His eyelids closed as he turned to face Ben. “Sanguine has three accounting staffs, each corresponding to one of the three divisions. I’m in the franchise straight-fee department. So I never saw more than one-third of the Sanguine financial data.”
Ben wiped his brow. It was a hot day, and unlike those trotting past him on the jogging trail, he didn’t enjoy sweating. “Why the elaborate cloak-and-dagger approach to something as simple as doing the corporate books? That must have made people suspicious.”
“Not really. It’s pretty standard corporate operating procedure. It’s a nasty world out there. A lot of people would be interested in knowing how Sanguine is doing from quarter to quarter.”
“At some point, though, someone must have access to all three sets of data. Someone must compile all the financial information so that Sanguine executives can see the big picture and judge how the corporation is doing, plan for the future, pay the taxes—whatever it is executives do.”
Brancusci nodded his head. “Sure, someone. Some officer of the corporation or vice president or secret conclave of accountants. But not me. And not Adams.” His thin face turned away. “Adams wanted me to follow the paper trail and find out who had access to, as you say, the big picture.”
“And?”
“And?” Brancusci raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “And I did. Follow the trail, that is. With the assistance of a blonde, teenage office messenger who was not altogether unfriendly to me—” He paused doubtfully, as if unsure whether this was a conquest of which he should boast. “I monitored the flow of interoffice mail throughout the two-week period prior to this year’s annual meeting in Nashville. One day a thick report with numbers that didn’t come from any of the three standard accounting departments was circulated among the upper echelon. So that night …” His eyes stretched out across the water. “… what do you know, I had to work late. Walked into Sanguine’s office under the pretense of delivering something he needed, unlocked his desk with a paper clip, and swiped the report. Photocopied it, returned it, and no one was the wiser.”
Ben decided the less said about that the better. Given recent events, he was in no position to criticize. “What did you learn from the report?”
“I learned that Adams was right. A large amount of money was being diverted from the gross earnings of the corporation.”
“How large?”
“Difficult to say for certain, but it’s in the millions. I’d guess about three million dollars, over a number of years.”
Ben nodded. It was the same ball-park figure Sally Zacharias had derived.
“The diversion of funds has been concealed by a series of false invoices. Each accounting department was told that another department was receiving the missing money. A perfectly covered trail. The money is accounted for on the books, but nobody not-in-the-know knows where it’s really gone.”
“So what are the coded papers I found?”
“That was a summary I generated. Based on the information in the report I swiped from Sanguine’s desk.”
Ben paused a moment and let a black-leotarded woman, shielded from the world by a Walkman and earplugs, pass by. Then, he decided, it was time to ask the $64,000 question. “Who was getting the money?”
“I can’t say for sure. But I can tell you who wasn’t. The corporate shareholders. That was the reason for the entire elaborate deception, unless I’m greatly mistaken. Sanguine is a public corporation, you know. Based on provisions in its corporate charter, it has an obligation to pay annual dividends to shareholders when the corporation generates large gross profits. Or to report its decision not to pay dividends and explain why. But if you reduce the corporate gross profits enough, nobody expects dividends to be paid. More money for the slush fund.”
Ben took a deep breath of fresh air. All this corporate bookkeeping stuff was really over his head. At the D.A.’s office, he had avoided white-collar crime whenever possible. But, he supposed, the details weren’t important. He followed the gist of the matter. Someone was ripping off millions of dollars, and Adams found out about it.
“Why was Adams so determined to track this down?” Ben asked.
“You tell me,” Brancusci said. “I’m no shrink. But I can tell you this. Sanguine and the rest of the upper management types—they always treated Adams like dirt. He was old guard, definitely not one of the boys. Adams was with the company when Sanguine bought it and brought in his own management crew. Adams stayed on as a condition of the buy-out agreement. Evidently, it was cheaper to keep him and bear the nuisance than to pay him off. But that didn’t mean they had to like him. It didn’t mean they had to treat him like a human being.”
Brancusci bent down, lifted a small rock, and flung it into the river. It skipped on the surface four times before sinking. “Don’t be fooled by his job title. Adams was a vice president in name only. They never gave him anything important to do, and they paid him accordingly. Sanguine and his cronies were getting rich; Adams never even got a raise. No one said anything, but the fact was they were trying to hound him into quitting the job he didn’t really have anyway. I mean, this whole slush fund is a perfect example. By title, Adams was one of only five vice presidents in a multimillion-dollar public corporation. He should’ve had access to all important financial papers. But he didn’t. He didn’t know what was going on. They kept him locked out.”
Ben wiped his brow again. The weather was uncommonly hot, and the air seemed thin and hard to breathe. “Adams was going to blackmail Sanguine, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. He was going to do something with the information, that’s for damn sure. Something to improve his current station in life.”
“And what about you? You seem to have incurred a great deal of risk in this business. What was in it for you?”
Brancusci gazed out at the river. Then he said quietly, almost under his breath, “Let’s just say I have a strong distaste for injustice. And poverty.”
Ben pulled the summary out of his jacket pocket. “There’s a coded notation in the left-hand column on the second page.” Ben pointed to the line on the ledger. “It’s marked Ca-Em. Is that a reference to Emily?”
“I don’t know. I copied it like I found it. Could stand for anything. Obviously, it’s in code, and I wasn’t privy to the key.” He scrutinized the summary. “It appears to be grouped with other corporate real estate holdings in Tulsa. I’m almost certain this item three lines above is the office lease payment for our Tulsa headquarters. I recognize the amount.”
He continued to study the summary. “Ca-Em. Four hundred and seventeen dollars and forty-six cents. The same every month. Might be a mortgage payment or installment payment on some property. Kind of small, though. I’d bet it’s a rental or lease payment.”
“You may have to testify, you realize.”
Brancusci stopped walking. Although he faced the river, Ben could see the panicked expression in his eyes. “No way in hell I’m going to testify. I’ve already spilled everything I know. Personally, I liked Adams and felt sorry for him, and I want to see his killer caught as much as anybody. Maybe more. If I didn’t care about the old man, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. But I can’t testify. If anyone even finds out I’ve spoken to you—”
“If you’ll produce the report you based the summary upon, a personal statement may be unnecessary. But if you don’t, I guarantee you that either I or the police will slap a subpoena on you. And if you lie under oath, I’ll see that you do time for perjury. Your choice. The penitentiary in McAlester is a nasty place.”
Brancusci grimaced. “My choice, huh? Yeah, right. I should’ve expected to get screwed again.” After a moment, he resumed walking down the jogging trail. “I’ll give you the damn report. Give me your phone number. I’ll call you when I’m ready. We’ll arrange another meeting. Nothing personal, but I don’t want you to be seen at my apartment.”
Ben pulled a business card out of his wallet and gave it to the accountant.
“One more thing before you run off,” Ben said. “Who was in a position to know about this slush fund and profit from it?”
“Hell, I bet they all knew about it. All the vice presidents, except Adams. The only way to keep them quiet would be to, well, share the wealth. But only one person could have authorized it. The one person it would be absolutely impossible to leave in the dark. Sanguine.”
He turned to look at Ben and, for the first time, his eyes opened. “Your client.”
27
“YOU THINK HE KNEW more than he was telling?” Christina asked.
“I don’t know,” Ben answered. “He told a hell of a lot.”
Christina and Ben sat behind closed doors in Ben’s office. Ben had told her everything he’d learned from Brancusci.
“He should have called me back by now,” Ben muttered. “I wonder what’s taking him so long?”
“Probably can’t find his papers. You know how accountants are. Offices always a mess. Desks cluttered with papers and slide rules and IRS regulations. Don’t worry. Probably spilled coffee on the documents and had to blow-dry them in the bathroom.”
Ben sank back into his chair. “Look, Christina, I know you’re trying to be cheery, and I appreciate it, but really—don’t bother. I’m not in a good mood.”
Christina fidgeted with the papers in her hands. She was wearing a black leather skirt with offsetting burgundy hose.
Her strawberry hair was pulled back and twisted in a strange cross between a French braid and a librarian’s bun.
“I was told the hearing wasn’t all that bad, and that you displayed a certain … panache.” She paused. “I heard it wasn’t your fault.”
“You heard wrong. I should’ve told the judge about Emily’s condition in the first ten seconds of opening statement. But I didn’t. I was afraid that if the judge thought she was handicapped, he would insist that she be placed in an institution.” He rubbed his hand against his forehead. “I made a judgment call. And I was wrong.”
“You did your best.”
“My client didn’t ask me to do my best. She asked me to make it possible for her to adopt a child.”
“Well, anyway. Comme çi, comme ça. What can I do for you now?”
“Find out what that Ca-Em item represents. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe Em is short for Embassy or Emmanuel or Empire State Building. But I don’t think so. Somehow all of this has to tie together.”
“You want me to call every apartment complex and condo rental property in town?”
“Well, start with the apartments and duplexes in the metro area. Do it systematically. I think one of the legal assistants in real estate could come up with a list of Tulsa rental properties.”
“Raven has an ongoing business relationship with the Jeanne Graham realty agency,” Christina said. “We use them to find apartments and houses for summer clerks and new lawyers. I bet they can help.”
“Good.” A tiny light was returning to Ben’s eyes. He’d been hesitant to assign this chore to Christina because it seemed impossibly large. Christina, however, already made it seem not only possible, but easy. “Use them. If anybody hesitates to provide rent information over the phone, give them some song and dance about being with the Tulsa Credit Union. Or maybe the IRS. Nobody wants to irritate the IRS. Tell them you need this information to complete your audit of one of their tenants blah blah blah. Of course, sir, if you’d rather, we can just audit you. …”
“I get the picture, boss.”
“Go to it.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Maggie gave me this phone message on my way in. Your mother would like you to return her call.”
Ben took the pink memo slip from Christina and crumpled it in his hand.
“Must be important, huh?” Christina said. “She’s called several times since you’ve been here.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Ben said abruptly.
Christina’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing while I’m playing Nancy Drew on the telephone?”
“I’m going to visit Joseph Sanguine again. I think this new case assignment will give me a perfect excuse.”
“Shouldn’t you okay that with Derek first?”
“Can’t. He’s not in the office. Maggie says he had an acute asthma attack. Had to be taken to the hospital.”
“Couldn’t happen to a sweeter guy.”
Ben allowed himself a small smile. “Anything else?”
“I guess you’ve heard about Alvin.”
Ben sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard about Alvin. How did you find out?”
“Ben, you should know by now that you can’t keep secrets from me.”
“Do him a favor, Christina. Don’t spread it any further than it’s already gone.”
“Why? Oh, you just don’t want anyone to find out the firm has another ruthless seducer of women, right?”
Ben looked at her stonily.
“Well,” she said, quickly rising to her feet, “I can’t sit around all afternoon making small talk. I’ve got a couple thousand people to call, give or take a few slumlords—”
“Christina,” he said, stopping her. “Thanks. I mean, for everything. This, and the other night and, well, everything.”
Christina touched him lightly on the shoulder. “My pleasure. Just don’t let me catch you at the Red Parrot with any other chicks.”
“No danger there.”
“One question, though. Who do I bill my time to now? The adoption hearing is over. That billing matter is closed.”
Ben arched his neck and loosened his shirt collar. “It’s not over till I say it’s over,” he said. He was embarrassed at having said something so trite, but he meant every word of it. He couldn’t just give up. There had to be something else he could do. Something he could do right.
28
AS HE PASSED THROUGH the double doors into the main lobby of Sanguine headquarters, Ben noted that new high-tech, double-bolt locks had been installed. What could have prompted that? he wondered. He smiled. Of course, even high-tech, double-bolt locks are of little value when the thieves have keys.
He gave his name to the receptionist, who instructed him to go on upstairs. He entered the elevator and punched the second-floor button.
He was surprised to have gotten an appointment to see Sanguine so easily. Before he left the office, he asked Maggie to call ahead and tell Sanguine he was coming. He expected to have a long wait. Perhaps Maggie saves all her charm for telephone conversations, he mused. Or did Sanguine have some reason for wanting to see Ben?
Tidwell met Ben as soon as he reached the second floor.
“Mr. Sanguine has penciled in some time for you starting in just a few minutes. You’re lucky to see him at all. Mr. Sanguine is a very busy man. I’ve already reported to Mr. Sanguine regarding the … uh, adoption hearing,” Tidwell added, clearing his throat.
“Tattletale,” Ben muttered.
“So if you’ve come to discuss that with him …”
“No,” Ben said firmly. “Haven’t you heard? I’m working on a new Sanguine matter now. Big lawsuit in Vancouver.”
Tidwell was visibly taken aback. He ran a hand across his balding scalp. “Vancouver?” he said. “I thought Bryce Chambers was handling that.”
“Nope. Seems Sanguine just can’t get enough of me.”
“Hmm.” Tidwell seemed lost in thought. “Say, you know why New Jersey has all the toxic waste dumps and Washington, D.C., has all the lawyers?”
“No. Nor do I care.”
Tidwell sniffed. “New Jersey got first choice.”
A loud buzzing noise sounded within Sanguine’s office. “Mr. Sanguine will see you now.”
Ben walked quickly to the door, cutting Tidwell off. Ben entered the office first and, without waiting to be invited, seated himself in the mahogany chair he had occupied on his prior visit.
“I have some papers that require your signature,” Tidwell said as he walked behind the huge desk and stood beside his mentor. Although h
e was speaking to Sanguine, Ben noticed that his eye never strayed far from Ben. “Final drafts of the shareholder prospectuses. I’ve already proofread them.”
Sanguine glanced at the papers for a nanosecond, signed each in two places, and handed the papers back to Tidwell.
“Also,” Tidwell added, “I believe I’ve found a suitable location for our prospective Fort Smith franchise.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Sanguine said dismissively.
After Tidwell left, Ben and Sanguine stared at one another in silence for several moments.
“Mr. Sanguine,” Ben said at last, breaking the ice.
“Call me Joe.”
“Joe.” The first-name address was instinctively uncomfortable to Ben, but it would be even more uncomfortable to refuse after receiving such a gracious invitation. “There are a few matters regarding this Vancouver matter I wanted to discuss with you. You could take the offensive and sue DeAmato here in Tulsa. Based on the Burger King v. Rudzewicz precedent, the court will have personal jurisdiction over the parties. If we wait and he sues us first, he’ll almost certainly sue in Vancouver, and you’ll be stuck with the difficult choice of law questions, venue problems, and the necessity of hiring Canadian lawyers to act as local counsel. The whole operation will probably double in cost. Fighting a case out-of-state, much less out-of-the-country, is always more expensive.”
Sanguine leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet onto his desk. “I sense an on the other hand approaching.”
If nothing else, Sanguine understood lawyers. “On the other hand, all DeAmato probably really wants is out of her franchise license agreement. All this stuff about fraud and Sherman Act violations and punitive damages and so forth is just smoke. She just wants out.”
Ben opened his briefcase and removed a manila file folder. “Taking this thing to the trial stage would consume large amounts of money and time, and even if you won at trial, you wouldn’t get much in damages. I believe you should consider cutting your losses, saving the litigation costs, and giving the woman what she wants. Set her free. Cancel the franchise agreement and start a new operation with someone else. There must be jillions of would-be breakfast food entrepreneurs in Vancouver.”
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