White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller (6 page)

Chapter 9

“Londonderry’s four lengths clear at the top of the stretch and drawing away. He’s a mighty colt.”

Todd thought
fantastic
but didn’t let his emotions show. Then he heard the race caller scream, “Something’s spooked Londonderry. He almost stopped. Danny Ryan’s got him going again, but Red Diver’s finishing fast. Red Diver and Londonderry are neck and neck, heads bobbing. Red Diver gets to the front. Red Diver wins. What a sensational race. I don’t know what happened to Londonderry.”

Todd thought he was going to vomit. What had gone wrong? Why had Londonderry almost stopped? Had the jockey gone to sleep? Whatever the reason, Todd knew he was deep in the mire. The television channel was replaying the last furlong of the race in slow motion. They froze it just before Londonderry went up in the air, and it showed a distinctive, large, black bird flying in front of the horse’s head. “Have you ever seen a horse get beaten like that before, Bob?” one of the commentators asked. “He was spooked by a bird.”

“Never, Ted, but I have heard of seagulls spooking horses, but I’ve never heard of a bird costing a horse a race. We might just have witnessed a first.”

“He was a very short priced favorite. It’s a shame for the connections that his unbeaten run is over.”

A shame for the connections? What about me, Todd thought? He felt his legs go out from under him as he stood up, and he put his hand on the table for support. It hurt to think, and when he got out on the sidewalk, he struggled to work out which direction he should be walking.

In the week and a half since Vaughan had watched the CD, he’d had Devlin Cooper followed. Cooper had had two more sessions with Karen in sleazy motels, but that wasn’t the reason Vaughan was having him watched. The CD was more than enough. Vaughan wanted to know what Cooper did with his days. He spent most of his time at football training. On two Friday nights, he’d gone nightclubbing but had left the club to go home by 11 P.M. He hardly touched alcohol and had only gone to the club to mix with friends. He knew and socialized with many girls but didn’t have a girlfriend. To the public and those who knew him, he was the fresh-faced all-American boy with the bionic arm. He spent a lot of money hiring limousines, and that seemed to be his favored mode of transport even though he had a Ferrari and Lamborghini in his garage. The same driver drove him everywhere irrespective of the time of day. What was most interesting for Vaughan was that on both Mondays, a limousine had turned up at Cooper’s home at precisely 7:30 A.M. to take him to training. Vaughan knew nothing about football but it didn’t take him long to learn that a typical Monday for the Cougars involved treating players for injuries and going through their first weightlifting session of the week. If Cooper was picked up by limousine for a third consecutive Monday at 7:30 A.M., Vaughan would implement the first part of the plan that he’d worked out with Borchard.

Todd had his head down and was shuffling along Water Street when his cell phone rang. He was reluctant to even look at it but when he saw it was Doug Lechte he had no choice but to answer. “Hello, Doug.”

“Where are you?”

“Just getting some lunch. I’ll be back at Hallstrom’s in about five minutes. Is there a problem?”

“Are you nearly finished?”

“I have about an hour left to complete the audit plan.”

“You can do that in the office. I want you to get back here pronto. Max Lustig is coming in, and I want you to sit in on the meeting.” 

Ten minutes later Todd was in a cab. He felt like shit and was dreading the meeting but knew he had to focus. His job had just become essential. He wondered if Ronny Conroy, would let him have more credit. If anything Londonderry had proved that his system was robust, and it was only freakish bad luck that had cost him a big win. More worryingly, what was he going to do if Ronny called in his debt? He tried to block that thought out knowing that he needed to be sharp in front of Lechte.

Todd knocked and entered Lechte’s office. He hadn’t seen the other man for years and doubted that Max Lustig would remember him. He was a national identity who ran and owned a huge transport fleet. Rumors abounded that as a young man, he had smashed the kneecaps of those who had stood between him and winning a contact. Now in his early fifties he still cut an imposing figure. He was about 6’ and 230 pounds with a shiny bald head and intense green eyes. He’d come a long way and was famous for his philanthropy and the media loved him because he was always good for a one-liner. The bones in Todd’s right hand screamed as the trucking tycoon held it in a vice like grip. “Good to see you again, Todd,” he said, in a booming voice.

“Max is looking to add a small New Jersey outfit to his fleet, but he’s not happy with his accountant’s due diligence. He suspects the figures aren’t kosher and wants us to have a second look at them. You did the work on the Dexon Transport merger, so you’re a natural for the job,” Lechte said.

“What makes you think the numbers are wrong, Max?” Todd asked.

“Simple,” the big man replied. “They cart refrigerated and chilled produce as do many of my operations. That’s why it should be a good fit. Anyhow, the ratio of fuel costs to sales is way out of kilter. It’s way less than I’ve ever achieved which makes me think they’re inflating sales or not showing all their costs. It’s the type of thing sellers do when they’re trying to pump up the price of their businesses. Christ, I used to do it when I was selling dud divisions of my business.”

“What did they say when you confronted them?” Todd followed up.

“Their fleet’s more modern than mine, and their drivers don’t exceed the speed limits. Hell, I’ve got five thousand tractors on the road. I can tell you where every one of them is, the speed they’re doing, the fuel consumption and, if need be, when the driver last took a leak. They must think I’m suffering from dementia.” Lustig laughed.

“You know Max is more than a client, he’s a friend, Todd. I want you to prioritize this assignment,” Lechte said, passing Todd a large two ring binder. “Everything you need to know is in here. Head to New Jersey tomorrow. It shouldn’t take you long to find out what’s going on.” 

Chapter 10

Phillip Cromwell loved everything about St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the beautiful architecture, the Monseigneur, the priests, the nuns, the organ music, the choir boys and the congregation. Many New York parishes secretly supported gay marriage, birth control and other abominations that sickened Cromwell to the core. Not the priests at St. Patrick’s who preached within the confines of the edicts of the Vatican and the Pope.

Cromwell had been appointed parish treasurer when he was just twenty-one. Thirty-eight years later, he still held the same honorary position. He liked to claim that he’d hardly missed a Sunday morning mass in all that time, conveniently forgetting the numerous days spent at his yacht, tennis and golf clubs. Religion was very important, that is, providing it didn’t impact on his social life. He knelt in the front row next to his wife, Mary. They’d married when he was twenty-four. They had had a son and daughter, both adults now, who’d been raised to be good Catholics. Mary had been the daughter of the managing partner of Montgomery Hastings & Pierce at a time when a prerequisite for admittance as a partner was being a Roman Catholic male from a wealthy family. Cromwell yearned for those days again but had been unable to stop the firm broadening its horizons and partners now included, Methodists, Baptists, Jews, Lutherans, Anglicans and even a Muslim in Dearborn. They also included women, African Americans and those who were openly gay. If that wasn’t bad enough there were also the likes of Doug Lechte and his followers who did nothing for the dignity of the firm.

The priest finished the prayer, and the congregation rose. Cromwell assumed his duties as one of the ushers, smiling warmly, greeting parishioners as they dipped into their pockets. As he moved down the aisle, his thoughts turned to the fierce arguments he was having with Lechte. Lechte was nothing more than a salesman, and if it were not for his rapport and popularity with clients, he would never have made partner. Now Lechte was pushing for the admittance of his protégé as a partner and accusing him of being racist and anti-women. Cromwell would never admit to the truth of these comments, not even to himself, and besides, they were just two reasons why he would never vote in favor of admitting Vanessa Hodge to the partnership. He’d had her thoroughly investigated and found that her family had no social status and were dirt poor. She’d even had to get grants to get through college. No wonder she was trying to improve her station in life by working huge hours. It wouldn’t help her though, because no one with a family background like hers was going to be admitted to the New York partnership while he was managing partner. He would do his best to ensure the national partnership adopted the same standards.

As far as Cromwell was concerned, future partners would be like him, religious, socially acceptable, from a wealthy family, honest, hardworking, heterosexual and with a strong moral fiber. Vanessa was diligent, but in his eyes she dismally failed most of the other criteria.

It was 7:25 A.M. on Monday and the limousine was only five minutes from Lincoln Park. The driver made the same trip every Monday morning at the same time. Traffic was medium to heavy, when without warning, a black SUV came flying out of a side street and slammed into the rear of the limo. Two tradesmen jumped out of the SUV and started waving their hands and verbally abusing the driver of the limo.

At the same time, Devlin Cooper answered his phone. “Mr. Cooper, it’s Marty from Exclusive Limousines. I’m sorry to tell you, but John has had an accident on his way to pick you up. Don’t worry, we have another vehicle in the area that we’ve reassigned to you. It should be there any time now. You’ll still be at training on time.”

“How’s John. Is he all right?”

“It’s just a fender bender. John’s fine, Mr. Cooper.”

Cooper was on the third level of his four-level mansion looking out the huge glass windows when he saw the limo pull up in the driveway, and the driver get out and hold the rear door open. “I’m glad to hear that. Your limo’s just turned up. Thanks for that. Give John my best.”

Cooper could’ve taken the elevator but instead took the stairs two at a time to the foyer. He felt fantastic as he opened the front doors and strode toward the limousine, his hand extended to the driver. “Devlin Cooper,” he said. “That’s bad news about John.”

“Good morning, Mr. Cooper,” said the driver, touching his oversized chauffer’s cap that together with his sunglasses concealed his upper face. “My name’s George. You’ll be pleased to know it was only a minor accident and that John was unharmed.”

“Do you know where we’re going, George?” Cooper asked.

“Of course, Mr. Cooper,” the driver responded, glancing in the rearview mirror, as he reversed out of the driveway. He drove slowly down the street and turned left at the first intersection as John always did. Cooper was about to tell him to get a move on when he brought the limo to a halt near a heavily treed park.

“What the fuck are you stopping for?”

Two gigantic men ran from the park toward the limo and Cooper heard the rear door locks release as they got in on either side of him.

“What the−”

Cooper got a whiff of ether before everything became hazy, and he lost consciousness.

Farik looked at Ahmet and said, “Find his cell. Dirk said to get rid of it. I don’t know why, but we better do it.”

Cooper woke up in a dark room. He was tied to a chair, and his hands were handcuffed behind him. His throat was dry. “Whe-where am I?” he rasped.

A slightly accented voice from the darkness behind him said, “Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt ya. We’re going to show ya a movie and then we’re going to let ya go. Would ya like a drink?”

“Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“All will be revealed after you’ve watched the movie,” the voice said.

Cooper looked up. There was a man standing next to him with his head hidden by a hood, holding a blinding flashlight. He put his hand behind Cooper’s head, tilted it back, and poured water into his mouth. The flashlight dimmed, and he saw a large white screen. The groan that he let out when he saw himself eating Karen echoed around the room. Two hours later he felt sick and wanted the world to swallow him.

“Wh-what do you wa-want?” he asked.

“With endorsements, we think you’re going to earn three hundred million over the next fifteen years. We’d hate for ya to lose it all because of a little fling with a woman fourteen years older than you. And we’d hate your mom to see it. What’s her name? Doreen, isn’t it? What would she think of her little boy?”

“Fucking bastards! How much do you want?” Cooper said. “I’ll pay anything you want.”

“That’s no way to talk to your friends, Devlin. We don’t want your money. We just want you to do us a few favors when we ask. Now we’re going to put a prepaid cell in the pocket of your jacket. Keep it with you at all times. When it rings, it will be us. Understand?”

“Wha-what do you want?”

“All will be answered in time. Just relax. You have nothing to fear from us. We’re your friends. Oh, and don’t waste time going back to the Astor. We could’ve filmed you at any number of locations. You’ve been very active.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s no way to talk, Devlin. A word of warning. We’ll be watching you. If you talk to anyone, we’ll know. If you’re thinking about going to the police, don’t! Half of them are on our payroll. Oh, and don’t talk to the woman, not a word. We won’t kill you, but she’s worth nothing, so she’s expendable. Get it?”

Before Cooper could respond, a cloth soaked in ether was held over his mouth and nose. His head slumped forward, and he drifted into darkness.

Dirk looked at Farik and Ahmet. “Carry him out to the limo and be careful not to hurt him. Drop him off at that park near his home. Just prop him up on one of the seats. It’ll only be a few minutes before he wakes up. He’ll be okay. Just remember, be careful. If you damage him, the boss will tear strips off you.”

Todd knew that the only way out of the mess he’d got himself into was to get more credit from Ronny Conroy. He knew his system was robust and with this in mind he took a cab to Chinatown and the betting parlor just after midday.

“You better be here to pay me, Todd,” Conroy said.

“No, no I’m not,” Todd replied. “Ronny, I need more credit. You know that I’m only in trouble because of rotten luck. You know my system works. If you can just see your way clear to letting me have another two hundred, I’m sure I’ll be able to clear my debt.”

“You’ve got fucking big balls, I’ll say that for you. You’re in for five hundred, and you want to stiff me for another two.”

Todd hung his head in despair. “Does that mean no?”

Conroy laughed. “To most people it would but obviously not to you. I’ve gotta talk to some people who I can’t pay because of you. If they say they’ll extend my credit, then I’ll extend yours. Don’t get your hopes up, though, because I don’t think they’re going to. Tell me, if they don’t, how are you gonna pay me?”

“I-I don’t know,” Todd said. “I’ll find a way.”

“You better make damn sure you do. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do,” Conroy said.

As Todd stumbled out of the pawn shop, he didn’t look up or notice Max Lustig enjoying a meal at the Chinese restaurant directly opposite.

Dermott Becker stared into the bathroom mirror. He was still a good-looking man, but the crow’s feet had become condor’s feet and his forehead resembled a cattle grid.
Too many late nights and too much sun when I was younger,
he thought as he splashed cold water on his face. Nadia, his wife, was twenty-five years his junior and had been pushing him hard to go and see her cosmetic surgeon but, so far, he’d resisted. She had an enormous influence on him, and it was only her persistence that had resulted in him buying the Hamptons house. “Thirty-eight million,” the agent had said, “and don’t miss it. It’s a bargain.”

He strolled back to his study and looked out of the window at Nadia and her girlfriends playing tennis. She was a joy to behold and still as natural as the day she was born except for the Botox and fillers. He watched and smiled as her sports bra fought a losing battle against the bounce. Long legged, powerful and very fast, she was a fierce competitor. The phone rang, and Becker turned back to his desk overlooking the Atlantic and cursed. It was the Serbian.

“Dermott, it’s Brock. What have you done about Giovani?”

It was the fourth time Borchard had called since the last board meeting. “As I’ve told you before, I am attending to it, Brock,” Becker replied.

“Do you need any help? I can send one of my men. We cannot let anyone con us and make us look like fools. If we let him get away with it, we’ll be seen as easy targets by others.”

Becker sighed. The Serbian was ignorant on matters of finance. Did he think there was a clique of stockbrokers who sat around saying,
how can we fleece Jack Elliot today?
Borchard was applying the same principles that he applied to the poor souls who owed him money and didn’t pay. Victims of his loan sharking operation. All Giovani had done was pass on inside information that hadn’t worked out. Becker had given up trying to explain it to the Serbian and knew he would have to take some action. He didn’t want to do it before Todd Hansen was on the hook though because if Giovani was cooperative then he could kill two birds with one stone.