Cabo

by Davis MacDonald

  They looked blankly at the Judge.

  “Rosa, you’re observant. Think about it,” said the Judge.

  “Me?”

  “What happened, twice? Who disappeared from sight here in the boardroom?”

  Rosa’s brow furrowed.

  “Miguel,” she said. “He’s always going to the bathroom. He’s like a leaky faucet. He used the washroom.” She pointed to the opposite wall, and the small inset paneled door leading to the Executive Suite washroom.

  “Very good,” said the Judge. “Miguel, would you please step into the washroom, close the door, use the facilities and flush, like you did just before María fell?”

  Miguel, still looking bored, got up, ambled into the washroom and closed the door. Two minutes went by, all ears on the sounds emitted from under the washroom door; there wasn’t much else to do. There was sound of the toilet lid opening, Miguel’s liquid stream, followed by a tight fart. Silence for a while, some rustling of toilet paper off a roller, then a long flush, punctuated by the rustle of more toilet paper, then a second flush. There was more running water, the clang of the paper towel dispenser, and the swing of the boardroom door as Alan Clark came back with his shadow from the roof and settled into a lean against the wall close to the Judge, for protection. Then Miguel opened the washroom door and stepped out, lingering there. “I was here, just stepped through the door, when I saw Maria fall.”

  “And in the Chief Inspector’s morality play you reprised the same movements, as I recall,” said the Judge.

  “I did.”

  “Including your trip to the washroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, of all the people in this room when María was about to fall, and later when Ana was about to fall, only one person was out of sight briefly from everybody else, on both occasions.”

  All eyes turned to Miguel.

  Red in the face now, eyes blazing, he said, “That’s crazy. I had nothing to do with their deaths. I was taking a leak for Christ sakes. They were my sisters. You’re spinning crap out of thin air, Judge.”

  The Judge surveyed the rest of the room, then said, “Chief Inspector Garcia has determined that an insect-like, modified drone was the murder weapon, herding first María and then Ana off the roof.”

  “How in the hell could it do that?” asked Luis

  Garcia said, “Señor, you run the high-tech division, under Miguel’s supervision. Can it be you know nothing about drones?”

  “What can I say?” Luis smiled, spreading his hands. “A good manager knows which details to leave to others.”

  The Judge said, “Drones can be programmed like a sheep dog to herd an animal in or out of an assigned space, equipped with long arms with sharp spinning blades capable of slicing your flesh to shreds on contact, and armed with a spray device laying a cloud of pepper spray and disorienting gas over its intended victim, blinding and confusing them.”

  They were all sitting up in their chairs now, Luis settling into his seat, processing this new information. Rosa and Alan Clark looked wide-eyed, Pablo was clenching and unclenching his hands. Garcia, standing beside the Judge as though the Judge were his new BFF, was all puffed out from the Judge’s bestowing him credit for identifying the murder device.

  “Of course,” the Judge continued, “to use a drone, someone would have to have had in their possession a drone controller. So there remain three open questions. Who was controlling this drone? Where is the controller he or she used? And… what was their motive? I think Chief Inspector is prepared to answer each of those questions, here and now.”

  Garcia blinked.

  “Let’s go to the motive, first, shall we Chief Inspector?”

  Garcia nodded, his eyes filled with questions as he looked at the Judge.

  The Judge continued. “Interestingly, despite the statements of your company lawyer, Mr. Moreno here, who personally assured me there was no transfer of shares or voting rights associated with the ASAM stock, on checking myself with your transfer agent, it turns out an irrevocable proxy had been drafted, executed and filed by one of the ASAM shareholders, giving their right to vote their shares in ASAM irrevocably to someone else. So, Señor Moreno, you deliberately lied to me, and by extension, the Chief Inspector who had directed me to ask the question, stating you knew of no proxy arrangements shifting the voting rights of ASAM shareholders. Yet you knew full well such an agreement existed because you in fact drafted one, and at least nominally were the recipient of the voting rights so transferred.”

  “Client privilege,” muttered Moreno.

  “Do you admit you’re the nominal holder of voting rights for ASAM shares for a client?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s the client?”

  “Client privilege again, sir. As a professional, you know I can’t ethically answer that question.”

  “Not unless you’re questioned under oath in a murder trial,” said the Judge. “Moreno, I’d say for you that’s mistake ‘one’.”

  Moreno glared at the Judge.

  The Judge swung around to pin Roberto’s eye. “Roberto, it’s your shares whose voting rights you pledged, wasn’t it?”

  Roberto looked shocked, then defensive, then angry. “I had to do it! It was that or prison. You painted me into a corner, Miguel. You bastard!”

  Miguel settled a little deeper in his chair and looked at the ceiling, making a blowing sound like a whale blowing off air.

  “It was Miguel to whom you gave your irrevocable proxy to vote all your ASAM shares?” asked the Judge.

  “Yes. Maria and Ana and Pablo were claiming I’d embezzled money from ASAM, committed bank fraud. They wanted to press charges, send me to jail. Luis and Rosa knew it was all bullshit. I’d just taken what I should have been paid in the first place. I proposed to the Board a settlement, creation of a loan outstanding with a payment schedule so I could pay the money back. I had Luis, Rosa, and my vote for the deal, but María, Ana and Pablo wouldn’t budge. I needed Miguel’s vote for my settlement or I’d be thrown in jail. He said he wouldn’t vote for the settlement unless I gave him my proxy. The bastard. I had no choice.”

  “And the settlement was approved on a four to three yes vote by the board.”

  “Yes.”

  “Roberto, did your company lawyer, Mr. Moreno, discuss with you, or with all of the board for that matter, the corporate law principle that would preclude you from voting as a board member to approve your own settlement agreement with ASAM because of your conflict of interest?”

  “No.”

  “Did he discuss the conflict of interest Miguel had in voting for the settlement when he had a self-interest in secretly obtaining your voting rights as part of the deal, even though they were nominally given to Moreno?”

  “No.”

  “I think that may be mistake ‘two’ for you, Moreno.”

  All eyes turned back to look at Moreno, who pasted a silly smile on his face, but hunched down further in his seat too, spreading his hands in a gesture of ‘I guess we all make mistakes sometimes.’

  “Does the board generally meet in this boardroom for its meetings?” asked the Judge.

  There was a group nod.

  “Always?”

  Another nod.

  “Who has the key to the room?”

  “Señor Moreno. He always shows up early and gets things set up,” said Rosa.

  “I think that may be mistake ‘three’ for you, Moreno. Let’s explore what happened a little further and see. Now, when board members arrived for the board meeting, Moreno was already here, since he opened the room. But when Miguel arrived, did he have a briefcase, or package, or anything that might have contained perhaps a computer tablet?”

  “I arrived next,” said Rosa. “When Miguel arrived, he had no briefcase and no package.”

  “So, if a drone control tablet was used from this room to control a drone attack on the roof, Miguel wasn’t the one who brought it into the room?”

  “I guess not,�
�� said Rosa.

  “You see,” snarled Miguel. “I’ve told you and the inspector I had nothing to do with my sisters’ deaths. I had no hand in this.”

  “But on the other hand, Miguel, we now know Moreno has been acting as your agent, in conflict with the duty of loyalty he owes as legal counsel to ASAM. Perhaps you two had a further understanding, and it was Moreno who brought the drone control computer into the Boardroom for you, since he was the first to arrive.”

  “That’s bullshit,” hissed Moreno.

  “Or it could be mistake number three, Moreno,” said the Judge. “Pablo, are you’re afraid of cats?” The Judge turned to look at the old man, slumped in his chair.

  “Si, señor. Since I was a small boy. They are the creatures of the devil. They secretly hate us. They would pounce and eat us instantly if we were smaller. I fought with them when I was young, got rid of them, killed them when I could. Killed the kittens. I would exterminate them all. They are the arch-enemy of man.”

  “Did you know of this fear, Rosa?”

  “No.”

  “Roberto? Luis?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Pablo, who knew of your Ailurophobia?”

  “My what, señor?”

  “Your dread of cats.”

  “María, Ana, Miguel. It was common knowledge among them.”

  “So, Miguel knew?”

  “Si señor.”

  “And Miguel knew you had a weak heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to you on the night you were attacked, Pablo?”

  Pablo turned grey. His breathing accelerating into rapid little gasps.

  “I saw death, señor. Death, he came for me.”

  “And in what form did death come?”

  “In his form as a cat.” Pablo was now whispering.

  “And you collapsed?”

  “Yes. My heart pounded so bad I thought he was taking me for sure.”

  “Thank you, Pablo.”

  “With all these odd facts, still a certain pattern does emerge. With the Chief Inspector’s permission, let me summarize what he has determined and what he can posit:

  Miguel originally held 11.1 percent of the voting rights for ASAM. With the death of María and Anna, their share voting rights were taken away for five years. Everyone else’s share of voting rights increased proportionately. Miguel now has 14.3 percent of the outstanding voting rights.

  Miguel secretly acquired all of Roberto’s voting rights through an irrevocable proxy coupled with an interest. Since the shares weren’t sold, it was a way to avoid sterilization of the shares, so the shares didn’t lose their voting rights. As a result, Miguel now controls 28.5 percent of the ASAM voting rights.

  Suppose Pablo had died. Died from fright at being attacked by a flying cat, or perhaps actually clawed to death by such a beast. The voting rights on Pablo’s shares would have ceased, the shares sterilized. Everyone left would have proportionally more voting rights. In such an event, Miguel would have automatically increased his voting rights to 49.9 percent of the total outstanding voting rights of ASAM.

  Did you know that Luis was attacked as well? Attacked while snorkeling in the lagoon in front of his house, a place he swims most every day. Attacked by a swarm of fish with apparently metal teeth.”

  The Judge pulled out a bottle containing a small, sharp, broken tooth. “This was pulled out of Luis’ leg. It’s white, but if you examine it, you’ll find it’s actually metal, with a porcelain coating.”

  “Suppose Luis had died as well in this attack. At that point, Miguel would hold sixty-six percent of the voting rights of ASAM. Miguel would have firm control. He’d have five years to issue himself substantially more stock as compensation or in a bonus, so that by the time the voting restrictions came off the sterilized shares, it wouldn’t matter. He’d have so many additional shares he’d always control ASAM.”

  The room was stunned, considering the implication of what the Judge had said.

  “And, the only person who was out of sight of everyone right before María fell, and again right before Ana fell, was Miguel. And consider Miguel is a person with supervisory rights over the plant where ASAM’s only drones are developed and built. A person who was talking on his cell to Pedro Mendoza, the ASAM drone technician, as María left this boardroom and headed for the roof. The only person in the room, coincidentally, who is a pilot, likely capable of flying a drone with some precision.”

  Miguel’s face twisted in anger. “Shut your mouth you Yankee bastard. You have no right to accuse me of anything. So, I stepped into the washroom to take a quick leak. That proves nothing.”

  Garcia looked at the Judge, more questions in his eyes, and now a touch of panic. No doubt wondering what would come of his career if the Judge couldn’t prove these reckless accusations. Wishing now that the Judge had not given him so much credit for his steps in the investigation, brilliant though they had been. Thinking perhaps it was time to abandon the Judge and call this meeting to a halt; try to repair some of the damage done to his relationship with Miguel. The Judge watched these thoughts play across Garcia’s face, then continued.

  “If we could find the drone controller, we’d likely find the finger prints of those who handled it. If your fingerprints and those of Moreno’s are on the controller, that would prove quite a lot.

  “Our Chief Inspector here, with considerable foresight I might add, sealed the boardroom and the entire floor after Ana fell, did you not inspector?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No one’s been in or out until today, except for your officers?”

  “That is as I ordered.”

  “And no one left with a fancy drone controller, a device about the size of a small tablet with knobs, because our Chief Inspector wisely insisted everyone, and their possessions be carefully searched by his thorough team before anyone left the building.”

  “It was my seasoned judgment that this precaution was required,” said Garcia, switching loyalties again, subtly edging closer to the Judge, his gut telling him to put all his chips on the Judge.

  “And although the Chief Inspector did a precursory search of the boardroom area, he craftily waited until today, now, to do a detailed search of the washroom.”

  Garcia had been standing on his tiptoes to look taller, basking in the Judge’s praise of his actions; but now he grew shorter, collapsing on to flat feet, caught off-guard by this new line of inquiry. He simply muttered, “Right.”

  “In fact, the Chief Inspector is going to have his favorite man on his team, Officer Gonzales, thoroughly search the washroom now. This includes the under-sink cabinet, the towel cabinet, the ceiling well that holds the ‘poop fan’, the water reservoir behind the toilet, and any other opening or place where a small tablet might be hidden.”

  Garcia’s eyes narrowed, giving him a slightly foxy look. “Yes. Officer Gonzales, proceed as we discussed. Go into the washroom and do a thorough search now.”

  Gonzales looked confused, a frequent expression for Gonzales.

  “In fact, Gonzales, I’m going to personally help you with this search,” said Garcia, marching into the washroom, shooing Gonzales ahead of him.

  There was noise of banging as cupboards were opened and closed, the clink of a grate coming off the ceiling fan, a yelp as Gonzales stubbed his finger on a fan blade, the sliding of porcelain noise as the lid was slid off the toilet, and then a screech from Gonzales. “Mierda santa!”

  “That means ‘Holy Shit’,” whispered Alan Clark.

  Seconds later Garcia stepped out of the washroom, holding over his head, as though a proud father displaying his first born, a sealed plastic pouch, dripping, with a small computer tablet inside, its protruding control nobs and extra dials giving it an off-world look.

  CHAPTER 36

  “They deserved it. Both of them,” snarled Miguel, rising from his seat at the conference table, giving up all pretense of innocence. “And Pablo too. My mother was a ballet
dancer, the spirit of music in her soul. Unfortunately, she was born to a country that has no appreciation for ballet. She became an artistic dancer, taught music and folk dance, worked at cheap dance clubs to survive. Married my father, José, at twenty-one. She had me at twenty-two.

  María, Ana, and you too, Pablo, you called my mother ‘trash’, often to her face; called me the same. When my dad died, we got nothing. Worse than nothing because you three continued to stamp us into the dirt. Discouraged people from renting to us. Discouraged companies from hiring my mother. Discouraged people from socializing with us.

  My mother finally gave up, moved us to Mexico City, changed her name, and married an alcoholic truck driver with a taste for beating women and small children. I stood up to him one night over dinner when I was twelve and he was drunk. He launched into how my mother was a whore, useless, stupid, needed slapping around. I slammed a bowl of mashed potatoes into his face. He came at me. But he was drunk. I beat the shit out of him. He drank very little after that when he came home; didn’t come home so much either.

  My real dad made this company. ASAM should be mine. Pablo, you and Antonio were just barnacles clamped on to his success, and you know it. As were my idiot half-sisters, contributing nothing, swanning around, sucking up capital that should have gone to building the business. My selfish half-sisters deserved to die, as do you Pablo. Mean, belligerent, trying to quash me at every turn… ruined my mother’s life, ruined my boyhood.”

  Pablo listened quietly to this tirade with his head down, slowly shaking it, trying to fathom where all this hate came from, how his entire family could just blow up like this. He wouldn’t look at Miguel. He was too wounded.

  “And you, Luis. An upstart with more money than sense. All you care about is money. You take no pride in what’s been built, or what might be built. You want to dump ASAM down the sewer of marijuana and drugs. You’ll ruin this company given the chance. I hate your silly airs, I hate your attitude that your somehow smarter than the rest of us. You’re a pure asshole and deserve no role in ASAM.”