by Jim Beegle
“What about the reward?” Dunn asked again.
“What reward?” Mark asked. Marin looked at Mark skeptically. She knew he was aware of the reward money. In fact, he was the one who had mentioned it to her in the first place. She continued looking at him but all of his attention was focused on Dunn.
“There is a reward outstanding in this case. Do you plan to claim it?” Dunn asked.
“How much are you offering?” Mark asked innocently.
“The standard ten percent.” Dunn replied thinking out loud.
“$1,500,000?” Mark asked. Dunn just nodded. Mark appreared to ponder for a moment. “So are you saying that I am entitled to all of the reward money?”
“Yes, I suppose you would be, but quite frankly the fact that you are so closely connected to the man who stole the money in the first place would certainly slow down the process of resolving that issue.”
Mark had watched the rest of the group as he sat considering his options. None of them had reacted outwardly to the fact that Dunn had just thrown a possible monkey wrench into what up to this point had been a pretty simple agreement for regaining the stolen money.
He had been wondering since the conversation began whether the rest of them had appointed Dunn their spokesperson or if he had just assumed the role? Now he was sure Dunn had been elected to the post.
“Can I therefore, assume that there is some portion of the reward that you are personally empowered, to approve?” Mark asked. He was playing on Dunn’s role, not only with Texas Mutual but also as spokesperson for the group. Dunn nodded that there was.
“So tell me Mr. Dunn,” Mark said slowly, leaning back in his seat, “what is that magic number?” Dunn thought for a moment before speaking.
“Five hundred thousand dollars.” Collectively, everyone in the room held their breath.
Only Winston and Mark did not seem unsettled by the offer. Anyone looking at Jonus would likely have noticed the struggle going on within the man to suppress a smile.
Silently, the others in the room bore holes into Dunn with their eyes. The man was making a very foolish play. Haggling like Arab merchants in the open market over the difference of a paltry million dollars, when there was over fifty million within reach, bordered on insanity. Even the DA people, not routinely schooled in high-stakes negotiation skills, realized that Dunn may have overplayed his hand.
After allowing them to languish in Dunn’s greed, Mark glanced at Winston who simply nodded his head once. Mark turned his full gaze back to Dunn.
“Five hundred thousand will get this over and done with here and now?” Mark asked.
“Yes,” was Dunn’s simple but immediate reply.
“Then as far as I’m concerned ladies and gentlemen, we have a deal,” Mark declared to the relief of everyone in the room.
“OK,” Dunn said holding up his hand and counting off on his fingers. “Let me make sure I have all this. One, you want a release from Texas Mutual and IBC concerning recovery of the insurance claim already paid out by my firm to IBC?” Mark just nodded.
“Two, you want a ruling from the IRS concerning the tax liability and a statement of no bill from the DA?” Dunn did not wait for Mark’s agreement before continuing on. “And finally, you’ll accept one-third of our normal reward payout, five hundred thousand dollars, and sign a release waiving any and all claims to the rest of it? Do I have all that right?” Dunn asked, putting his hand down.
Mark looked at Winston, who once again communicated with a simple nod of his head. “Yep, that’s it,” Mark assured the man from Texas Mutual.
“And when would you be willing to transfer the funds?” Ketchem asked.
“Within thirty minutes of Mr. Lawton telling me that all my conditions have been formally agreed on and everyone here has signed off on the deal. I will give Mr. Lawton my power of attorney before he leaves here. I don’t intend to return to the United States or transfer any of the money until all details are finalized. I hope you can appreciate my position in this matter?”
Dunn, Robertson, and Ketchem looked across the room at each other but did not speak. There really was no need to. Mark’s price was cheap, by any standard. The gain was considerable for everyone concerned. Dunn relinquished his role as spokesman for the group.
“As far as my company is concerned, you’ve got a deal. I’m sure we can quickly work out the details to everyone’s satisfaction,” he said. When he finished speaking he stood up and walked across the room, offering Mark his hand.
Winston Lawton took over from Mark in order to negotiate the fundamental details of the agreement. They discussed the nuts and bolts of the wording of the documents they would need to create. There was very little disagreement on the actual points to be included, but with this much money involved everyone wanted to make absolutely certain what they were committing to.
The meeting broke up two hours after it had begun with an offer from Alan Ketchem to fly everyone back to Dallas the following morning on IBC’s plane, which he had used for his trip to the islands. Everyone accepted his offer and agreed that it would allow them to work on the way back to Dallas so the final documents could be prepared and faxed to Mark by late tomorrow afternoon. They all agreed to work toward a transfer of the money from the Commonwealth International Bank to IBC first thing Friday morning, after Mark had time to review the final paper.
The meeting ended with the parties from Texas Mutual, the DA’s office, as well as Mr. Lawton and Alan Ketchem agreeing on a time to meet in the lobby the next morning. The assistants, it was assumed, would know if they wanted a ride home they had better be down in the lobby ready with bag and baggage in hand.
Dunn and Robertson each made a point of saying good night to Mark and offering business cards with hastily written home numbers scribbled on the back. Alan Ketchem was the last to make his leave and Mark asked if he could spare him just a few more minutes, he had another matter he wanted to discuss with him. Alan said he would be glad to, and Mark led him through the double French doors into the sitting room.
Mark was becoming all too aware that the balance of drugs in his system was beginning to shift back to the pentothal side of the equation. Upon entering the room, he looked for his briefcase that Marin retrieved from the Atlantis Hotel. He popped it open and removed a file folder before taking a seat.
“I understand from Mr. Roddy,” Alan Ketchem said as he closed the door, “that you’ve had a hell of a day.”
“Well, let’s just say that I hope never to have another one like it,” Mark told him while indicating with his hand that they should take a seat at the small round. Mark fished his pipe out of his pocket and began refilling it to kill time while he collected his thoughts. He lit it and took two long pulls before speaking.
“Tell me something, Mr. Ketchem. How good is my wife?”
“I am not sure I understand the question.” Ketchem was taken back by Mark’s sudden and unusual question.
“I’m sorry, my mind is rather rattled right now. I am curious how well she does her job? How valuable of an employee is she for IBC?”
“Oh.” Ketchem now understood the question and with that understanding came discomfort. “She is actually very good. I have not discussed this with her yet, but we had planned on making her a director at the beginning of next year.” His tone became guarded, “but now I suppose that we will have to rethink that decision.”
“Why?” Mark asked, taking the pipe from his mouth.
“Well, we can’t very well have an employee on our board who has been involved in a crime, especially when that crime has been indirectly inflicted on the bank itself,” Ketchem told him, a little surprised that Mark had not figured that out on his own.
“Just like Mr. Cameron?” Mark asked no so innocently.
“Yes.” Ketchem answered. “Can I ask where is this line of inquiry going?”
“Please, bear with me a moment longer.” In fact, it had just the opposite eff
ect on him. It caused him to worry. Something in Mark’s tone had a worrisome effect on Ketchem. Not getting a negative reply from Ketchem, Mark continued on.
“And,” he said, replacing his pipe in his mouth. “If someone, say a mid-level programmer at the bank helped another employee in that same bank, let’s say someone higher up, to steal money from the bank and then cover up that theft, you would still feel the same way.”
This time Ketchem was slower to answer. He looked very closely at Mark before saying anything.
“Yes, I would still feel the same way, but I still don’t understand where …”
“Mr. Ketchem, how much money did Mr. Cameron steal?” Mark interrupted him.
“Fifteen million dollars. The amount that we have been discussing these last few hours,” Ketchem answered with yet more discomfort in his voice.
Mark didn’t say anything but instead slid the file folder across the table to him.
“What’s this?” Ketchem asked, opening it and finding a set of what looked like dot matrix printouts on green bar paper. Behind them were spreadsheets printed out on a legal-sized paper.
“That,” Mark said, pointing to the folder, “is copy of the analysis, done for the FBI in 1983, of the money Mr. Cameron stole. An analysis that, if I am not mistaken, you yourself either conducted or supervised.”
“So what about it?” Ketchem was now outwardly uncomfortable with the question Mark asked.
“Well, I am just curious. You see Mr. Cameron, the man I knew to be Cecil Lawrence, didn’t just leave me all the money. He also left me a long and very detailed accounting of his actions.” Mark paused and inspected the bowl of his pipe for a moment before continuing.
“Sorta his side of the story, as it were. A story about why he did what he did and more to the point the exact information about how much money he took and where he put it.”
“I assume the total comes to the fifteen million we have all been discussing?” Ketchem asked, looking more for Mark’s agreement than an answer to his question.
“Well, that’s what I’m curious about. You see, my friend Cecil claims to have taken a good deal less than $15,000,000.” Mark unfolded a piece of paper he had taken from his briefcase; “$4,033,097 less to be exact. Cecil, Mr. Cameron said he only took $10,966,903. It’s still a good deal of money, but a lot less than fifteen million wouldn’t you agree?” Mark did not wait for Ketchem to respond before he picked up his narrative again.
“I have a lot of documentation, Cecil let for me, to support his claim. I also have that,” Mark said again, indicating the documents before him.
“And what is this?” Ketchem asked. Although, the tone of his voice gave away the fact that he had already guessed what it was.
“That,” Mark said, lowering his pipe again, “is an analysis of all the money and all the transfers that Mr. Cameron made when he had control of the trading account. Every transfer and every amount he moved was less than a million dollars and in most cases a great deal less.”
“OK,” Ketchem said, shifting in the chair. “I’ll ask again, where is all this leading?” Mark acted as if he had not heard the last question.
“That is, up until the day he disappeared. At some point around 11:15 on September 2nd, 1983, Mr. Cameron transferred $10,966,903 to the Al-Ahi Commercial Bank in Bahrain. Thirty minutes later, another transfer was made to the same bank but into a different account, this time for $4,033,097. Does that figure ring any bells for you, Mr. Ketchem?” Mark asked. When he got no reaction from the banker he pressed on.
“It wasn’t until the second transfer as completed that the total finally came to $15,000,000.”
“So are you trying to tell me is that someone other than Mr. Cameron stole money from the bank that day?”
“No, not exactly.” Mark shifted his gaze from the file folder to Ketchem. “What I’m saying is I am convinced that you made the second transfer.”
There was a long silence while Ketchem’s face flushed a deep red before he exploded.
“If you think that returning the proceeds of a theft by a friend of yours gives you any right to bring accusations against me, you are sadly mistaken. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this,” he said, but he made no effort to get up or leave. Mark ignored the outburst and continued in his soft, patient voice.
“I assume that you had to include at least one other person in the collusion, someone like Cecil, who understood how to game the computer. Perhaps the same programmer who restored the system after the crash Cecil generated. Either way, my guess is that you and this programmer made the second transfer out of Southwest and into the bank in Bahrain immediately prior to restoring the computer system.” Mark while drawing on his pipe.
“My guess would be that you completed all this on Sunday night because you needed that time to make sure the money had indeed transferred owing to the fact it was already Monday morning and not a holiday in Bahrain. Then, before the system was fully restored, you and your cohort fiddled the internal clock on the computer to make it appear that the second transfer occurred before Mr. Cameron crashed the computer.” Mark paused to catch his breath before asking, “How am I doing so far?”
Ketchem didn’t answer right away. He continued to look down at the file folder but not at anything in it.
“So what if it is true? I heard Robertson; the statute of limitations expired There is no longer a crime.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Mark said, drawing again on his pipe. “But I can’t help wonder how many other low-life, back-stabbing, sons of bitches like Ethan Hamilton Hunte there are running around at IBC any number of whom could make your life a living hell if they knew even a small part of this,” once more making reference to the folder. Finished, speaking Mark looked into Alan Ketchem’s face. The two men remained locked in the gaze for several seconds before Ketchem looked away.
“Is this why you decided not to take the full reward, because you planned on blackmailing me?” Ketchem asked Mark bitterly, still not looking at him. He let out a long, resigned sigh as if surrendering to his fate.
“I was in trouble. I had approved a couple of questionable loans. They were for friends of mine who promised me not only that they would repay the loans quickly and in full, but that I could have a piece of the action. They took advantage of my friendship and not only did they default on the loans but they managed to lose the businesses as well.”
“It was stupid, but if the board of Southwest had discovered the loss and my deeper involvement, I would have lost my job. I was desperate. When David stole the money and wrecked the computer, I saw my way out of the mess and took it.” He finally turned to face Mark.
“The programmer got half. He left the bank and put most of it up his nose from what I understand. He died broke and broken two years later.” Ketchum paused in his confession and looked at Mark.
“So, now you know. What’s your silence going to cost me?” he asked anger in his voice. Mark studied Ketchem for several seconds before answering.
“I don’t want anything for myself. And, in reality, I don’t want anything for anyone else. All I want is for you to forget that Amy was involved in any of this. Let her career at IBC live or die according to her accomplishments or failures. That is my one and only condition.” Mark softened his voice before continuing.
“Money is a powerful drug. A lot of money is an overwhelmingly powerful drug. It can cause people to do whole mired of things in that moment appears to look reasonable. Later they find themselves in a real quagmire.” Mark took a drag on his pipe. “I am sure you can appreciate that now can’t you?” Ketchem didn’t say anything for a while.
“Just like that, you’ll forget everything?”
“Just like that,” Mark said firmly.
“How can I trust you to keep your word?” Ketchem asked.
Mark got up from his chair slowly, stretched and yawned. He was beginning to feel as though he had not slept in over a we
ek.
“Mr. Ketchem,” he said looking down at the man, “you really don’t have much of a choice, now do you?”
As soon as Alan Ketchem left the suite, Marin had led Mark into the bedroom where she had been sleeping and put him to bed. He was sound asleep in a matter of moments.
The next morning before he left for Dallas, Winston found Mark, still sound asleep, and Marin covered up to her neck in a recliner in the room with him. He didn’t have the heart to awaken her, and just left a note on the coffee table in the living room.
Winston Lawton concluded traveling by private jet was the only way to go. They left Nassau at eight that morning and were back in Dallas just a little before one in the afternoon. Not only had he been able to formulate the final wording of the documents with his fellow passengers, he had also emailed his notes from the plane to his office and explained to a paralegal what he wanted her to do. All of this from twenty-five thousand feet above the Gulf of Mexico. He decided the he would have to discuss acquiring a plane for the law firm at the next board meeting.
In addition to the still pending work surrounding the return of the money to IBC, his new client had given Winston three other tasks that he wanted done in concert with the return of the money. None of the three required much work, but taken as a whole, in addition to the return of the money, Winston could see a pattern forming. His client was looking not for absolution but for closure.
Upon returning to his office that afternoon, Winston decided to start the work for his new client by tackling the task that would take the longest to complete. Luckily, the current presiding district judge for the county of Eastland was an old law school buddy, and he placed a call to him first and find out what could be arranged. He would turn the other two items over to a paralegal, as they were, for the most part, just paperwork anyway.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
Mark finally awoke in the middle of the afternoon.
“Good morning, or should I say good afternoon?” Marin asked from the sitting room where she had been keeping an eye on him. He stood awkwardly from the bed, sheets still twisted around his waist and waved at her as he walked to the bathroom. He reemerged forty-five minutes later wearing another hotel robe and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. While he was in the shower Marin had fixed a fresh pot of coffee. Mark helped himself to a cup when he came into the kitchen.
