers on chalkboard as the man scored it with the knife, making criss-crosses like a mad artist’s abstract. Then the glass cracked as the man again threw all his weight against it. Kat had meant to replace the glass with a regular wall, but with cash in short supply, it hadn’t happened yet. The building had seemed reasonably secure, at least until now, with a deranged lunatic trying to bust up her office. Bad idea.

  A diagonal crack now ran from halfway down the glass to the floor. It wouldn’t hold much longer. How had he managed to get in? The building was alarmed after hours, and you couldn’t make it up the stairs or elevator without an access card. She knew everyone on the floor, and this crazy wasn’t one of the tenants. Kat raced to her office and grabbed the phone to call police, but there was no dial tone.

  “Damn!” She snatched her purse off the desk and rummaged for her cell phone. She flipped it open only to find a dead screen. Why hadn’t she recharged the battery? Screwed. No one on the street below would hear anything happening on the fourth floor.

  Panicking, she ran to the spare office, the only one with a lock, and barricaded herself inside. The hollow wood door wouldn’t be a deterrent for long. But it might buy time.

  She tried the phone on the desk. No dial tone on that phone either. Trapped. She glanced around the small office, determining whether she could move the heavy oak desk up against the doorway. A black pouch on the desk caught her eye—Harry’s cell phone! He must have forgotten it. Her hands trembled as she tried to dial the police. Nothing. She willed herself to calm down and tried a second time, just as a cacophony of sound from the shattering of the outer glass wall reached her.

  After an eternity the 911 operator answered. Kat could hear the wild man in the office now, breaking dishes and glasses in the kitchen. He would get her: it was only a question of when. Kat braced herself against the old desk and pushed as hard as she could, but the desk wouldn’t slide on the thick seventies’ shag carpet. There was a loud crack as the door reverberated. He was right outside. Another kick and the door splintered into pieces.