The Push that morning started with Carl Cybola’s usual frenzied announcements, followed by the usual screaming session, and ending with discussions of the deals the company had working that week. Now WT&C was taking fifty companies public a year – about one a week. The firm had nearly two thousand employees, seventy percent of whom were brokers. The rest spent their time pushing paperwork for the salespeople. The firm occupied five floors of The Strand and things were absolutely going crazy, every single day.
Chapter Fourteen
Six months later
The day the Feds walked in was a gorgeous one. It was the middle of June and already nearly ninety degrees every day. Brian had lowered the top of his convertible so he could enjoy the breeze during his brief drive to work. The Push that morning had been just like always. There had been yet another crazy contest and a young hotshot who’d only been there a month won a thousand bucks just for correctly spelling the name of the latest hot deal’s CEO. At least it was a contest, Brian thought; the guy’s name turned out to be Khalim Salamandi, not your household name.
Brian had known there were a few things going on that weren’t all rosy. There had been several investigations into the marketing techniques of WT&C’s salespeople. The Securities and Exchange Commission had even fined the firm $25,000 for allowing its people to be overly aggressive, in the SEC’s opinion. That news was greeted with guffaws at The Push the morning after it was announced.
“Twenty-five grand they fine us,” Carl yelled through the overhead intercom system that now piped his meeting to brokers sitting in cubes on three floors of their building. “Twenty-five grand is what I wipe with in the morning!”
People went nuts; they were laughing, yelling and clapping. Brian Sadler was clapping right along with them, giving and receiving high-fives from the people around him.
A bigger concern was the SEC’s investigation into a couple of public offerings WT&C had done in the past six months. There was beginning to be pressure for the firm to stop doing so many “blind pool” deals, which was the term used for companies that raised money but didn’t have any immediate use for it. The firm’s logic was that all their public deals ended up doing one thing or another, mostly in the fields they were supposed to be doing it in, and everybody made money, so what was the big issue?
The broker’s biggest problem at the moment was a major issue indeed. It seemed investors were a little upset when Bellicose Holdings, one of the firm’s offerings, turned out to be headed by Francois Rochefort, a Canadian who was both a coke addict and a convicted felon. Turns out he had served ten years for fraud in a French prison.
Investment banks are expected to do an incredible amount of due diligence on the companies they’re bringing to the public market. Brian knew that when a company like WT&C did an offering a week and was so lax in paperwork they hadn’t yet even provided Brian an employment letter, something had to eventually crater. The firm had done limited checking on the background of this joker, Brian figured, and their inattention had finally caught up with them.
The blowup had come very quickly. Within a week after the company went public, WT&C was awaiting the customary very large check from Bellicose so it could do its usual investing of the company’s funds. About three days late, a company check for twenty-two million dollars had arrived at the broker’s offices, but when the firm deposited it, Warren Taylor’s Chief Financial Officer got a call from the bank.
“The check is no good,” he was told. “There aren’t sufficient funds to cash it.”
It turned out that Bellicose Holdings had less than ten thousand dollars in the bank. Two days earlier, virtually all of its assets, nearly twenty-four million dollars, were transferred to an account at a large New York bank and then moved again to a bank in the Caribbean.
A day or so later Brian read a news release. Two subsequent money transfers had been made. The money finally stopped in a dead-end account in the European country of Andorra. It was withdrawn by a woman who had presented false identity to the bank and promptly disappeared, as had the company’s majority shareholder. That was all anyone was going to find out from Andorra, a country whose secrecy laws were legendary.
Brian was particularly interested in this company, because it had been his first big success. He had been hailed as Bellicose’s Numero Uno – the top salesperson at WT&C on this thirty million dollar stock sale. Brian had gotten in the groove, calling doctors, film stars, TV actors and real estate investors. Over the two years he’d been at the firm, all of these investors had become good clients and each one had made millions on WT&C deals.
It was easy to raise money when you’d been successfully doing it for a while, and Brian rose to the top with over $6 million in personal sales to his clients on this deal. Including bonuses but not counting the Porsche he was given, he’d made over six hundred thousand dollars in six weeks.
Now both the SEC and the United States Attorney’s office were looking into Bellicose. As sloppy as things were at WT&C, Brian felt certain that at least there had to be sufficient records and information to keep the firm in compliance with the complex securities laws. Small violations had occurred in the past. Brian knew when a firm’s doing this much business lots of little things could fall through the cracks. But Bellicose wasn’t a little thing. Someone was going to end up in jail over this one. And lots of investigation was going to occur before it was over.
Brian himself didn’t waste much time crying over Bellicose. He’d gotten his commissions and after the company nosedived he made calls to all his big investors. He convinced them that the big tax write-off they’d get now that Bellicose was cratering would help them lower their tax bills for the home runs they’d had prior to that one. And the ones to come. Not a single client was upset. Every single one talked about how you win some, you lose some – and at WT&C they’d all won a lot more than they’d lost.
As a precaution, Brian talked to Carl Cybola and got the OK to guarantee each of the Bellicose investors preferential treatment on the next public offering. They’d get the chance to invest more than usual, risking more to gain a potentially greater bonanza than usual after the price rose.
“That’s a no-brainer,” Carl had said as he gave the approval. “Allowing these putzes to increase their purchases only makes it easier for us to sell the next one. Nothing like having a loser to make the winners do even better!”
After The Push that day, Brian had sat at his desk and made an online payment to a shell company in Aruba that owned his Porsche. About a week after he’d won the car, a mousy looking girl showed up at his cubicle after the close of business one day, took him in a nearby conference room, and handed him a packet of information along with the keys to his new 911 convertible.
She had told him that Warren Taylor and Currant had a number of shell companies set up to do things like owning cars for star salespeople.
She explained further. “It’s actually your company. There’s just no paper trail to ever tie it to you.”
She showed him documents that would demonstrate that he had located the leasing company online, signed an arms-length, third party lease agreement and would make monthly payments. There was no way anyone would know the company was his all along, she assured him.
The girl explained how the sham transaction worked. “Since the car is used by you to come to work, you should claim a tax deduction for the lease payments. That way, you own the car but you also get to write off the payments on it that you’re making to yourself!”
She had told Brian that’s how all the other people did it at WT&C. So he did too.
Everybody’s doing it.
That had been Brian’s rationale for taking his first step over the line.
On that fateful morning Brian had attended The Push like he had done several hundred times before, gotten some recognition for his sales this week, heard the latest deal being explained and gone back to his desk. Around eleven he became aware that the place suddenly was a lot quieter than usual.
There were no loud catcalls, no music from cubicles and no light banter between people. He stood and looked toward the front entrance. One of the receptionists was backing into the sales room. It looked as though she was trying to keep three men from following her – she had her hands up in a halting gesture. As they pushed by Brian could see badges hanging from lanyards around their necks. This was serious.
The guys stopped at Carl Cybola’s office door. From where he sat, Brian could hear them ask him to identify himself. Then he heard, “Mr. Cybola, you’re under arrest.” They moved inside his office and shut the door.
Brian’s heart rate skyrocketed. He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he sat down in his cubicle.
“What the hell’s going on?” Jim Palmer leaned around the wall. Brian’s mouth was so dry, he could hardly respond.
“I…I bet they’re from the SEC.” Just as he did, one of the guys showed up at his cube.
“Brian Sadler?”
“Yes.”
Brian stood up – he watched the other two guys move Carl toward the front door, his hands cuffed behind him. As they opened the door into the lobby, he could see camera flashes. Brian knew the FBI often tipped the newspapers that an arrest was coming down. The press put fear into people who were considering breaking the law themselves.
There’s nothing like being arrested and getting your picture on the front page of the Dallas Morning News to halt your career.
“I’m Special Agent Myron Callender with the FBI.” He flashed an ID and badge in a wallet holder.
Brian’s knees almost buckled. He grabbed the cube wall to maintain his balance.
“FBI? What do you want with me?”
The agent replied that Brian was not under arrest at the moment but there was an ongoing investigation of a company called Bellicose Holdings. Brian was considered a person of interest.
“Do you have a passport, Mr. Sadler?”
“Yes, of course,” Brian stammered, feeling sweat running in a bead down his back.
“Don’t use it,” the agent told him harshly. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks. We’d better be able to find you; if we can’t, we’ll have no problem issuing a warrant.”
Brian assured the agent he had no plans to leave the United States. The agent gave Brian his card.
“A subpoena’s being served as we speak. You need to be in my office next Monday with everything you can get your hands on about Bellicose Holdings. And Mr. Sadler, I mean everything. No funny business. No shredding, no nothing. You don’t want to end up being the next guy walking out of here in cuffs.”
As the agent walked away, Brian collapsed into his chair. He was stunned, speechless. Jim Palmer glanced over at him but said nothing. For the first time in his life, Brian felt terror. He felt as though he were about to jump out of an airplane without a parachute.
He made it through the rest of the trading day with no sales. He continually came back to the thought that he also might be going out in handcuffs. But he knew the Feds were targeting the wrong guy. He just needed to convince them of that.
Before leaving his apartment the next morning, Brian checked the Internet for any information about yesterday’s events at WT&C. There was a brief story in the Dallas Morning News website’s financial section. It referred to a Federal raid on the offices of WT&C and the arrest of the firm’s sales manager. Carl’s name did not appear. The story implied that a much more detailed account was being prepared for the print newspaper. The charges, the story related, revolved around money laundering for organized crime. Brian was shocked. He had been there for two years and had never seen, overheard or been told a single thing that would indicate the firm had anything to do with the mob.
Brian headed in to work. When he arrived, he noticed Carl sitting in his office as usual. It looked like many of the brokers in the office were avoiding contact with him. The Push that morning was run by someone else and was much more subdued than usual. An element of fear permeated the office. You could almost smell it.
Brian emailed Carl, asking him to lunch. Taking time off the floor during the trading day was a rare occasion at WT&C, but both the offer and acceptance showed how much things were changing in the lives and minds of these two men. They left the floor around noon, walked around the corner to Zen, the area’s most popular nightspot, and went straight to the bar.
The place had customers but most of them were in the dining area, so the bar wasn’t crowded. Only a couple of tables were occupied and those people were eating lunch. Brian glanced across the room and saw two drop-dead gorgeous girls chatting over their meals. Any other time, Brian would have tried to find out more about them. Today he wasn’t in the mood to try out his pick-up lines.
The bartender looked up as they entered, surprised to see them here during the day.
“Brian, Carl. Good to see you guys. Market closed early today?”
“Hey, Jason,” Brian replied. “The market’s open. We just need a break.”
“The usuals?” They responded affirmatively and he went to work fixing two martinis, one with Bombay Sapphire gin and Brian’s with XO Vodka. When the drinks arrived, Brian raised his glass in a toast and said, “Here’s to luck, Carl. Looks like we’re going to need some.”
“Right back at ya, buddy,” Carl responded morosely. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Carl began by saying that the agents wouldn’t tell him anything during the ride downtown. He discussed the humiliation of his time at the Lew Sterrett Justice Center, where he was booked, fingerprinted and photographed.
“It was like I was a damned criminal. They pushed me around, stripped me down, stuck me in a cell, and treated me like shit.”
Carl said that a clerk called him to a window and told him he was under arrest for fraud, conspiracy and money laundering.
“I saw something about that on the news this morning. What the hell is that all about? We’re not money launderers!”
Carl looked at him and raised his eyebrows. He spoke slowly, deliberately. He looked in Brian’s eyes as he responded.
“The Feds told me I was treading on thin ice, and if I talked about this to anyone in the office I might be charged with interfering with a Federal investigation. So what you hear about the charges you’re going to have to find out from somebody else. I’m scared shitless. I’ve never been in jail before. They had me crying like a girl. I’ll admit it.”
Carl told Brian he had hired Andrew Sweeney, one of Dallas’ premier and most expensive white-collar criminal lawyers. Sweeney had arrived at the Justice Center, stopped the discussions between the Federal agents and Carl, and arranged his $100,000 bail. Carl said he had gotten out after about four hours split between the interrogation room and a holding cell.
“You have to help me out a little here. Are these guys going to come after me? An agent talked to me yesterday while two of them were taking you out. They said they’re looking at Bellicose Holdings. They gave me a subpoena and told me to be in their office Monday. You have to help me figure this out!”
Brian was practically begging at this point. He knew the firm had lots of dealings that were on the edge, to say the least. He just wondered which thing had triggered the investigation which had led to Carl’s arrest, and if he too was going to end up in jail when he showed up on Monday.
Carl looked at Brian intently. “I don’t know anything about the specifics of what they want. All I know is I’m charged with a shitload of felonies and if Warren Taylor and Currant thinks I’m taking a fall for Johnny Spedino, they have another think coming. My recommendation to you, buddy, is to hire the best damned criminal lawyer you can find.”
“Johnny Speed? What the hell does a New York Mafioso have to do with us?”
Carl just looked at him, saying nothing more.
As he had felt in the office, Brian again found himself losing control. He began to shake and felt clammy. His heart rate spiked again.
>
“I’m not a criminal!” Brian suddenly shouted. The bartender heard him from across the room. So did people sitting at tables nearby, who were staring his way. When Brian returned their looks, everyone immediately averted his or her eyes.
“Neither am I, Brian,” Carl said quietly. “All that matters right now is whether some FBI agent thinks you are. He can screw up your life, at least for a while, even if you’re lily white, and nobody’s lily white. Get a lawyer, Brian. You damn sure don’t want to show up there holding your balls in your hand so they can put them on the table and cut them off for you.
“I gotta get back.” Carl rose from his chair. “I’ll pick up the tab on the way out. See you at the office.”
Without another word he turned and went to the bar, leaving a dazed Brian sitting at the table. As Carl paid the bill, Brian saw him glance up at the CNN broadcast on the television hung above the bar. The exterior of WT&C’s building was being shown. As Carl watched, his picture flashed on the screen, with the word “INDICTED” below it. Carl looked down, finished paying his bill, and left.
Brian watched his boss leave the restaurant. He slumped as he walked. He shuffles along like an old man, Brian thought. That observation scared Brian as much as anything Carl had told him. Carl’s giving up on this. And that means it’s every man for himself.
As he rose from his chair, Brian remembered what Carl had said. He wasn’t taking a fall for Johnny Spedino. What the hell did the New York godfather have to do with Carl’s arrest? He knew he wouldn’t find out from Carl. He had to figure this one out himself, and fast.
Chapter Sixteen
As Brian left his table he became aware of someone right behind him. Turning, he saw one of the girls he had spotted earlier from across the room.
She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt. I couldn’t help but overhear your comment earlier. I don’t judge whether anyone’s a criminal or not. I just help out the people who don’t know what to do next.”
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 6
