by Tom Berreman
“I can’t believe you might get screwed out of what you deserve. Fucking lawyers.”
“Thanks Adam, but not much I can do about it now. I’ll just see what happens, but I’ve reached out to my peers at Wolfowitz and Lange. If the bitch inherits, I’m hoping to beg, plead and grovel to get my old job back. I didn’t burn bridges, you know, played up the whole family legacy thing as the reason I left the firm. That gold digger can just go to hell.”
“I still can’t believe your dad intended to shut you out of Jennco. But I know a way you can get financial payback from what’s rightfully yours.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I have a good buddy, an old fraternity brother, who’s an engineer at Pacific Coast Industries. He told me they are six to eight months behind Jennco in bringing a viable long-range laser sensor to market. Before your dad’s accident I was a member of a task force he set up to develop defenses against corporate espionage, and PCI was his biggest concern. From what I learned, I’m sure Louis Hartwig is salivating to get his hands on Jennco’s technology.”
“Are you suggesting we sell Jennco’s long-range laser sensor to PCI?”
“Not we, all I’m saying is I can introduce you to my buddy, nothing more. You can decide where to go from there. But my involvement stops there, I can’t risk losing my job. With your old man gone, who knows? Maybe my career path is looking better.”
“No worries, I couldn’t expect you to risk your career for my revenge,” Brent said. He recalled the laser sensor R&D files from his dad’s computer he saved to a flash drive. Payback was enticing, and despite knowing he would violate his fiduciary duties as an officer of the company, not to mention breaking the law, he had no choice.
“I have a copy of the R&D files,” he continued as he sat behind his desk and uploaded the long-range sensor schematic he saved from his dad’s email. “Here, take a look.”
“This should be the most current version,” Adam said as he reviewed the schematic.
“Tell you what,” Brent continued. “How about we meet for a beer after work tonight? You could arrange for your buddy to be at the bar and introduce me, and I can take it from there.”
Chapter 39.
“Good morning, Jason,” Margo Hanson, Jennco’s chief financial officer, said as she knocked on the frame of his unopened office door. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course,” he said, curious why she closed the door behind her as she entered his office.
After Judge Anderson’s revised ruling Jason advised Allison someone looking out for Laura’s Jennco ownership interest should become involved in the day-to-day operations of the company. Brent objected, but Ginsburg agreed with Jason and advised the board of directors it was their fiduciary duty to recognize the request coming from a forty percent shareholder, and potentially the company’s owner. At a special meeting the board appointed Jason senior vice president.
In the month following his appointment he developed a close, working relationship with several members of upper management, in particular Margo Hanson.
“What’s with the closed door meeting?” he asked as they both sat at his small conference table.
“Oh, you know. Closely held company, the whole walls have ears thing. But I’m glad there’s someone here who’s concerned with proper fiscal management of this company.”
“Okay, what’s up?”
“After the board appointed Brent interim CEO, I noticed some unusual financial transactions.”
“Such as?”
“Well, he’s decided the company’s checkbook is at his disposal. He bills expensive lunches and happy hours back to the company as marketing expenses. I can overlook those, but a couple disbursements caused me concern.”
“What are they?” he asked, his interest piqued.
“The first was an eight thousand dollar payment to Jamison Mattoon and Thorsby for legal services provided by Allen Ginsburg. Brent is having the company pay for his family’s personal legal expenses.”
“Can I see the invoice when you have a chance?”
“Sure, I have a copy right here,” she said as she opened her portfolio and handed him the document. “You can keep it, I’ll make another if I need one.”
“Thanks.”
He gave the invoice a cursory review and several billing entries troubled him. He set it aside for later review.
“What else have you got?”
“A ten thousand dollar payment for miscellaneous consulting fees to the Law Offices of Charles Atkins. Our auditors insist we are careful when coding legal fees to the legal expenses account. Otherwise, we could inadvertently hide undisclosed litigation. It turns out Charlie Atkins is a criminal defense lawyer and one of Brent’s college buddies he plays golf with every Sunday.”
“What was the date of the check?”
“September twenty-third.”
“That was less than a week after the accident,” Jason said. “And right before the attempt on Curt’s life.”
“I talked to one of our accounts payable clerks, and she remembers the transaction. Brent brought the disbursement request to her and waited while she prepared the check. He couldn’t wait until the next accounts payable check cycle. The jerk, checks were scheduled to run the next day.”
They looked at each other in silence.
“Excuse me for a minute,” Jason said, a faint memory piquing his attention. He stood from the table, sat behind his desk and pulled a file from his drawer labeled Curt Jennings’ Police Report.
A week after the attempt on Curt’s life, the police DNA analysis from blood on the shard of glass Joshua recovered found a match in the database. Chad Jenkins was a repeat offender, his latest brush with the law for aggravated assault. The judge dismissed the case when his attorney argued the police had no probable cause to search his car during a routine traffic stop. The hammer they found had traces of the victim’s blood.
After the DNA match the police put out an APB for Jenkins and went to his last known address. They found the small cottage he rented in a rural area burned to the ground. They interviewed several of his known associates. One told them Jenkins earned ten grand to do a job and headed north to Canada. That’s all he knew. Other attempts to locate Jenkins were fruitless.
The police transferred the investigation to cold cases.
Jason paused for a moment and recalled when he and Allison overheard the conversation amongst the Jennings children in the hospital the day of the thwarted attack. Could it be that Brent had some twisted plan to enhance his wealth by having his own father killed, maybe paying ten thousand dollars to one of Atkins’ criminal clients? And perhaps he hoped to deflect blame by insisting his father remain on life support.
Jason logged on to the district court’s online case files database and entered Chad Jenkins in the search request. The search highlighted several criminal matters, and he expected to see Charles Atkins listed as Jenkins’ attorney of record. Instead, the attorney of record for each case was Trevor Buchwald. He didn’t recognize the name, so he searched the state bar association’s website and located his professional biography. One sentence caught his attention:
Primary legal counsel for Pacific Coast Industries.
Chapter 40.
Jason’s hunch that Brent had something to do with the attempt on his father’s life proved wrong. But why else would he pay Atkins ten grand right before it happened?
“Did you ask Brent about this?” Jason asked as he returned to the conference table.
“I would, but he’s in Miami at a business development symposium,” Margo said, adding air quotes to emphasize her sarcasm.
“A boondoggle?”
“Yes, an expensive one. He even had the nerve to charge his girlfriend’s first class airline ticket to join him. Some bullshit about couples’ social events being an important part of building business relationships.”
“Why did you bring this to me?”
“Because Brent is an entitled, arro
gant jerk who’s running this company like it’s his, and the board looks the other way.”
“When does Brent get back from Miami?”
“Not until Monday.”
“Okay, here’s what I’d like you to do.”
* * *
“Are you sure this is legal?” asked Calvin Roberts, Jennco’s chief information officer. He sat behind a laptop at Jason’s conference table, seated between Jason and Margo, with Brent Jennings’ company email on the screen. “Brent’s computer has personal emails, and I’m worried we’re invading his privacy. After all, he is the CEO.”
“The operative phrase is company computer,” Jason said. “And trust me, personal or not, anything on Brent’s computer is company property and subject to review without his consent.”
“Okay, you’re the lawyer,” Roberts said as he turned the laptop toward Jason. “I pulled up Brent’s emails, including those he deleted, from the archives. Browse at will. I’ll be in my office packing my personal belongings if you need anything else.”
Jason smiled at the jab of his legal opinion.
As Calvin stood and left the office, closing the door behind him, Jason began to peruse through the emails. He searched Atkins and consulting but found nothing to support the reason for the disbursement. He continued to scan the emails when one caught his attention. He turned to Margo.
“Does Jennco do business with any offshore banks, in particular the Cayman Islands?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Look at this,” he said as he turned the laptop so she could read the email from First Caribbean Bank of the Cayman Islands.
This is to confirm a $500,000.00 wire transfer to your
account from Citibank in Sacramento California.
* * *
“Thank you,” Jason said as the server delivered their drinks. He and Allison sat at an umbrella table on a deck overlooking the Pacific at a popular ocean-side bar near Jennco’s headquarters.
“How was your day?” she asked. “Did you meet with your boss?” She found it humorous he reported to Brent and smiled at the last comment.
“No, Brent is at an expensive business development boondoggle in Miami, eating, drinking and golfing on the company’s dime.”
“On Laura’s dime, you mean.”
“Yeah, but I had another interesting meeting today.”
“Please tell.”
“Margo Hanson, Jennco’s CFO, came to see me. She’s concerned Brent’s using Jennco to pay his personal expenses. The first example was a payment for Allen Ginsburg’s legal services.”
“What a slimeball, that’s forty percent Laura’s money.”
“I know, but there’s more. On the invoice, Ginsburg had multiple entries captioned Office conference with L. Hartwig. But the dates extend well past when Hartwig pulled his offer to buy Jennco.”
“But why else would Ginsburg meet with Hartwig?”
“I’m not sure, but he also billed time for conferences with Brent that appear to have nothing to do with estate matters. And the dates correspond with a couple of Brent’s questionable financial transactions.”
“Like what?”
“Brent had Jennco pay Charlie Atkins, a criminal defense lawyer he plays golf with every weekend, ten thousand dollars just before the attempt on Curt’s life. When the police investigated, they learned the suspect earned ten grand to do the job. And Ginsburg billed an hour for a phone conference with Brent Jennings the same day the check was issued.”
“Are you telling me Brent paid someone ten thousand dollars to kill his own father?”
“That’s what I thought, that he paid one of Atkins’ clients to do the deed. I searched the criminal court online system to see if Atkins was Chad Jenkin’s attorney. But he was represented by Trevor Buchwald.”
“Who’s Trevor Buchwald?”
“Primary legal counsel for Pacific Coast Industries.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, but there’s more.”
“Oh, I can’t wait.” She didn’t try to disguise her sarcasm.
“I found an email to Brent from a Cayman Islands bank confirming a five hundred thousand dollar wire transfer to his account. And Jennco has no offshore accounts. I’m assuming it was the proceeds from Curt’s Crummey Trust, and he deposited it in an offshore account.”
“That can’t be. I talked to Joshua yesterday. He’s eager to move to New York, but hasn’t received his Crummey Trust payment, something about the insurance company balking at the legal battle involving the estate.”
“Well then, where did Brent get a half million dollars?”
“And what was Ginsburg doing meeting with Louis Hartwig after he pulled his offer?”
Chapter 41.
“God, I miss you,” Jason said as Megan’s image appeared on his computer screen. Between her busy schedule as the Washington Post’s Hong Kong deputy bureau chief and his dealing with the Jennings’ estate matter they hadn’t Skyped since he left Grand Marais.
“I miss you too, it’s been way too long. But you look good, the California sun is casting a glow on you.”
He sensed her displeasure that he followed Allison to California. A month before he had explained everything in a lengthy email and was disappointed she hadn’t replied. He was ready to send another when he received her text she could Skype at noon California time. He cleared his calendar and told his assistant not to disturb him, regardless of the severity of any crisis.
“You’re unhappy with my decision to come to California to help an old friend, aren’t you.”
“Don’t you mean an old lover?”
“Are you jealous?” he asked, surprised by her response. But he cringed at his guilt that her concerns were real.
“No. But what if the situation were reversed?”
“It’s your fault, you know,” he said.
“How can this be my fault?” she shot back. “You’re the one who dropped everything to run to the aid of a woman you almost married a decade ago.”
“Oh, come on, Megan. I meant it as a joke, but I guess it didn’t come across that way. All I meant was that if you were with me in Grand Marais instead of being in Hong Kong, I never would have run in to Allison, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
An emotionless, silent stare told Jason his explanation did not work as he hoped.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” she replied, confirming Jason’s concern. “It’s an issue better discussed in person, not thousands of miles over the internet.”
Jason thought back to the night he slept with Allison and was overwhelmed with regret. He had to make this right.
“No, wait,” he said, trying to not sound desperate. He was about to stretch the truth to make his case, but the deception was worth saving their relationship. “Please hear me out. There is nothing between Allison and me beyond friendship. She’s happily married with three kids. Yes, we have a past, but that’s ancient history. Her situation presents an interesting, but difficult, legal conundrum, and I’m excited about resolving it for an old friend. Nothing more.”
Her expression bordered on indifference, but he hoped he misread her.
“But more than anything I want to get back to Grand Marais,” he continued. “And long for the day you join me there.”
“I suppose now is not the time to tell you about my opportunity in Moscow.”
Now Jason’s Skype image was an emotionless, silent stare.
“That’s a bad joke, right? Payback for my callas attempt at humor?”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that. They offered me the Moscow deputy bureau chief position when I’ve completed my Hong Kong assignment.”
“Are you going to accept it?”
“It’s a significant promotion.”
“That’s not the answer I was hoping for, I guess I need to look for a new first mate,” he said. His voice conveyed pain, not sarcasm
. “Besides, the Grand Marais paper filled the investigative reporter position I thought you might enjoy.”
“That’s not fair! I didn’t say I will accept, but I hoped you’d be proud of me for being offered such a prestigious position.”
Jason said nothing for a moment, absorbing the conversation.
“You’re right, I’m being selfish. It’s a significant promotion, and you should be proud. I’m just so afraid that another year apart could be the end of our relationship.”
“It’s survived this long, let’s not give up yet. I have a month to decide about Moscow, and right now I’m not sure what to do. Let’s just take it one day at a time and keep talking. And trust me, I consider this our decision, not mine.”
“Okay,” he replied, moved by her last statement. “We’ll Skype as often as we can and figure out something that works for us. And what the hell, maybe I’ll move to Moscow.”
She just smiled.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night.”
Jason sighed as his screen went dark.
Chapter 42.
“Another mimosa?” Courtney asked as she stood from her chase lounge facing the infinity pool behind their Miami Beach villa.
“Yeah, that would be great,” Brent said as he watched her walk across the patio and through the sliding glass door. Her toned, ballerina body caught his attention as she walked away, able to suntan topless given the secluded villa they shared. He and Courtney elected to spend most of their time at the villa, passing on the business development symposium that was the reason Jennco funded their trip to Miami.
Courtney returned to the pool side patio, handed Brent a mimosa, bent down and kissed him.
“Thanks honey,” Brent said.
“What’s on your mind?” Courtney asked as she returned to her chase lounge. “You seem distracted.”
“I’ve come in to some money, but I’m not proud of how I earned it. I took advantage of my position as Jennco’s CEO to do an off the books transaction. It’s been eating at me, and you’re the only one I feel I can talk to. But you need to promise you’ll keep it secret.”
