The Consultant

by Claude Bouchard

  “That’s it?” exclaimed Chris, nodding approvingly. “I think that would work, Jonathan. Our hero could probably convince his wife to agree to his doing something like that.”

  “Good,” said Jonathan. “One thing I don’t believe I had pointed out when we spoke the other day. Due to the sensitive nature of the activities carried out, our hero would have no official government backing. Only a handful of people know that this department even exists.”

  “So if our hero gets caught doing something nasty, he’s on his own?” Chris slowly suggested.

  “That’s right,” Addley explained. “In the sense that no government official would step in and say, ‘It’s okay, he was working for us’. Now, this doesn’t mean that no support is available to our hero if he found himself in a jam. I should also mention that he would be handsomely compensated in return for this element of risk.”

  Chris considered this for a moment before replying. “As long as our hero is aware of these conditions, no problem.”

  “Excellent,” said Jonathan, rising to his feet. “You’re really helping me with my story. I’ll be in touch.”

  As he turned to leave, he stopped and looked at Chris. “By the way, remember the guy who was framed as the Vigilante? Say he had embezzled a large amount of money. What do you think would have happened to that money afterwards?”

  Chris shrugged with a grin. “I don’t know. How about if it was transferred by our hero to a number of worthwhile charities?”

  “I like it,” Jonathan chuckled. “We’ll go with that.”

  “Who was that?” questioned Sandy, motioning towards the departing man as she joined her husband at the table.

  “That, my dear, was my new friend, Jonathan,” Chris replied.

  “Coincidence?” she asked.

  “Nah,” Chris shook his head. “The world ain’t that small. He tracked me down to offer me a trial run. Just to see if I’d like this kind of work.”

  “I don’t know, Chris,” Sandy worriedly replied. “This could be dangerous.”

  “It could,” he admitted. “But somebody’s got to do it.”

  “But does it have to be you?”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Chris quietly responded. “But it could.”

  “You want to do this, don’t you?” said Sandy, more a statement than a question.

  “It seems intriguing, that’s for sure,” Chris acknowledged.

  “How well does it pay?” Sandy asked.

  Chris laughed as he replied. “Apparently well, but I don’t know specifically. Would that really make a difference considering our financial situation?”

  She shrugged and was silent for a moment. “You promise you’ll be careful?”

  “All the time,” he reassured her. “Now, let’s enjoy our vacation. It seems that I’m going back to work soon.”

  Chapter 7 - Monday, January 20, 1997

  Although almost two weeks had gone by since George Robinson had died, Charles Peterson, owner and president of Quality Imports, was still shaken by his M.I.S. Director’s tragic end.

  George had been with the company almost since it had been founded ten years earlier so, not only had Charles lost a friend, he had also lost the only person who knew the entire systems layout. Never having developed the slightest interest for computers, Peterson had always counted fully on Robinson, who had literally built the firm’s information systems. The two programmers and computer operator were doing their best to keep up with the workload but George had been a hands-on manager and the true backbone of the M.I.S. department. Charles knew that he had to find a solid replacement quickly but had no idea what he was even looking for.

  A knock on the door brought him out of his miserable reverie.

  “Mr. Peterson, there’s a Mr. Chris Barry at the reception area who would like to see you,” announced Crystal, his secretary. “He says he can help us with our M.I.S. problems.”

  Chris Barry. The name sounded familiar.

  “Did he say where he’s from?” asked Peterson, trying to remember where he had heard the name before.

  “He says he was with CSS until the recent takeover by CompuCorp,” Crystal replied.

  That’s why the name rang a bell. He had read about the acquisition in the papers. Barry was the guy who had put CSS on the map.

  “Sure, Crystal,” Peterson responded, suddenly curious and excited. “I’ll see him. Send him in.”

  While he waited for his visitor to arrive, he pondered as to why Barry was here to see him in the first place. For one, no recruiting activities had yet been initiated; getting over the shock of George’s murder had required some time. Secondly, Barry was a king in the world of business. Why would such a man be interested in helping a small firm like Quality Imports? He could have stayed with CompuCorp and become CEO within a couple of years but, according to the papers, Barry had refused to remain with the company, opting for a very early retirement instead.

  The door opened and Crystal ushered their visitor in.

  “Mr. Peterson, pleasure to meet you,” greeted Chris with his usual charm.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Barry. Please have a seat. Coffee?’

  “No, thanks,” Chris declined. “But you go ahead if you want some.”

  “I have enough to keep me up nights without adding caffeine to the mix,” replied Peterson with a wan smile.

  He nodded to his secretary who left the office, closing the door behind her.

  “I understand that you’re here to offer your services, Mr. Barry?” Peterson continued. “Frankly, I’m flattered but also a little puzzled, a man of your stature.”

  Chris smiled and explained. “I’ve been on a diet of eighty hours of work per week for the last ten years. I felt I needed a break so my initial intention was to stop working when our company was acquired. I presume you’ve heard about the CSS acquisition?”

  Peterson nodded and Chris went on.

  “Now, I’ve come to realize that you don’t put in eighty hours per week unless you enjoy working. This being the case, I’ve also realized that quitting cold turkey is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Therefore, in order to allow myself a less painful withdrawal, I’ve decided to offer my services on a contract basis to whoever might be interested.”

  “Okay, I understand that part,” acknowledged Peterson. “Now, could you explain what suddenly brings you to my doorstep?”

  Chris took on a more serious air as he answered, “I have a few friends who are with the police and one of them told me about your M.I.S. Manager’s untimely death. I saw a possible opportunity for the two of us to help each other to our mutual benefit. I hope that doesn’t sound too cold or disrespectful.”

  “I guess not,” Peterson shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, you didn’t know George so it makes it much easier for you to look at the whole thing from a business perspective. And, I definitely do need help with my computer department. I don’t know or understand a damn thing in that area. George put together all of our systems; accounting, payroll, inventory control, everything. The problem is that documentation wasn’t George’s strong point. He had everything in his head.”

  “Well, I’d be open to analyzing your systems and putting together the documentation for you,” offered Chris. “Like I said, I’m looking for a little contractual work, not a full time job. While I do that, you could look for a full time replacement. I could also help you with the technical side of the recruiting if you want.”

  “I guess I’d be a fool to refuse,” Peterson nodded thoughtfully. “I’m just not sure that I can afford you, Mr. Barry, a man of your expertise.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Chris warned with a grin. “I’m not that good. Make me an offer, Charlie. I’m not doing this to get rich.”

  “Seventy-five hundred a month?” suggested Peterson hopefully.

  “That’s fine,” Chris replied.

  “Then we’ve got a deal, Mr. Barry,” Peterson exclaimed, extendin
g his hand as he stood.

  “Great,” said Chris as he rose to shake Peterson’s hand. “One last thing. You’ll have to drop the ‘Mr. Barry’ stuff and call me Chris. I don’t function well under formality.”

  “Sure, Chris,” Peterson agreed. “And you can call me Charlie.”

  Chris grinned, “I already did.”

  * * * *

  Having agreed to assume his duties the following morning, Chris drove his new Pathfinder out of the Quality Imports parking lot and, within minutes, was cruising eastbound on the 440, away from Laval’s industrial park. He picked up his cellular phone and punched in the most recent speed dial number he had created.

  “Hello,” answered a voice after two rings.

  “Good morning,” greeted Chris. “This is your co-author.”

  “Hang on a second,” replied Jonathan, activating the scrambler. “Alright, we can talk now. What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to tell you that there’s been some progress with our story,” Chris announced. “Our hero has managed to obtain temporary employment with that firm we had talked about.”

  “Excellent,” exclaimed an impressed Jonathan. “When would he start?”

  “I figure we might as well have him start tomorrow,” Chris replied.

  “That soon? That’s great. Let me know how the story develops. By the way, Chris, we never mentioned anything about what this job might pay. Don’t you think that might be appropriate?”

  “The way I see it, money is not our hero’s major concern,” Chris responded. “He’s financially at ease and has no doubt that he will be properly compensated for his efforts.”

  “Fine,” Jonathan laughed. “Keep in touch.”

  Chris cut the connection, inserted Melissa Etheridge’s ‘Never Enough’ CD into the player and, as ‘Ain’t it Heavy’ started blaring through the speakers, headed home to Sandy.

  Chapter 8 - Tuesday, January 21, 1997

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Charles Peterson called out to open the brief meeting. “I would like you all to meet Mr. Chris Barry. As some of you may be aware, Chris was the driving force behind CSS until its recent acquisition by CompuCorp and is also somewhat of a computer genius. He is currently in semi-pre-retirement and has graciously offered to help us document our computer systems following our recent tragic loss of George. I trust that you will all appreciate his presence and join me in welcoming him in his temporary stay with us. I also hope that you will do what you can to help him in any way possible.”

  A murmur of “Hi’s”, “Welcome’s” and nods of greeting emanated from around the boardroom table.

  Seated to the immediate left of Charles Peterson at the head of the table, Chris rose to his feet to address the group.

  “I’d like to thank Mr. Peterson for his overly flattering introduction. I know very little about your business but I do know computers to some extent and will do my best to put together the appropriate documentation so that your next M.I.S. guy can get a head start. I know that I’m gonna need everybody’s help on this and just want to thank you in advance for any support you can give me.”

  He paused to clear his throat then went on.

  “Now, everybody knows who I am but I have no idea who you all are. If nobody has any objections, I’d ask everyone to introduce themselves. With a little luck, I’ll remember a couple of names and look less like an idiot in the days ahead.”

  Following a round of chuckles and smiles, the man seated to Peterson’s right gave Chris a friendly wink as he spoke.

  “Wayne MacKinnon, Director of Operations. Pleased to meet you, Chris.”

  “Hey, Wayne,” Chris replied.

  “Greg Pierce,” the small bespectacled man next to Wayne announced, almost uneasily. “Director of Finance.”

  “Nice to meet you, Greg,” Chris responded, smiling at the obvious accountant.

  One by one, the remaining individuals seated around the table introduced themselves while Chris studied each face, making mental notes to remember who was who.

  “Well, I thank everybody for their words of welcome and I promise not to be shy if I need a hand,” said Chris once the process was over. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go sit quietly somewhere and try my best to figure out what the hell I’ve got to do.”

  Chapter 9 - Wednesday, January 22, 1997

  By the end of his second day at Quality Imports, Chris had managed to accumulate enough information about the firm as well as its employees to create a starting ground for his investigation.

  The company had been founded by Charles Peterson ten years earlier, who still owned eighty percent of it. His directors of operations, finance and sales each had a five percent share. The remaining five percent now belonged to the estate of the late George Robinson, but would be purchased back by the company, this according to regulations in the charter stipulating that shareholders had to be employed by the firm.

  Charles had indicated that, as per past practice, this block of shares would eventually be awarded to George’s successor, once merit had been established. He believed that managers tried harder when they owned a piece of the pie and, the success his business had known thus far appeared to fully support his theory.

  Prior to becoming his own boss, Charles Peterson had been the purchasing manager for Roosevelt’s, a major textile importer and distributor. At the age of forty, he had been informed that, due to rightsizing, one of the popular management trends of the time, his services were no longer required.

  On the following day, Charles had rented a small office and with the help of his already established contacts overseas, had founded Quality Imports and gone into direct competition with his previous employer. Within six months, he had turned his one man operation into a flourishing business with two dozen employees, including the best sales people from his former employer. A year later, he had acquired Roosevelt’s, which was by then on the verge of bankruptcy, having lost a number of key accounts.

  As things progressed, Peterson’s firm had moved into the importation of other products ranging from mini-blinds and athletic shoes produced in Asia to coffee beans from Colombia. Today, over three hundred were employed.

  The business itself was quite simple. Having established a reputation for low prices and a rather wide (and ever growing) distribution base, Quality Imports was able to purchase an impressive variety of products at high volume, hence, low cost. Prices were marked up only enough to cover expenses and provide a modest profit on a per item basis. However, what the company lost in margin was more than made up for in volume.

  A quick look into the firm’s financial records indicated that it was healthy, generating a profit of approximately $5 million per year. Of this, 10% was distributed to its handful of shareholders as dividends, proportionate to their percentage of ownership in the company while another 20% was distributed to the firm’s remaining population in the form of profit sharing bonuses. The end result was an efficiently run organization where everyone pitched in to improve service and reduce operating costs.

  When comparing the company’s financial records to its banking and investment records, Chris could not identify anything that seemed out of the ordinary. There did not appear to be any large excesses of cash or other assets in comparison to the company books. A first glance clearly indicated that the firm was on the up and up and not involved in any illegal or fraudulent activity.

  But just because the cops had been advised to look into Quality Imports didn’t mean that the company itself was involved in any wrongdoing. It could very well be some of the players within the organization who required investigation. To this effect, Chris had easily extracted the names, addresses, social insurance numbers and bank account information from the company’s payroll system. With this information in hand, he would be able to run some checks on each individual to see if anyone might be involved in any underhanded activities.

  He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly 7:00. He tossed a couple of reports,
which he hoped to look at after dinner, into his briefcase and headed towards the side door where he was parked.

  As he walked past the glass-walled reception hall at the front of the building, he noticed an Econoline, followed by a Jaguar, turn into the parking lot. He stopped and watched as both vehicles headed towards the west side of the building and rounded the corner, out of sight.

  Intrigued, Chris hurried to the side door, on the east side, and quietly exited. He was pleased to note that the parking area on this side of the building, which was reserved for visitors, was not illuminated. As he unlocked the Pathfinder, he casually scanned the area but saw no-one. Satisfied that his presence had not been detected, he started the engine and quickly left the grounds, heading east, away from the side of the building where the two vehicles had gone.

  A quarter mile further, he turned right and at the next intersection, turned right again. By driving another quarter mile, in the opposite direction now, he found himself in front of a warehouse located immediately behind the Quality Imports facility. He pulled into the shelter of a recessed shipping dock and, leaving the truck, rapidly headed towards the rear of the warehouse on foot.

  At the back of the lot, some seventy-five feet behind the building, were several piles of skids which would serve well as an observation point. Thankful for the early evening darkness, he crept across the open space to the welcome cover of the skids, confident that he had not been seen.

  A hundred feet away were the Jaguar and Econoline, parked by an open door of the Quality Imports’ shipping area. One man, unknown to Chris, appeared to be keeping watch, concentrating his attention towards the front of the building, apparently not expecting any intruders from behind.

  A muffled shout was heard from inside and the watchman moved to the elevated shipping dock where another man had appeared with four wooden cases on a hand truck. One by one, the obviously heavy cases were transferred into the Econoline. As soon as the fourth case was loaded, both men climbed into the van and drove off.