White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller

by Peter Ralph

  “Yes, yes, I know it isn’t his birthday on Thursday night. Mom, I have someone waiting for me. I have to go. Love you. Bye.” Vanessa put the phone down.

  “Problems at home?” Todd asked.

  “It’s my youngest brother’s birthday, but I promised Doug I’d complete the Hubble audit and have it on his desk first thing in the morning. I can’t let him down.”

  “I’ve got some time. Is there anything I can do?”

  “That’s sweet of you, Todd.” Vanessa smiled. “But you know what it’s like. It’d take me as long to bring you up to speed as what it’d take to finish it myself. Thanks for asking, though.”

  “Anytime,” Todd said, trying not to stare. She was so natural and unassuming. Surely she knows the effect she has on men, Todd thought. He found it hard to focus when he was in her presence. “What is it you wanted to see me about?”

  “I’ve organized for us to go out to Hallstrom’s on Monday morning. You can meet their financial controller and their accounts people. It’s a very straightforward audit, and you’ve audited major retailers’ before. You won’t have any problems but if you do, just give me a call.”

  “Sounds good. Have you been checking up on me?” Todd asked, pointing to the Homewares executive summary file on her desk.

  “Why would you say that?” she asked, looking puzzled. “Don’t you remember? Homewares is one of the clients I’m taking over from you. I’m just looking for a starting point. I’m not going to review what you’ve already done. Why would I?”

  Todd felt the color rush to his face. “I’m sorry. I just thought…it doesn’t matter what I thought. Sorry.”

  “Todd, this isn’t a points scoring exercise. Even if by chance I found something, I’d come and see you. Hopefully we’d fix it between ourselves. That’s what I would expect you to do for me in the same circumstances.” Vanessa frowned.

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Jot your address down. I’ll grab a cab on Monday morning and pick you up. Be on the sidewalk by eight o’clock.”

  “Where will you be coming from?”

  “The office. I’ve got to leave a plan for my supervisors before heading off.”

  “Christ, what time are you going start?” Todd asked.

  “Six-thirty,” Vanessa laughed and stood up. “It’s going to be fun working together.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Todd responded, trying to hold her eyes. The few beautiful women he knew wouldn’t give him the time of day. Vanessa was stunning but unaffected. She was also very ambitious. Even the thought of starting at 6:30 was too much for him. He knew the fourteen hour days she was working were all about her quest to make partner.

  The Homan Ave location that Borchard owned and ran his empire out of was in one of the roughest areas of Chicago. He’d been renting the 40,000 square foot warehouse during the GFC when he found the landlord was having trouble paying his bills. Ever the opportunist, Borchard instructed his lawyers to approach the mortgagor with a low ball offer. It was an old tin shed with cool rooms that served Borchard’s needs to store contraband and stolen goods. He’d spent big dollars modernizing and soundproofing the offices. The warehouse was still the same as the day he bought it except for the signage that bore the name, Refrigerated, Chilled & General Storage Inc. In the early days, there had been a few break-ins but the Serbians had been quick to unleash viciously on the gangs. It hadn’t taken long for them to get the message, and Borchard’s warehouse was the only off-limit premises in the area for the local crims.

  When Vaughan got back from the Astor with the disk, Borchard was in the theater that he’d added to the modified offices. He was watching a football game on a huge screen.

  “What do you want me to do with this, boss?” he asked.

  Borchard hit rewind on the remote. “Take a seat. You’ve never shown any interest in football. I want to bring ya up to speed. After the Hawks kickoff, the Cougars offense will take over. Our friend Cooper is the quarterback; he’ll be the guy two back from the line of scrimmage on the right. He’ll throw, handoff, or, if he gets into trouble, run. The guys on the other side, the Hawks, they’re gonna try and kill him. I don’t understand everything, but it’s a great game.” Borchard laughed. “Oh, and see the fair-haired guy with the headphones on the sidelines, that’s Coach Deacon. The woman’s husband.”

  It’s Chad Bennet coming to you from Brook Field. It’s a full house, folks, and Devlin Cooper’s Cougars are taking on the unbeaten Hawks. The Hawks won the toss and deferred so they’ll be kicking off from the South End Zone. The kick is short. Eddie Dalton fields it at the 16. He takes it up across the 20 to the 25, zig-zagging his way back into open field before he’s brought down at the 34 where the Cougars offense will take over.

  The Cougars break the huddle and Cooper will take his position behind center for the first time today. Cooper sets the offense, spreads Patterson out wide right. Rogers is in the slot. He goes in motion…the snap…Cooper pitches to Rogers, who takes it to the outside for about 8 yards before getting run out of bounds.

  “Dirk, keep your eye on Cooper,” Borchard said. “You’re soon gonna be havin’ a lot to do with him, so ya should know everythin’ you can about how he functions.”

  It’s Second and 2. Cougars set in a single back formation. Here’s the snap. Cooper fakes the pitch left, and he keeps it himself on a naked bootleg. He’s got some daylight. He’s at the 40, 45, 50 and out of bounds at the Hawks 47. A great Start for the Cougars

  “He’s something, isn’t he?” Borchard said.

  “This isn’t football,” Vaughan said. “They handle the ball and throw it.”

  “Fuck! I thought you knew the basics. Just watch Cooper.”

  First and seven on the Hawks 47. Rogers in motion again, the snap…play action…Cooper drops back and delivers a bullet to Patterson at the 25, who takes it all the way inside the Hawks 10, to the 8. This guy’s arm is something else!!

  First and Goal. Cooper pitches to Jordan, who bobbles the pitch, regains control, cuts inside and dives into the end zone. Touchdown Cougars!!!

  Devlin Cooper strode from the field and removed his helmet.

  “He looks more like a film star than a football player, doesn’t he?” Borchard said.

  “Yeah, he’s a pretty boy all right.”

  And here comes the Hawks’ defense.

  “We don’t wanna watch this shit,” Borchard said, fast forwarding until he saw Cooper leading the Cougars offense back on the field.

  “What’s this about, boss?”

  “Devlin Cooper just turned twenty-three, and he’s the hottest property in football. If he stays fit and healthy, he could play until he’s forty. The Packers quarterback just negotiated a deal that’ll see him drag in a hundred and ten mil in the next five years. Cooper’s contract is up for negotiation at the end of next season. He’s worth more.”

  “Yeah, but what do you want me to do?”

  “It’s a test, Dirk. I want ya to watch the rest of the game. Don’t worry about watchin’ the Hawks’ offense, just Cooper. I wanna see what you learn about him. Ya can learn a lot about a man by how he reacts on a sportin’ field. The Cougars play the Pirates in seven weeks. The sportswriters say that the Pirates are the worst team in football history. There’s gonna be some juicy odds on offer,” Borchard said. “I want you to persuade Cooper to help us.”

  “Ah, now I understand.” Dirk grinned.

  “After you’ve finished watching the football, I want you to watch the disk?”

  “Are you going to watch it?”

  “Nah, porn doesn’t do anything for me. It just makes me think of that sicko, Andy. I know what’s on it, but you might learn a little more about Cooper. Oh, and Dirk, cut two more copies and put them in safe places.

  “I’ll do better. I’ll store it on my computer.”

  “No! What happens if it falls into wrong hands or the cops seize it? Just do the copies and hide them.”

  “Okay, boss.�
�

  “Dirk, remember there are three things that could fuck this up. If you push him too hard, and he suicides. Make sure you don’t. If he talks to the woman, and she leaves her husband and moves in with him. It devalues the adultery and porn and in some folks’ eyes makes it romance. Make sure he doesn’t talk to her. And thirdly, he double-crosses us on game day. If that happens, you’ll have to kill him.”

  Chapter 8

  The week had dragged for Todd. The earliest he had left the office on any day was seven o’clock, and he’d worked to ten on Monday night. His near death experience with Lechte had refocused him, but he still hated his job. Despite the long hours, he had tweaked his system by factoring in a new variable. Bad luck. He knew it was ridiculous, but the experience with Dancing Girl, when she’d been slow to start after the gates opened, had burned him badly. He reasoned that there were horses that seemed to find a way to get beaten, no matter what. The habitual second-place getters were the worst. They always offered hope the next time they raced. His newly tweaked system had thrown up three winners all ranking above 96, and he resolved to have ten thousand on each. He wouldn’t get his recent losses back, but it would restore his confidence and faith in his system.

  The betting parlor was far busier and noisier on Saturday than on weekdays and punters were at every table. Todd waited patiently in line and when he reached the window said, “Saratoga, Race two, ten thousand the win, number five, on my tab.” He took his ticket, ordered a mineral water, and found a place on the wall where he was directly in front of the monitors. The horses came out on the track, and Todd felt a surge of confidence rush through him. Gunbarrel was a huge chestnut colt with a white diamond in the middle of his head. Five minutes later the commentator was screaming, “Gunbarrel’s kicked six lengths clear at the top of the stretch and is cantering to the easiest of wins.” Todd was elated and then disappointed. If only he’d had sixty thousand on Gunbarrel. He would have recovered his losses and then some. As he was pondering this, Jack Elliot sauntered up to him.

  “Good to be winning again, kid,” he said.

  What the fuck does that mean? How does he know I backed the winner? How does he know I lost? Maybe I’m overreacting. He’s only ever seen me win. Maybe that’s why he said again? “How do you know I won?”

  “Come on. I was watching you. I thought you were going to burst out cheering at the furlong.” Elliot grinned. “You did back the winner, didn’t you?”

  The only time Todd could remember displaying emotion was when he’d lost the hundred and seventy, but maybe he’d let his guard down with Gunbarrel. “Yeah, I did.”

  “I lost. Maybe I should buy that system of yours. It seems you’re always collecting. If I had your system, I’d be making some big bets.”

  “And what’s a big bet for you?” Todd asked, expecting the answer to be a few thousand dollars.

  “A hundred thousand. That’s a big bet for me, but I’ve made bigger. I’ve got this motto, if you want to win big, you bet big. Anyhow, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a sure thing in the third at Sacramento. Are you interested?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Todd replied, thinking this was the guy who was worried about his wife finding out about his losses. Bullshit!

  “Of course.” Elliot grinned, as he turned to go to the betting windows. “You’ve got a foolproof system. Why would you listen to my tips?”

  Todd was glad to see the back of Elliot, but he had said two things that resonated. It was a good system, and if you wanted to win big, you had to bet big. Hadn’t that just been proved with Gunbarrel? Todd’s next bet was going to be Gala Supreme in the fourth at Santa Anita, which would add another forty thousand to his kitty. However, the more he thought about what Elliot had said, the more inclined he was to increase the size of his bet. A bet of fifty thousand would net him two hundred and a bet of a hundred thousand would recover all his losses and make him no longer dependent on Montgomery Hastings & Pierce. The more he did the sums, the more logical it was to increase the size of his bet. Besides, Gala Supreme was ranked at 98 which made his decision even more compelling. By the time they jumped at Santa Anita, Todd had bet eighty thousand on Gala Supreme to win three hundred and twenty. Gala Supreme didn’t have any history of bad luck so how could Todd have factored in his heels getting clipped by Monterey at the turn. The ensuing spill brought down three horses, including Gala Supreme. After the race the commentator said, “I’m pleased to say that the jockeys and horses are okay. Monterey came down very hard, and I feared they might have to destroy him. All’s well that ends well.”

  All’s well that ends well. Those words echoed in Todd’s head. He hadn’t thought of the welfare of the horses. He was too busy wallowing in misery. But he still had one bet to go and perhaps the race caller’s comment was prophetic. If Todd’s one remaining bet won, and he had enough on it, all would end well.

  Thirty minutes later, he put on his overcoat and stumbled toward the door. He had lost one and fifty thousand. Jack Elliot was at the door talking to one of the heavies. "How'd you go, kid?”

  Todd could hardly speak. His chest was constricted, and the weight of the world was burying him. “Not so good,” he muttered.

  “That’s a pity,” Elliot said, doing his best to look concerned. “That tip I gave you came in at six to one. I won three hundred thousand. You should have been on it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Todd didn’t usually drink spirits but on the way back to his apartment he picked up a bottle of Johnny Walker. It was futile, and he drank the bottle in less than three hours, but the misery remained. He toyed with going out to get another bottle before deciding to turn in. The whiskey didn’t help. He tossed and turned for hours, unable to fall asleep. Why was the system that had been so successful failing? What was he doing that was different? What had changed at the race tracks? He owed Ronny over three hundred thousand and had less than two hundred in the bank. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep.

  He awoke on Sunday morning still feeling like shit. The sleep had done nothing for him. He was positive that the only way he’d get his money back was the way that he’d lost it. His heart wasn’t in it, but he forced himself to bring his system data up to date by entering details of all of the prior day’s races. By midday, the data was entered, and he was again studying his system looking for ways to tweak it. He pulled out an old form guide and compared the information in it with what he had on his iPad. The information he had was far more extensive and detailed than the form guide. No, there was nothing wrong with the system. He had made numerous bets of ten thousand or less, and more than sixty percent had been winners. The problem was the five big bets that he’d made which had all been losers. The answer was simple – bad luck. He would persist with his system knowing that this temporary run of bad luck would soon end. The haze that had enveloped him since his last bet was starting to lift.

  The traffic was heavy, and the cab was a few minutes late when it pulled up in front of Todd’s apartment building. Vanessa was sitting in the back wearing a stylish gray pin-striped pencil skirt and a four button V-neckline blazer, together with classic black suede stiletto pumps. She had dressed carefully, confident and capable, professional yet feminine. Todd climbed in next to her and caught the trace of an intoxicating perfume.

  “Good morning, Todd. What were you up to over the weekend?”

  “Hi, Vanessa. Nothing much.”

  “What? You didn’t get together with friends or family. You must have done something.” She laughed.

  Todd hadn’t given much thought to friends lately. He used to have a lot until he had become obsessed with his betting system. “Oh, I had dinner with a few friends on Saturday night. What about you? Did you do anything exciting?”

  “I worked on Saturday and spent Sunday afternoon with my family as penance for missing my brother’s birthday. It was fun.”

  “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

  “I have three brothers and three
sisters. I’m the oldest. My nickname’s Bossy.” She smiled.

  “You work long hours. What do you do to relax?”

  “I do kick boxing classes with a girlfriend from my apartments on Monday and Wednesday nights. I never miss them. They keep me sane.”

  “Besides kick boxing and family, how do you spend your time? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “That’s a very nosy question. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m too busy. If I did, when would I ever see him? There’ll be plenty of time for boyfriends after.”

  “After?”

  “Yes, after I’ve made partner. Isn’t that what you want too, Todd?”

  Todd could think of nothing worse. Even as a junior partner he knew the money would be enormous but the last thing he wanted was a life of drudgery. He wanted freedom and the respect of his family. That would only come via success with the betting system he’d spent thousands of hours on. Once he’d grown his stake, he’d buy properties and stocks and live off the rent and dividends. “I’ll never make partner.” He laughed. “I’d be up against you. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure that’s true but if I made partner, I’d support you. Don’t sell your chances short. You’re too good for that, and it’s a characteristic I can’t stand. There is nothing worse than wasted talent. I don’t want to look back in twenty years’ time and regret that I didn’t do everything possible to make it to the top.” She burst out laughing. “God, that was a sermon, wasn’t it? Sometimes I get carried away.”

  She laughed a lot, was fun, had a brilliant mind and was drop dead gorgeous. She was another reason Todd had to get out of the firm. He knew she would never jeopardize her chances of making partner by dating him while he was still working at Montgomery Hastings & Pierce. However, maybe that wouldn’t be the case if he could build up the courage to ask her out after he left. They pulled up at the front of a Wall Street high-rise, and Todd held the door open. Vanessa brushed past him, and a trace of her perfume tantalized his nostrils.