But, she continued, the interview with prosecutors a few days back seemed to have pushed him further over the edge. He had told Ginger that one prosecutor—Mary Spearing—had been particularly hard on him. He had said that he never wanted to see Spearing again, that she frightened him.
Once he finished, Miller told Ginger of his decision to hospitalize Mark. Ginger nodded. She seemed relieved.
In Washington, Special Agents Bassett and D’Angelo took a cab straight from the airport to Bureau headquarters. They were supposed to be briefed in preparation for their meeting with Whitacre, and time was short. The agents headed first to the office of Charles Owens, Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 391
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chief of the Bureau’s Financial Crimes Section. Owens was busy, so D’Angelo and Bassett took seats in a waiting area outside his office. He appeared minutes later.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, guys,’’ he said.
They were going to have a busy day, Owens said. They would meet Ed Herbst for a briefing about the last Whitacre interview and then head over to the Justice Department for discussions with the Fraud Section prosecutors.
As Owens turned toward his office, the agents stopped him. When would they meet with Whitacre?
“Oh, hasn’t anyone told you yet?’’ Owens asked. “He’s not coming. He tried to kill himself this morning.’’
The Washington Post newsroom is a vast sea of cubicles and computers, with hundreds of reporters clicking on keyboards or tethered to telephone headsets. In an area of the newsroom designated for the paper’s business section, Sharon Walsh was hitting the phones, chasing down a story. Walsh, a Post reporter of nine years, had been following the unfolding events at ADM for more than a month, already publishing a few scoops on the case. Weeks before, she had been intrigued by the story in the Chicago Tribune that Whitacre had faked his educational background in a resume submitted to Millikin University. Walsh had already followed up with calls to Whitacre, and had heard a series of changing stories. First, he had blamed ADM, saying that the company had changed his resume without his knowledge. Later, he amended the answer, saying he had allowed ADM to inflate his credentials, but only because other executives there lied about their education.
The changing stories had convinced Walsh that she needed to dig deeper into Whitacre’s background. Over days of calls, she tracked down his friends and acquaintances from various stages of his life, as far back as childhood. Many of them mentioned Whitacre’s energy and intensity; he was a nonstop workaholic who, friends often joked, should not be allowed to drink coffee or other stimulants. But for Walsh, the most compelling part of Whitacre’s past was the tragic tale of his childhood, when he was orphaned and later adopted by a wealthy family. A number of people close to Whitacre had heard the story and had been impressed by his ability to overcome the trauma of losing his parents.
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Whitacre—indeed, it may have been the formative event of his life. Walsh wanted to know more and phoned a cousin of Whitacre’s, Leslie Demoret, who attended junior high and high school with him in Ohio. During her interview, Walsh mentioned Whitacre’s adoption. Demoret paused.
“That is absolutely not true,’’ she said. Whitacre had never been adopted.
After that conversation, Walsh tracked down the people who had raised Whitacre—Marion and Evelyn Whitacre. She reached Marion, known among friends as “Farmer.” After some introductory questions, Walsh veered the conversation to the main topic.
“I’ve heard Mark was adopted. Is that true?’’
On the other end of the line, Farmer laughed.
“No,’’ he said. “He’s not adopted.’’
Bassett and D’Angelo walked across Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Justice Department, the muggy August day causing their shirts to stick to their skins. They were accompanied by Ed Herbst, the Supervisory Special Agent who had just finished briefing them about his interview with Whitacre. Now, Herbst was set to hand them off to the Fraud Section.
The group met in a conference room at the department. The agents were introduced to Mary Spearing, Don Mackay, and Jim Nixon. Mackay did most of the talking, explaining details of the case. ADM’s lawyers, he said, were putting pressure on the department to wrap up the investigation.
“Fucking Williams & Connolly is demanding that Whitacre be prosecuted immediately,’’ Mackay said. “They keep telling us that any third-year law student could indict this case today. Well, I told them to go get a fucking third-year law student.’’
Mackay explained that Williams & Connolly had already supplied the department with a binder full of documents, as well as a letter instructing the prosecutors to move quickly. He handed the materials over to the agents.
Bassett read the lawyer’s letter, and couldn’t believe their demanding tone. Who the hell do these people think they are? More questions popped up as the agents reviewed the banking and corporate documents in the binder. How were Whitacre’s crimes figured out so quickly? The timing seemed awfully fortuitous for ADM. Did they know about it beforehand? The agents knew these Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 393
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were questions to keep in mind, if not answer, during their investigation.
“Listen,’’ Mackay said, handing them a piece of paper. “Here’s Aubrey Daniel’s number. Call him and coordinate the investigation with him. We want to talk to the employees who found these documents. We want to talk to Whitacre’s associates. And we want the rest of the records.’’
Mackay showed the agents to an empty office where they could place the call.
Aubrey Daniel could not have been more soothing on the phone.
“Oh, it’s nice to hear from you guys,’’ he said when the agents identified themselves. “What can I do for you?’’
Bassett and D’Angelo interviewed Daniel casually, asking him about the Whitacre documents. How had they been discovered? Daniel explained about the Ajinomoto lawsuit and the file review by an ADM lawyer.
The agents flipped to one document where Williams & Connolly had referenced a wire-transfer record from a Swiss bank account. This was hardly a record from ADM’s files. How had the lawyers obtained it? Daniel said that his firm had hired a Swiss lawyer named Christophe Buchwalder. On ADM’s behalf, Buchwalder had filed a criminal complaint against Whitacre with Swiss law enforcement. Under Swiss law, the complainant had the ability to review documents obtained in the investigation.
“There’s a Swiss investigation?’’ D’Angelo asked.
“Yes,’’ Daniel said. “Run by a district attorney there, someone by the last name of Triet. They’re looking into the wire transaction and provided the pertinent information to Buchwalder, who in turn told me about it.’’
The agent asked about interviewing ADM employees, and Daniel said he would be happy to make the necessary arrangements. And if the agents needed more documentation, he said, they should call him.
“Let’s speak in a day or two and start setting it up,’’ the lawyer said pleasantly.
Daniel paused. “By the way,’’ he said, “did you two have anything to do with the antitrust investigation?’’
No, the agents replied. That had been the Springfield division; they were from Chicago.
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“Fine,’’ Daniel said.
Bassett and D’Angelo hung up and headed back over to the fraud prosecutors.
“Well,’’ D’Angelo said, “it looks like we’re going to get access to everything we need.’’
Mackay laughed, with a look of astonishment.
“No shit?’’ he said. “That SOB’s been giving us a hard time since
day one.’’
Well, D’Angelo said, it looked like Williams & Connolly was willing to be cooperative from this point on. The District Attorney’s office in Zurich was making fast progress in its investigation of Mark Whitacre and Beat Schweizer, the man given power of attorney over a Whitacre account. Now, the prosecutors, led by Fridolin Triet, were hunting for Whitacre accounts at local banks. The same day that Whitacre was found in his garage, Triet called Rolf Brüggermann at the legal department of the Union Bank of Switzerland. The trail to the bank had been easy to track; its name was stamped on the canceled $2.5 million check for the bogus ABP contract. From there, it wasn’t hard to find an account at UBS controlled by Whitacre and Schweizer in the name of ABP Trading. Triet explained to Brüggermann that he was freezing the account’s assets; no checks or wires could be issued from it. He also requested copies of the account’s bank statements.
Brüggermann agreed. If Triet would fax over a request, he said, UBS would get the process started.
Herndon was still on vacation that night when he received a message to call Mutchnik at home. He phoned from his hotel. Mutchnik’s wife answered, and, after asking about Herndon’s vacation, put her husband on the line.
“Hey, what’s going on?’’ Herndon asked.
Mutchnik mumbled a response. Something was wrong. His tone was somber, unusual for Mutchnik.
Mutchnik paused. “Mark tried to kill himself,’’ he said slowly.
“You’re kidding.’’
No, Mutchnik said. He told the story, explaining that at this point, Whitacre was hospitalized near Chicago.
After hanging up, Herndon called Shepard at home.
“Hey, I’ve talked to Jim; he gave me the story about Mark,’’
Herndon said. “I can’t believe it.’’
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“Yeah, I know.’’
“Are you okay?’’
Shepard answered without pausing. “Yeah,’’ he said. “I’m okay.’’
The next day, Mary Spearing headed into an office at the Justice Department with Don Mackay and Jim Nixon. The case was far enough along that they needed to contact federal prosecutors in Springfield, for protocol if nothing else. After all, the crime had taken place in the jurisdiction of the Springfield U.S. Attorney, Frances Hulin. Pushing the button on a speakerphone, Spearing called Hulin, who was unavailable. Instead, the call was transferred to Rick Cox, her First Assistant. Spearing described the Whitacre investigation, explaining that the department had decided her section would handle the case.
“Why?’’ Cox asked, sounding perplexed.
“Look, we’ve got the Antitrust Division involved,’’ she said. “And the determination has been made that the Criminal Division is going to handle this.’’
Cox was unconvinced. There was no reason his office couldn’t prosecute a case involving criminal activities that occurred in their district, he said.
“There are other issues,’’ Spearing said. “Allegations have been raised that the agents in the price-fixing case may have been complicit in Whitacre’s crimes. So there’s concern about turning the case back over to Springfield.’’
“What?’’ Cox shot back. “That’s outrageous!’’
Mackay shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. While Spearing hadn’t meant to offend, Mackay thought she had gone too far. It wasn’t necessary to call the home district of the Harvest King agents and suggest they had been involved in a multimillion-dollar fraud—
particularly when the allegation was still based on just anonymous letters. This was going to cause trouble. At the Springfield office of the FBI, emotions were raw. The supervisors were outraged when they heard about Spearing’s call to Cox. Were Shepard and Herndon under investigation, as she seemed to be implying? If so, where was the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility, which investigates possible wrongdoing by agents? Why was no one telling Shepard and Herndon that they needed lawyers? The supervisors called Washington, demanding an OPR inquiry. If the Fraud Section thought there was something worth investigating, Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 396 396
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then they should follow procedure. They shouldn’t casually toss around allegations—damaging the careers of these agents— without even opening a case against them. But inexplicably, the demand for a full investigation of the agents was refused.
It was beginning to seem like Washington took the matter seriously only when justifications were needed for cutting out Springfield—
even if the allegations weren’t enough to merit an actual criminal inquiry. It all seemed like politics, pure and simple.
Late on Thursday, August 10, Dr. Derek Miller was at his desk, dictating two days’ worth of notes about Mark Whitacre. Already, he had spent four and a half hours with Whitacre, as well as interviewing Ginger and Jim Epstein.
Some of Whitacre’s story sounded like classic delusions. A giant corporation is out to get me! I’ve been a spy for the FBI! But in this case, the story was true. It made sifting fact from fiction a particularly nettlesome task. The second Whitacre meeting had been difficult. That time, he had clearly been depressed. Miller had confronted him about his dishonesty, saying that he believed Whitacre had not yet told him the full truth and had been lying to Epstein. Whitacre reluctantly agreed. Miller looked through his notes of the meeting as he continued his dictation.
“We talked about his dishonesty with his attorney and his dishonesty with me,’’ he dictated. “It is really quite clear that he really does not feel the implications of this. There is a shallowness to his affect in this area.’’
Miller discussed his potential diagnosis.
“The differential diagnosis is clearly between a bipolar illness, which has been brought on by the stress of his behavior, or it is possible that he has a frontal lobe lesion which is slow-growing and has led to a deterioration of his ethical attitude,’’ he dictated. “Until three or four years ago, he was apparently an honest man, and there was no evidence of any antisocial behavior in his youth or heretofore. In addition, there is some suggestion that he might be organically damaged.’’
Miller listed a series of other possible diagnoses, including organic mood disorder, mixed bipolar disorder without psychotic features, adult antisocial behavior, and narcissistic personality disorder. Finishing his dictation, Miller paused for a moment. Whitacre’s Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 397
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warnings about ADM had frightened him. Perhaps it was true that this company would burglarize his office, looking for Whitacre’s files. Miller decided to be careful.
He filed the records under the pseudonym of Patrick O’Brien. The next morning, Miller walked down the quiet hospital hallway, passing a few nurses and orderlies. Visiting hours had not begun; the throngs of family and friends had yet to arrive. He reached Whitacre’s room, tapping on the door as he opened it.
Whitacre seemed wrung out and disoriented. His emotions flew from peak to valley, from excited highs to tears. Miller gently asked Whitacre some questions, first delving into the suicide attempt. Whitacre swallowed but couldn’t hold back the sob. “One of the reasons for that was because Ginger told me I would be better off dead. And I told her that.’’
Miller’s face showed no surprise. “Why?’’ he asked.
“I thought that by telling her, I could maybe relieve her guilt.’’
Glancing up from his notepad, Miller studied Whitacre. Was this true? He couldn’t tell. Certainly, it was hard to believe. Miller changed the subject. Had Whitacre told his attorney the truth about all of his foreign bank accounts?
“No,’’ Whitacre said. “But I don’t need to. The other assets I have weren’t acquired illegally. Definitely not.’’
“Where are these assets?’’
A mill
ion dollars or so was entrusted to another lawyer, Whitacre answered, and there was more money hidden away with other people elsewhere.
“But I got all this money legally,’’ he repeated, almost as an afterthought.
“You need to tell your attorney,’’ Miller said.
Whitacre shrugged. He wasn’t sure he trusted Epstein enough to tell him the truth.
Don Mackay glared at his pager, annoyed. He had just come off his flight to the Springfield International Airport and hadn’t been in the terminal for a minute when he heard the pager beep. It was his boss, Mary Spearing. He made his way through the crowds, hunting for a pay phone.
Mackay had come to Springfield with plans to speak with Shepard and Herndon about Whitacre’s confession to taking $500,000 in Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 398 398
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kickbacks. He had read the 302 of that interview, but the story had since changed dramatically. Mackay wanted details; maybe there were bits of truth in Whitacre’s original statement that might help the fraud investigation. Mackay knew this would be a tough meeting; already, word had filtered back that Springfield was blaming the Fraud Section for Whitacre’s suicide attempt.
When he finally found a phone, Mackay dialed Spearing.
“Did you talk to the agents yet?’’ Spearing asked.
“I just got here, Mary,’’ Mackay responded.
“Oh, good. Well, don’t interview them.’’
Mackay was floored. “What do you mean?’’
“My God, we’ve started World War Three,’’ Spearing said. “The SAC is in on the act, Bureau headquarters is raising hell, they’re even trying to get Louis Freeh involved.’’
“What!’’
“You can’t interview the agents.’’
“I’m not interviewing the agents! I just want to talk to them! You wanted me to talk to them.’’
Well, now, Spearing said, the Bureau was raising concerns that the agents were targets of a criminal investigation and perhaps needed a lawyer present.
The Informant Page 50
