Lunch forgotten, Caterina forged on. This was becoming interesting.
A thought occurred to her. She dug out her phone and wrote down some numbers. After looking for the scudo exchange rate and not finding this, she went to ask the VCCC Operations people.
“One,” they replied.
“What do you mean, ‘One’?”
“One scudo is worth 1.2 Euros or 1.55 US dollars, etc. Here is a list for the conversions we currently operate.”
“I get it. I think. Grazie.” She left them, thinking while returning to the conference room: “I guess it makes sense to convert everything to your own base. That’s what the Americans would do for the US dollar.”
Revisiting the text file some of the numbers began to have meaning. They were in pairs and not much different to those that she’d been given. Picking up her smartphone, Caterina opened the calculator function. Hypothetically she mused, what happens if US $100 million is flowing though this system daily and you doctor the scudo rate by one third of 1 per cent? She did the maths. $300,000. That was too big, around $9 million in a thirty-day month. Missing this much couldn’t have gone unnoticed.
She saw her mistake. It was $100 million a week, not a day. At 1 per cent that was a little more than $150,000 a day. At a tenth of 1 per cent it was more like $15,000 a day. The latter felt nearer the right ball park though it added up to over $2.5 million a year. She went back to the text file and wrote down the figures against the print-out of the scudo official rates.
They were not exact. Some were a little higher, some a little lower. Suddenly inspiration arrived. Caterina averaged out the changes for the US dollar, Canadian dollar, euro, British pound, and Mexican peso … and they were out almost exactly a tenth of 1 per cent. Eureka! It couldn’t be coincidence.
She was about to call Conor when she thought better of it. Caterina didn’t want another dressing down like Davide had given her before when she was too hasty. She’d hated it. But, annoyingly, he’d been right. Now to find some supporting evidence for her theory.
Saturday, the Vatican
Nelson waited for Michele to arrive. The news from Davide shocked him. While he knew that Severino – he could no longer think of him as Michele – had been stealing from the church, the revelation that he had been caught out after saying he had told all was almost unbelievable. The sins of man and all that … Even so, he knew that he must exercise charity, hard as that would be, when it was the very opposite of Severino’s behaviour.
A gentle knock on the door was his prompt to stand. Father Federico entered, announcing that Monsignor Severino and Mr Laoghaire had arrived and were on their way to his apartment. Father Federico asked what to do.
“Just show them in. We will start by making it look as if all is normal.”
Father Federico went back to his desk. Minutes later Michele and Conor appeared.
“Your Eminence, Monsignor Severino and Mr Laoghaire are here.”
He held the door open for them.
“Buon giorno, to you both. We have not met Mr. Laoghaire. Paulino, however, speaks well of you.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence.”
Both Conor and Michele bent to kiss Nelson’s ring of office.
“Please sit down. Now, Monsignor Severino, would you like to explain yourself?”
Michele had known this interview was inevitable and going to be difficult. The formality of address and the cold voice of da Ferraz told him it would be more unpleasant than he feared. Part of him still hoped da Ferraz might just defrock him and expel him from the church. That way he would at least escape these surroundings, might quietly return to Chicago and, after a suitable period of lying low, emerge to enjoy at least that one last one fruit of his efforts.
He began to talk.
Nelson probed with penetrating questions, not so much about what he had done but why and how did Michele account to his soul for such misdeeds. The interrogation went on and on, with Conor saying little unless asked to confirm a particular point. Finally, Nelson seemed satisfied.
“Have you, Monsignore, told all? Would you like to confess? Remember confession is an accounting of all sins. Are you truly remorseful? Have you rejected the sins you have committed, told me everything and resolved not to commit them again? Are you willing to show God that your sorrow is genuine and authentic, to be truly sorry and to refuse to commit these behaviours again?”
“I have told all, Your Eminence. I reject what I have done and am truly sorry. If you will hear my confession I will be eternally grateful.”
Nelson paused. Michele wondered if this was the moment when he would be expelled from the church or whether that would come after formal confession.
“Monsignore, are you certain you have told everything?”
“I am.”
Conor was struck dumb by the authority in Nelson’s voice. Echoes of his childhood rattled around his head.
“May I ask, then, how you explain a certain apartment in Chicago, near the Lake I am told?”
Michele cringed. How could da Ferraz possibly know? There was only one credible way. It must have been that deposit for the first rental, which had gone into his personal bank account before being reversed, and marked as an error when he had told the bank and the person renting. Now all he could feel was shame, an overwhelming guilt at what he had done.
He looked up to see da Ferraz waiting, coldly but not inhumanely.
“We all sin. Your sins may have been financially large but all sins truly repented for in the eyes of Our Lord can be forgiven if true contrition exists.”
“Your Eminence, I was wrong. I would be happy to donate that apartment to the church, if it will help.”
“Your generosity is accepted.
“Mr. Laoghaire, is there anything else that you think Monsignor Severino has forgotten?”
Conor shook his head, not daring to say a word.
“I shall ask you to leave now, Mr Laoghaire, so that the Monsignore may confess to me. Monsignore Severino has been a good, if not faithful, servant. He has worked diligently and well in making the Santofonino so successful for our church. Thankfully he is a servant of the church and together with your efforts we know that the reputation of the Santofonino and church will not be harmed. The Monsignore will be available to you if you have more questions. Father Federico will show you out.”
Conor rose, again kissed Nelson’s ring to receive a blessing. He left the study to join Father Federico. Both walked in silence to the exit from the Vatican.
Saturday, Monteverde
Davide was by himself in their workroom. It would not be needed much longer and he had agreed with the Residence Monteverde to vacate it by the middle of the following week. Caterina was, thankfully, with her beloved machines in the Vatican. Conor was somewhere, probably digging further into Caterina’s discovery of Severino’s Chicago apartment. That was an unexpected turn up. Caterina had done well, though that still did not make him like her.
He had a problem on his mind that he did not feel he could really share with anyone else. He’d been going through the system design for the VCCC when a tangential thought occurred and he was pretty sure Nelson would not be happy if his calculations proved correct.
For the third time he was checking both his assumptions and those calculations. If a confession takes, on average, six minutes that meant one priest could hear ten confessions per hour. If a shift at the VCCC was eight hours, to keep the arithmetic simple, then a priest could take eighty confessions per shift. Put another way, this meant that a single VCCC call centre desk could support three shifts per day or 240 confessions. Make that 250 confessions per day.
No, that was not quite the right way to think about this.
If a priest could hear eighty confessions per shift, did one shift per day and worked seven days a week, then in that week he would hear 560 confessions, say 500 confessions per week.
What numbers had Nelson used? He was pretty sure he remembered the figure of one million confessi
ons per week from Europe and one million from Mexico. If one priest could hear 500 confessions per week that meant the VCCC needed 4,000 priests and some 1,500 call centre desks for two million confessions per week. This was pretty much what he had seen in the two main call centre rooms in Rome.
But – and this was the rub – what happened if the Santofonino’s popularity continued to climb?
Assume it doubles for the existing European and North American figures, quadruples for the Mexican ones, and add five million for the rest of the world. That totals eleven million confessions per week, which would require 22,000-25,000 priests working eight hours shifts around the clock.
How many priests did the church have? Some quick research on the Internet indicated about 400,000, which was down from twenty years before, though not as much as he expected. Yet in those twenty years the number of Roman Catholics worldwide had doubled. 25,000 priests to hear confession was clearly possible. But if the numbers doubled again there would be difficulties.
The key was the number of confessions per shift. If that could be raised it would make a big difference. Perhaps the VCCC staff’s thoughts for increased automation on the Santofonino were not so silly after all.
He wondered if Nelson knew the extent of the potential challenge. He must, mustn’t he? On reflection he wasn’t so sure. Buying more VCCC seats would be under control but finding sufficient priests might not be so easy. He decided to mention this to Nelson next time they met, if a suitable opportunity occurred.
His smartphone rang. It was Conor.
“Could we meet in the VCCC in half an hour? Caterina may have made another breakthrough.”
Saturday, Central Rome
Conor, Caterina and Davide waited in the VCCC conference room at nearly nine in the evening. They expected Nelson imminently, having disturbed him at a formal reception to inform him they could now provide him with the substance to confirm his fears. He had insisted on coming over immediately.
Though Conor had been with Nelson earlier in the day he was nervous. Caterina was as well. She had heard so much about the cardinal but had not met him. Worse still, in her own eyes, she was a mess – dirty, unkempt and in sweaty clothes that showed she had been wearing them for over twelve hours. She hoped her parents were not looking down. They would be aghast at her appearing like this before a cardinal. Only the irritating Davide appeared relaxed. The difference was he had eaten with the cardinal, which must remove most inhibitions.
They were not talking. Occasionally Caterina would check her systems to see if anything had changed. Predictably nothing had. They heard noises down the corridor and suddenly in swept Nelson accompanied by Father Federico. On this occasion he was in his full cardinal’s robes, a riot of red and formality.
“Good evening, Yrmnts.”
Conor and Caterina looked at Davide and then at each other. What on earth was Davide playing at? What was this ‘Yrmnts’?
“You have met Conor Laoghaire, Yrmnts. This is his assistant from Australia, Caterina Certaldo.”
Conor and Caterina knelt to kiss the proffered ring of office. As before, Davide did not, which seemed to amuse Nelson while annoying Father Federico.
“Tell me what you have found. Did I understand correctly that you can estimate the monetary damage? Can our problems be resolved?”
Conor had already indicated that Davide should take the lead, calling on himself and Caterina where needed. Davide stepped up to the task.
He began by reviewing the conspirators and their roles and motivations. He next described how key pieces of information had come from Monsignor Severino whose opening-up had been facilitated by what Ms Smith and the Condesa had each told them.
Nelson interrupted: “He is no longer Monsignore Severino but simply Padre. Except for any additional access to him that you need he has from today taken up a cloistered life in a quiet though not silent Order of Mendicants in Rome where he will do at least two years of penance of a form yet to be chosen. He does seem truly repentant. I hope so. Time will tell. Pray, please continue, Davide.”
Davide turned to the systems part of the story, crediting Caterina with making several discoveries. The most obvious was to see the significance of that one deposit in Severino’s bank account, from which Conor was able to nail down the details that in turn completed the picture where the ex-Monsignore was concerned. Less obvious but probably more important was Caterina’s finding of the back door to the payments system and what that opened up once she started digging. He took Nelson through an abbreviated discussion of how Caterina deduced the significance of the tiny text file that arrived every day for the ever-so-slightly incorrect conversion rates applied to and from scudos and her inspired guess that the other data related to delaying payment transactions. From what she and Conor had pieced together this was highly ingenious and almost impossible to detect. In effect what Weizmann must have introduced was a timing mechanism so that a Santofonino contribution was approved by the credit card company but was seen by the VCCC to be taking too long to process. By some means that was not yet wholly clear, these ‘lost’ payments were credited entirely to the conspirators. Not many seemed to happen per day but they added up because the whole confessional contribution was diverted. The data in the text file seemed to generate the small number of these to process each day and what the timing should be. Clumping a few together, while having nothing happen for 99 per cent of the day, was an ingenious obfuscation strategy.
By the time he had finished this Nelson was looking impatient. He restrained himself and addressed Caterina.
“According to Paulino beforehand and to Davide just now, you have done an amazing job. Thank you in the name of our church.” He stopped. “Rather than going through more of the ‘how’ detail, which I don’t I really need to understand, can you prevent the misdirection? Is it still happening?”
Davide replied: “We think we can stop it, again courtesy of Caterina.” Davide went through the unorthodox approach that Caterina had thought up that afternoon. This was to use that same back door to insert a text file but her version would have the correct foreign exchange values and zeroes for the number of transactions to delay. He explained this was not an ideal solution but it had the merit of nullifying the misdirection, while not requiring changes to what was otherwise a proven and working system, at least until somebody could look at the detailed programming. Whether it would work would be seen by what monies did, or didn’t, arrive in the secret bank accounts of Miriam and Severino, though this could mean some further payments to Opus Dei and Weizmann until they were sure all was rendered useless.
“It seems our church must thank you again, my daughter.”
Caterina flushed with pleasure. She felt sure that her parents, if they were watching her, would forgive her for the way she looked. It was not often one was thanked twice in twenty minutes by a cardinal. She anticipated the pleasure of telling Emilia, until realising that she would never be able to, as they would be bound by confidentiality to protect the Santofonino and the church. She could live with that in the glow that the cardinal’s words were giving her.
“Now let me address the big question that remains, namely how much was taken? The simple answer is we don’t know for sure and may never know.”
Davide saw disappointment flash across Nelson’s face.
“It’s not quite so bad, however, thanks to Conor’s questions to Ms Smith and the Condesa. Through their opening of their accounts to us we know what they each received. Conor’s interviews with Severino produced information about the agreed split of the misdirected funds. This was 10 per cent for Ms Smith for her father’s fundamentalist sect, 20 per cent for Severino, some of which went into charitable funds, and 35 per cent each for Weizmann and the Condesa’s Opus Dei.”
Nelson winced. There was going to be a problem with the last one; he could feel it in his bones.
“We know that Ms Smith received a little over $2 million in total. If the percentage shares hold up that means the
four conspirators obtained about $20 million over the past several years, in which time the Santofonino has ‘raised’ over $9 billion. In one sense the amount stolen is enormous and in another it’s tiny within the bigger picture.”
“You sound hesitant; a little uncertain?”
“Yes, Yrmnts, I do. Conor picked this up. Severino has had doubts for some time about whether Weizmann was taking more than he was letting on. The figures from his, Ms Smith’s and the Condesa’s bank accounts as well as Severino’s confirm their percentage splits and the totals. But we have no such confirmation for Weizmann. He could’ve been taking more. That’s why Caterina’s exploitation of the back door is so ingenious. Providing we’ve understood correctly, then any additional that was being diverted simply stops when the parameters are tweaked to zero. I’m sorry, Nels – Yrmnts – but we do have occasionally to enter gobbledygook land.”
“I understand. Well, I don’t, not really. But I see where you’re taking me. So the damage to the church is a known twenty-plus million dollars with an additional unknown amount if Weizmann was taking more. Is that a fair summary?”
“Actually, no, it’s not, Yrmnts.”
Father Federico looked scandalised. Few dared tell his master to his face that he was wrong. Even Conor and Caterina looked concerned at such bluntness, though they already knew what Davide was about to say.
“Ms Smith had considerably more than $1 million in her account, which will return to the church. Almost $6 million that went to Opus Dei is still technically within the church. The Condesa appears to have been an acute investor. She grew this to over $11 million. Would Yrmnts consider an idea?” Nelson nodded, fascinated in spite of himself. “You could require Opus to return the principal yet keep the investment income the Condesa earned. Might that keep both sides ‘happy’?”
The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis Page 36
