Leaving the World (15 page)

‘Believe it, Miss Howard. Not only was your father paid five thousand dollars for every known enemy he named, he was also rewarded with that consulting job, which he held for ten years, and with the pension I mentioned earlier. He even got an apartment out of the junta as well.’

I stared down at the table and said nothing.

‘From your silence, I presume this is all new to you,’ Ames said.

‘Of course it’s new. If I had known—’

‘You would never have helped him flee?’

‘Like I told you before, I didn’t think I was helping him flee.’

‘What did he tell you exactly?’

I took him through the entire conversation about the loan shark to whom he owed money – and how Dad was allegedly being threatened with grievous bodily harm. Just as I also mentioned his alleged employment prospects with Creighton Crowley. Mr Fletcher looked up from the papers in front of him when I mentioned that name.

‘Did you have any prior knowledge of this Creighton Crowley?’ he asked.

‘None whatsoever – though I did tell my dad that being asked to invest fifty thousand dollars in this dot.com company he was touting—’

‘Yeah, we know all about Creighton Crowley and his dot.com scam. Just as we also know that your dad was part of the entire thing . . .’

‘In what way?’

‘He sold shares in this company to twelve very foolish people who should have known better. Blocks of shares at fifty to one hundred grand a go. Your dad pocketed twenty percent of each sale.’

‘Then why was he badgering me for money?’

‘We estimate his net profit was around one hundred thousand dollars,’ Fletcher said. ‘That’s what he lived on for around three years. Divided by three, it’s not exactly big bucks. But because several of the investors he tapped were in the States, it did bring him to our attention. We’ve been after Creighton Crowley for some time now. The guy’s got a history of insider trading and creating bogus investment schemes. The problem is, he’s always slipped through our radar – and eventually ended up in Chile. Your father met him through “mutual business associates” and, professionally speaking, it was love at first sight.’

Ames came in here: ‘The only reason I mentioned your father’s colorful political past in Chile,’ he continued, ‘is for you to understand that the man you helped flee – even
if
it was unwitting on your part – is nothing short of a crook. He sold shares in a company that was non-existent. He informed his investors that he was buying shares on their behalf, even though he was “gifted” these shares in his “contract” with the company.’

‘Not that there was a “contract” of any sort between Mr Crowley and your father,’ Mr Fletcher said. ‘More of a simple letter of agreement, in which Crowley gave him fifty thousand shares in this sham of a company. Your dad could have had fifty million shares. It didn’t matter. It was all a big con job. He’d been gifted the shares as part of his employment contract and he’d then sold them on. Crowley was, of course, doing the exact same thing.

‘Want to hear a real lulu? Ever remember a family friend named Don Keller?’

Of course I remembered Don Keller. He worked with my dad – a geologist who dealt with all the technical stuff in the mining operations and a world-class boozer who was always going out on binges with my father.

‘They were professional associates,’ I said.

‘According to Mr Keller,’ Fletcher said, ‘they were very close friends. Keller had “alcohol issues” and lost his career and his marriage around ten years ago. He’s been living a very modest life in a very modest house on the outskirts of Phoenix. His entire life savings amounted to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars – and late last year, your father convinced him to invest it in his company, promising him –
in writing
– that he could double it in twelve months.’

‘Don Keller is now a ruined man, thanks to your father,’ Agent Ames said. ‘He’s completely penniless – and his rage is vast. So vast that he contacted us about your father’s business activities. As it turned out our friends at the SEC were also interested in Mr Crowley’s investment scheme. As we were monitoring all movements of money to your father, we were naturally interested when we saw your ten-thousand-dollar transfer to him.’

Again I was about to protest my innocence, but it struck me as best to say nothing further for the moment. I did look up and made eye contact with Brad. His displeasure was massive.

‘We have naturally been investigating your own bank records,’ Mr Fletcher said, ‘and noticed a deposit of twenty thousand dollars from Freedom Mutual in the past few weeks. Mr Pullman here informed us that this was your “joining bonus” for starting work here.’

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘That was the deal Brad offered me.’

‘Why did he offer you, a graduate student in literature, such a large sum of money?’ Mr Fletcher asked.

Brad came in here.

‘I’m a talent spotter – and, as I told you, it was clear that Jane had talent and that if I was going to tempt her away from academia, I had to cough up some serious money.’

‘Knowing your company’s considerable turnover,’ Ames said, ‘I don’t think twenty grand could be classified as serious money.’

‘Well, do you really think I’d be paying a mere rookie more?’

Long silence.

‘We’re still not entirely convinced that Miss Howard acted unknowingly when giving her father the money,’ Ames said.

‘Sir, my father has never been – in any way – a responsible man. Dig back into my personal history – if you haven’t done so already – and you’ll see that he never paid my tuition at college or grad school, that I had to rely on financial aid and scholarships to get through. Call my high-school principal, Mr Merritt, and get him to tell you how hard up my mother and I were. The only reason – the
only damn reason
– I sent that bastard ten thousand dollars was because I wanted to let him know that, unlike him, I wasn’t going to let members of my family dangle in the financial wind. So how dare you think that I was in any way in cahoots with that awful man.’

I was yelling – and judging from the alarmed looks on the faces of Ames and Fletcher, my vehemence had been noted. Brad, on the other hand, remained impassive, staring at me with chilly detachment.

There was a moment of awkward silence after I ended my rant. Then Ames and Fletcher exchanged a glance before Ames spoke.

‘Be that as it may, Miss Howard – and my instinct tells me you’re being straight with us – the fact remains that the money you sent your father allowed a wanted criminal to vanish. My superiors in the Bureau will need a full accounting of your financial position, to see whether this is a one-off or a pattern of pay-offs.’

‘I have never,
ever
given him money before.’

‘Then this assertion will be borne out by a thorough inspection of your bank records and all other financial transactions over the past five years.’

He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a legal form.

‘We could, naturally, get a court order to run a thorough investigation on your accounts,’ he said. ‘But I’m certain you’d prefer it if your record showed that you fully cooperated with the Bureau and the SEC in their investigations.’

‘I have nothing to hide,’ I said.

‘Then you will not object to signing this form, which authorizes us complete access to all your accounts.’

He pushed the document towards me, laying a Bic pen on top of the page. I stole a fast glance at Brad. He gave me a very discreet but rapid nod. I picked up the pen and read quickly through the document, which essentially gave the Federal Bureau of Investigation and ‘any other government agency’ the right to poke everywhere in my financial affairs. I picked up the pen and signed it, then pushed the document back to Agent Ames. He accepted it with a severe nod, then said: ‘Do you have a passport, Miss Howard?’

‘Of course,’ I said, thinking:
He probably knows that already
.

‘We’d like you to surrender it to us,’ he said, ‘just until our investigation is terminated.’

‘How long will that be?’ I asked.

‘Three to four weeks . . . as long as there are no further queries about your involvement in the case. You weren’t planning to travel overseas in the coming weeks, were you?’

‘Hardly.’

‘Then I’m certain you wouldn’t mind – as another act of goodwill – surrendering your passport to us. If your boss doesn’t mind, one of our agents will drive you to your apartment in Somerville to retrieve it now.’

‘I have no problem with that,’ Brad said.

‘Glad to hear it.’

Ames reached into his pocket, pulled out a cellphone and dialed a number, then talked quickly for a few seconds before closing it with a decisive snap.

‘An Agent Maduro is waiting outside in a blue unmarked Pontiac. He will bring you home and back here within an hour, traffic permitting. He’ll also give you a receipt for the passport. Once we’ve finished our investigations we’ll be in touch and will return the document to you.’

Ames stood up, followed by Fletcher. They proffered their hands. I took them, hating the fact that I had to engage in such politesse. But I had no choice here, and I knew it. Brad, meanwhile, stayed seated, staring at his fingernails, refusing to look over at me.

I went downstairs. Agent Maduro was standing by the car.

‘Miss Howard?’ he asked.

I nodded.

‘Thirty-two Beverly Road in Somerville?’

‘You’ve done your homework,’ I said.

He smiled a tight smile and opened the back door for me. Once I was settled inside he climbed into the driver’s seat and we were off. He said nothing to me all the way into Cambridge. Not that I minded – as I was now seething with unadulterated rage at the monster that was my father. I’d read somewhere once that embezzlers operated in a parallel universe where they justified their malfeasance by never considering the harm they were doing to others. My dad obviously cloaked himself in a similar sort of amorality. Everything to do with that man had been predicated on falsehoods and dirty dealings. Though I had been trying to tell myself otherwise for years, I now knew what I’d never dare admit: he never loved me and I’d grown up knowing that I could count on him for nothing. My welfare, my well-being, had never interested him and I could no longer pretend otherwise. Any more than I could turn to Mom for the unconditional love I always craved. Hell, she was still telling herself that, one fine day, Dad would come back to her. Just as she would also let me know – when I revealed all that the FBI and the SEC just told me – that my father was incapable of such wrongdoing; that she knew he was the honest person she had deluded herself into believing him to be.

Out of nowhere I slammed a fist into the upholstered back seat and found myself gulping down the scream that so wanted to leap out of my mouth. In the front seat Agent Maduro studied me in the rear-view mirror.

‘You all right, ma’am?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, my teeth gritted.

When we reached my apartment Agent Maduro got out and opened the car door for me, then said: ‘If you don’t mind I’ll come upstairs with you.’

‘No problem.’

Upstairs I found my passport and handed it over to him. Maduro acknowledged its receipt with a nod and spent several minutes copying details from it onto a form. Then he handed it to me and asked me to fill in my home address, phone and work numbers, and sign below the printed declaration that I was giving this passport up without coercion; that I granted the Federal Bureau of Investigation the right to hold it ‘for an indefinite period’, and that I waived my rights to demand it back before the Bureau saw fit to return it to me. I pursed my lips as I read this.

Agent Maduro saw this and said: ‘Generally, if everything checks out, you should have the passport returned within a few weeks but, of course, that depends on whether . . .’

He let the sentence die there – because he knew he didn’t need to finish it. I took the pen and scribbled my signature. He pulled off a duplicate copy and handed it to me.

‘Here’s your receipt,’ he said. Then we returned to the car and said nothing to each other all the way back to Boston.

When I entered the foyer of Freedom Mutual, the temporary receptionist stopped me dead with: ‘Mr Pullman wants to see you immediately.’

‘Please wait here until I call him,’ she said.

She picked up the phone and whispered something into it, then looked up at me and said: ‘He’s waiting for you in his office.’

I had never been in Brad’s office before. As I was walked down the corridor to the big wood-paneled doors, I sensed this might be my one and only glimpse of his sanctum sanctorum. I was strangely calm as my heels rapped percussively on the parquet floor – the sort of calmness that arrives in the face of the stoic acceptance of one’s fate.

I knocked on the door. I heard Brad shout: ‘Come in.’

I opened the door and entered a room that had been done up to look like something out of a London gentlemen’s club – all heavy mahogany and oversized distressed burgundy armchairs, and Federalist art, and a massive fireplace currently ablaze with logs, and a huge nineteenth-century globe, and Brad sitting behind the sort of vast wooden desk that looked like the place where Admiral Nelson once plotted naval strategy. Knowing Brad’s ability to buy anything he wanted, it probably
was
Nelson’s original damn desk.

Brad was staring into a computer monitor as I came in, a pair of glasses (never seen in public) on the edge of his nose.

‘Sit down, please,’ he said, not turning away from the computer monitor.

I did as ordered, sinking into the armchair in front of his desk and doing my best to sit up straight in it. He turned away from the computer, pulled off his glasses, drummed his fingers on the desk and said: ‘There is dumb and there is stupid – and you are guilty of the latter. I don’t care if the guy was your father and you’ve been spending your entire damn life trying to impress the son of a bitch. You never,
never
, hand over any sum over five thousand dollars to anybody if there is the slightest doubt in your mind about the probity of the individual. Courtesy of the SEC and Homeland Security, all foreign wire transactions over five grand are immediately scrutinized by assorted spooks and financial regulators. The fact that you transferred money over to a shyster—’