Having Fun with Mr. Wrong

by Celia T. Franklin

  “Don’t give up hope because culpability has to be proven in the case. We don’t know all the circumstances yet; however, it is my understanding that there were some shenanigans surrounding the accident that may have caused the girl to fall and be ridden over by her horse—”

  “Regardless, we have to offer money to the parents to assist with her medical care. I’ll call them and ask them to work with you and Bert on a preliminary figure.”

  “I’m not so sure you want to be getting too friendly, Michael. You may be revealing too much about your guilty conscience, and that won’t be good for—”

  “John, as for the pending lawsuit, you do your thing. I’ll do mine,” Michael said, his mind racing with ideas to make things up to the Cronin family. To hell with the money.

  The men agreed to do as charged, and he walked out. Dejection seeped through to the very fibers of his being. He hoped the next meeting, with CFO Roger Wilkson, would be uneventful. After meeting with Roger, Michael decided he’d call it a day and visit the Cronin girl at the hospital.

  Roger’s office was in the corner opposite his own, facing the Intracoastal Waterway. Michael peered through the side window next to the closed door. Roger was talking on the phone, his face twisted in concentration. He saw Michael and waved him in. Michael sat on the leather-bound chair opposite Roger while he finished his call.

  “Okay, Eric, I’ll get those payments in order by the end of the month.” Roger rubbed his eyes, then opened a drawer, and riffled through files. He pulled out a folder and placed it on his desk. “Right, I need to finish our reconciliations, and I’ll call you.” He started keying something on his computer. “We’ll figure it out. Michael’s here now. I got it. Goodbye.” Roger slammed down the phone with a loud thud and looked at Michael.

  “What the hell’s going on, Roger?”

  “I, ah…I’m not sure. Something is not right.”

  Michael’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. What else could possibly go wrong?

  He’d known Roger a lot of years. He’d never seen him look so worried. He braced himself for the bad news. “Lay it on me, man.”

  Roger glanced down at his charts and fumbled for one. Obviously finding what he’d been searching for, he turned his attention toward Michael. “At first I didn’t have cause for concern. We expected more debt obligations, due to the expansion. But, even with shorter cash flow, I wouldn’t expect the account balances to be shrinking so quickly.”

  Shit. Something was seriously wrong. Could someone have tapped into the company coffers? No, it couldn’t be. In all the years in business, no employee had ever stolen from him. Most of his employees had been with him over ten years. “How could this happen?”

  “I conducted a personal audit of our operating accounts, and they were clean. The irregularity occurred with a series of small money transfers throughout the year to the offshore account.” Cleary uncomfortable, Roger shifted in his seat.

  “Who authorized them?” Michael snapped. “And what’s the total damage?”

  Roger looked at his desk and didn’t meet Michael’s gaze for a minute. “This account is for operations we once ran in the United Kingdom many years ago. Maddox Industries signed a joint venture with a foreign entity for the procurement and distribution of Clydesdale horses. However, it hasn’t been active in many years.”

  “Get to the point, Roger.”

  “Because I’m an officer and, ah…” Roger pulled out his hankie out and wiped his brow. “I found out certain facts. But I have no access to the offshore account. Since the transactions were technically authorized, they went under the radar.”

  “What’s the total damage?” Michael snapped.

  “The sum total of the withdrawals is close to two million dollars. Mike, the whole thing threw us for a loop. The initial transactions were relatively small amounts. Then the bank alerted us to a couple of large transfers out of the account only yesterday. Those would have been picked up on the monthly reconciliation, but it’s just the thirteenth—”

  “What’s the balance now?”

  “Slightly under fifty thou.”

  “Unbelievable. Who the hell is the culprit?”

  “Mike, this isn’t going to be easy. Maybe there’s an explanation. I can’t see—”

  “Spit it out!” Michael’s face burned from the anger fuming inside of him.

  “One of the original signers on the offshore account is Anabel Hardy. And she’s still an officer here. So I think that’s why the small transfers flew under the radar. Everyone thought it was legit.”

  “I know she’s an officer, dammit. I made her one twenty years ago.”

  Anabel Hardy, his wife’s maiden name, was on the offshore account because back then Michael had needed her credit rating for the joint venture. She was on at least one, if not more operating accounts of several of the US operations as well. This dated to the beginning of the business operations.

  What in the hell was going on? Anabel had been around, drunk, but around. Everything seemed as normal as usual.

  Michael jumped up and paced the office. “I don’t get it. What could she possibly do with all that money?”

  “She’s been poking around a bit. I didn’t think anything of it, but we’ve received a few calls lately, inquiring as to how much we’re spending on the polo school project, and…well, she found out about the lawsuit. She made the large transfers sometime after her last call.”

  Michael’s mouth ran dry. This couldn’t have happened.

  Roger continued, “Maybe she thought that you’d lose the lawsuit, and she wanted to clean you out before someone else did.”

  “You didn’t happen to notice the large drop in the operating account balance? You could have curtailed whatever Anabel was doing if you’d brought it to my attention sooner!” Michael’s mind swam with angry thoughts. Roger had been asleep on the job. There was simply no excuse.

  Roger held his hands up. “I’m sorry about this, Mike. Honestly…”

  Michael could see the man in front of him literally cringing. “Who are the individuals responsible for the operating account reconciliation?”

  “I take one-hundred-percent responsibility, Mike. I review all of the reconciliations before the end of the month. I…I don’t know what got into me or how I could have overlooked this.” Now profusely sweating, Roger loosened his tie.

  Michael had no choice, he had to let Roger go. The oversight was insurmountable, and God knew where else he’d slip up. He’d been a solid performer for a lot of years, but this was inexcusable. Roger had fucked up. Royally.

  “You’ve been here a long time, Roger, but this is unacceptable.” He attempted to keep his voice calm. “I need your keys and for you to clean out your desk immediately.

  “I can’t say I blame you. I…I expected you’d have to do this.” Roger blotted his forehead again. “It’s just, I have a family and kids to support…”

  “This oversight could possibly cost the business. I’m afraid I’ll have to let the accountants who report to you go as well. I have no choice, Roger. It’s business.”

  “Mike, I take responsibility for this. It’s not the other guys’ fault.”

  “Like I said, Roger, it’s business.” The whole lot of them had missed the irregularities, which should have come up in an ordinary daily balance review. “I’ll handle Anabel. Regardless, I can’t trust the accounting to you or your staff any longer. Now, you’ll need to call the staff in here immediately. And I’m sorry, but you understand it’s standard operating procedure in cases like this. I’ll have to call in security to escort you out.”

  Roger nodded. He called the staff accountants and ordered them to his office immediately.

  Michael pulled his cell out and dialed. “Security, get Paul up to Roger’s office.”

  Paul from security arrived with two other guards. They’ve never had to escort one employee out, let alone five, but Michael simply had no other choice. Friendship and loyalty aside, this was
one goddamned oversight.

  Now he’d deal with Anabel. Obviously, she’d had plans that didn’t include him.

  ****

  Michael had the locks to his building changed, and when everyone had gone for the day, he headed home.

  He entered his mansion and almost slipped on the fresh dog poop on the tiled floor at the entrance.

  Damned dogs. She loved them so much she let them shit all over. He pulled his shoes off and screamed, “Mirta, are you here?”

  No answer. He glanced at his watch. It was past six. The maid had obviously gone home.

  Where the hell was Anabel? Probably passed out drunk somewhere.

  He stalked through the sprawling eight-thousand-plus-square-foot house, searching for Anabel. He finally caught sight of her out of their bedroom window. She sat in a chaise lounge by the pool.

  Heart pounding, not knowing exactly how he’d approach her, he made his way downstairs and out onto the patio. She wore a huge sunhat and flowing floral dress, and one of the damned dogs slept on her lap. The ever-present glass of pinot rested in her hand, while she chatted amiably on the phone.

  She gazed up at him with alarm. “Oh, Patty, sorry. Michael’s home now. I gotta go.” She paused. “Yes, I’ll see you there. Ciao for now.”

  Anger clogged his mind, and he didn’t know where to begin.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” Anabel asked while petting the fur ball in her lap.

  “Oh, I don’t know. My business seems to be falling apart. We’re in serious financial trouble. Know anything about it?” He sat on the chair next to her and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “I know about the lawsuit. They’ll settle. That’s why you buy insurance. And today the economic news on the growth rate revealed—”

  “Anabel, approximately two million dollars has been taken out of the offshore account following a series of transfers made from the operating accounts over the past year. By you, I might add, since you’re the only one on the account. Do you care to explain?”

  She put her Maltese down but not the glass and took a deep pull before speaking.

  “I see I’ve been found out. Discretion was never one of my strong suits.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I’m leaving you.” She paused for apparent dramatic effect.

  Michael sat speechless.

  “I’m not even your bed partner. So why would you be surprised? When was the last time, dear? Should I add, when was the last time with me? I’m finished with you. I simply feathered my nest with a few bucks before I left you.”

  Michael took a moment to register what she’d said. No real surprise. He’d expected their farce of a marriage to come to this one day. He just hadn’t expected her to steal two million dollars from him in the process. Hell. Why now, though? “A couple mill is a few bucks?”

  “I don’t think that would be unreasonable in the eyes of a divorce court, given the lofty business risks you’ve taken with our money. I mean, a polo school? Really? That’s not going to make you any money. You’re already looking at a lawsuit.” She paused a moment, seeming to search for words. “I am a signer on those accounts, and I’m still an officer of your precious organization. No, let me correct that statement. I’m an officer in our organization. Did you forget that it is, in fact, ours, honey?” She drank down the rest of her drink, almost falling off the lounge chair. Her sun hat slipped to the side of her head. Bright red lipstick smeared across her teeth.

  What a ridiculous sight. She sickened him.

  “Not for long, Anabel. No divorce court will look kindly at your actions. A responsible officer of a corporation doesn’t wipe the operating account dry. Obviously, you had other plans than business, and I plan to sue you for the money back. Make no mistake. Do you realize I had to fire most of my accounting staff today? Men and women I’ve trusted. All because of you.”

  She laughed, apparently delighted with the chaos she’d caused.

  “You’re drunk, again. How can you expect to have a relationship with me? Your relationship is with this.” He knocked the silver Tiffany cooler holding her bottle of pinot grigio off the table. It bounced on the cement and rolled to a stop.

  She tried to get up from the chaise lounge, but stumbled and fell. Her precious Maltese dogs ran up to her, whimpering, and licked her face.

  He watched her in disgust and didn’t bother to help her up.

  “You’ve become a pathetic mess, Anabel. We don’t go out anymore because of your drunken sloppiness. You’re an embarrassment. I’ve pleaded with you to get help, but you’ve refused.”

  She stood, losing her balance, but regained it and in an attempt to appear in control, she straightened her hat. Literally helpless. She retrieved the wine bottle that had rolled to the edge of the screen enclosure and dumped the last of it into her glass. “You’re the one who’s going to need help, Michael. Because I’m divorcing you. And I’m not going away quietly. By the time I’m through with you and your business, there will be no Maddox Industries. I’ll get the best lawyer in town, and you’ll be leaving Palm Beach in disgrace.”

  “We’ll see who leaves Palm Beach in disgrace, Anabel. My bet is it won’t be me.”

  Without further argument, he left the mess that once had been his loving partner and wife and went to his bedroom. Michael packed his suitcase. He’d go to New York for the weekend. He called his pilot to get the jet ready. Then he phoned his lawyer to set the wheels in motion to press charges against Anabel and prepare for a nasty divorce settlement. He’d rebuild his business. As for Anabel, she’d abandoned him years ago. There was no fixing what was left of their marriage.

  Nor did he want to. He was moving on. Finally.

  ****

  Guido worked tirelessly at the World Trade Center construction site. He loved being the foreman on the job, but hell if Carmala didn’t haunt his thoughts every minute on the job site. Even though it was late March, the day was an unusually cold one. Yet it was a Friday, always good. For what, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he had any special plans or anything.

  Kevin Colby, the super who reported to him on the job, bounced over to him. “Come on, Guid. The last beam is being lifted now. Photo ops and signing time. The camera crew is calling for the foreman.”

  Guido had to admit he was very proud of his current job. They were lifting the last beam on the World Trade Center, Tower One, the largest tower of the WTC site.

  The crew of twenty construction workers, a few hire-up managers, the press, and a large crowd behind police barricades watched as the very last beam was lifted to the one-hundred-and-second floor. The American flag flew boldly at the top, as well as it should.

  A news reporter anchored for a spot in front. After the beam was placed, he faced the cameraman. “Folks, we’ve just witnessed the last beam placement for World Trade Tower One.” He turned toward Guido, “This is Guido Cortollo, the foreman on the World Trade rebuild. How does it feel seeing the job finally complete?”

  Temporarily blinded by the bright lights and stunned with the question, Guido’s heart thudded hard against his chest. He wasn’t prepared for a comment. “Well, uh, it certainly is a great sense of accomplishment. Without the hard work of our fine crew”—he turned and waved toward the crew that quickly gathered in a tight circle behind him—“none of this would have been completed on schedule. We’re all very proud.” Guido felt his grin stretch from ear to ear.

  The newsman thanked him for his time and pushed through the crowd toward the big bosses.

  Whew! Guido was glad that was over.

  “Hey, buddy, good job,” Kevin said. “You know the boss said we can cut out early today, and I don’t have to get back to the fiancée right away. Why don’t we go out to get a couple brewskies at O’Molly’s?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  ****

  O’Molly’s Restaurant and Pub was covered wall-to-wall with fire rescue and police patches from departments all over the country who had participated in the nine-eleven rescue efforts. Guido h
ad always liked coming to this joint. They made great chicken soup, and that was what he wanted to get the chill out of his system. Frequently, over the past year, this was where the guys congregated for an after-work beer.

  Once they settled into a booth, beers and soups served, Kevin said, “Guido, I know it hasn’t been too easy with the breakup with Carmala. I’ve asked before, and you didn’t want to talk, but I thought I’d offer a listening ear. In case you’re ready.” He leaned in and patted him on the arm.

  Guido drank down half of his dark ale and nodded. Yep, he needed it off his chest. He revealed the entire story, including his indiscretion—the safe, fictional version, of course. He had an image to uphold, after all.

  Kevin shook his head. “It’s sad. One indiscretion and a four-year relationship evaporates, just like that.”

  “It wasn’t the only thing. I know now that my possessiveness and…”

  “You can’t keep blaming yourself. It takes two.” Kevin finished the last of his soup and pushed it aside. “Those executive types, it’s hard for a guy like us to feel like we’re on the same page. I know what you’ve been going through. Ever since Susie got the promotion to bank supervisor, I’ve seen changes in her. I question whether we’ll make it to the altar—but let’s keep the subject on you and Carmala. I’d say, buddy, you shouldn’t give up hope. Those types they don’t rush into anything. You need to strategize, plan your next steps to get her back…”

  Kevin continued to talk, but Guido drifted off. Kevin was right, of course. Guido would have to plan, methodically, the best way to convince her to give them a second chance. His desperation had led him to a few ingenious moves already. Since Carmala didn’t bother to change her cell phone passwords, he’d found a way of tapping into her phone. He got her text messages and voice mails, and even found a way of accessing her home computer. Now he could gather information on what she was doing, what nights she was in, when she went out with the putanas…

  “Hey, Guido.” Kevin snapped him back to the present moment. “I didn’t mean to depress you, buddy. Come on, the next round will be on me. Let’s talk about something else.”