Authors: David Faxon
He hung up and called Conrad.
“Yeah.”
“Listen carefully. Take the laptop
, get the hell out of there now! Take a cab to the Ponce de Leon, downtown. Ted will meet you at the desk in an hour. Don’t waste any time. Oh, and Conrad, tuck your shirt in, they’re kind of particular at this place.”
“I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER FORTY
NINE
Connery rang the front desk and told the clerk he was expecting two friends. He just found out they were in town- been to a party and may not be dressed appropriately, but he would vouch for them. Would he please notify him when they arrived? Just before midnight, both men were escorted to Connery’s suite on the fourteenth floor. They were impressed by the surroundings.
“This is where you’ll be for a while. There’s an extra bed and a cot. You can’t leave until I get what I need. I’ll take care of everything at the front desk. Get some sleep. I’ll have breakfast delivered in the morning.
I’ll be in a room down the hall if you need me.”
Ted got into the company’s database every evening, looking for new information or anything that would compromise Castelo Branco. By week's end, Conrad dissected the financial records and came up with startling information. Someone without his capabilities may have overlooked the true story. Conrad, however,
caught every subtlety. He dug through the layers to the rotten core. Another two days to type a lengthy report, and he was ready to meet with Connery, who stayed out of his way for three days. They were pros. He didn’t see any sense in interfering. Ted called and said they were ready. A half hour later, Connery arrived. Ted let him in. The once pristine suite reeked with cigarette smoke, littered with crumpled papers, half eaten sandwiches, empty beer cans. He was glad to have taken refuge somewhere else. Conrad was a slob. What he had, better be good.
“Sorry the place is a mess
, but Conrad really hit it big.”
Conrad, talking with his mouth full, piped in
.
“Yeah, some of this was hard to follow, but… once I had the thread… the whole thing unraveled. Sit down
. I've got it all here.”
The folder showed coffee stains but was more than an inch thick with at least
one hundred typed pages. He paused to swallow.
“You want to hang this guy? It's all here.”
“I don't understand accounting mumbo-jumbo, Conrad, so take me through it in plain English.”
For the next two hours,
Conrad exposed the under belly of a corrupt organization, all of it supported and documented with evidence from the filched data files. His logic was unassailable, his diagrams understandable, the connections made clear. The company was a personal piggy bank for Castelo Branco. Page after page showed millions transferred from corporate accounts to personal accounts, in either his name or his wife's, and that was for a six month period only. The chief financial officer, the technical mastermind behind the scheme, processed the transfers. Castelo Branco himself controlled one of the companies that owned substantial stock in AZVL.
There were
ghost companies, off shore partnerships, hidden debt, phony stock deals. The ghosts also received large loans from major banks then fed the money back to the main corporation under the guise of a healthy cash flow from operations. Phantom profits appeared on doctored income statements and balance sheets, particularly at the end of a quarter. Conrad noticed that the numbers at the end of a quarter didn’t square with balance sheet positions at the beginning of the next quarter.
Stock analysts and investors missed it
. The share price soared. That's where Castelo Branco would make a real killing; selling thousands of shares at the inflated price, reaping millions. Cash flowed between and among the corporation and its false front entities. It was like using one credit card to pay off another. The bankers were kept happy. Conrad had deciphered amazingly complex transactions to ferret answers that explained how Castelo Branco, with the aid of his CFO, ran the operation and fed his voracious appetite for cash. Conrad had provided exactly what Connery had hoped. Except for the coffee stained folder, neat, understandable with no loose ends. He tied them all up nicely in the little bundle Connery had before him.
At the end of two hours, he was numb with technical evidence. Conrad did a great job translating it to laymen’s terms. Most of it he understood, some he didn’t, but it all
held together, piece by piece, all documented, foot noted and cross referenced. Elated, he rose and congratulated Conrad, telling him he did a brilliant job then asked to have four copies made of the report. Conrad received eighty percent of the agreed on sum, the other twenty percent when copies were made. Ted also received the two thousand promised him. Connery reminded them again of the dangers they all faced if found out. They had to keep low profiles and avoid any tip offs to the people he knew were looking for them. They would meet again in a week when he had things sorted out.
CHAPTER
FIFTY
From the fourteenth fourth floor of his hotel, Connery gazed at the busy scene below while sipping bourbon and soda. His plan was almost completed. So far, he had eluded Castelo Branco through a series of name changes and quick maneuvers. In less than a month, he financed the operation, made the right contacts, hired the right people. With everything in place for the final act, he requested cleaning service send someone up to take care of the mess left behind.
Later that night
, he turned down the covers on the king sized bed, propped the pillows, opened his laptop and began to browse the Internet. In the middle of reading the latest news, he thought of something he should have done weeks back, but it never occurred to him. A few clicks of the mouse, and he was at his favorite search engine. If anything hit the newswires about him, or the demise of Hawthorne Capital, it stays on the Net and remains accessible. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He typed “Terrence Connery, Hawthorne Capital” and hit Enter.
All of the news items pertaining to him and his company
, appeared on the screen. Stories of his death, his TV appearances, magazine interviews, company news. He scrolled through page after page, searching for anything linking him to fraud, federal indictments, SEC probes and arrests. There was nothing in the hundreds of articles he scanned. What he did find shocked him.
Dan Hewett Appointed Head of Hawthorne Capital
In a meeting of the Board of Directors yesterday, Dan Hewett, formerly Chief Investment Officer at Hawthorne Capital was appointed to succeed Terrence Connery who died unexpectedly last month in a plane crash. Mr. Connery, who founded Hawthorne, brought the company to preeminence during his twelve years there….
The article lauded Mr. Hewett’s role in guiding the firm through the recent financial crisis to a position of strength. The company announced the opening of two satellite offices in Brazil to take advantage of that country’s growing economy. Also announced was the promotion of Stephen Walters to the position of Chief Financial Officer. Walters was a protégé of Hewett’s. Connery tolerated him but never trusted him. He wondered why Hewett made such a lame brained choice, it wasn’t like him.
He closed the laptop and shut his eyes. How could I have been so stupid?
Hewett told me the company was near collapse, showed me the figures, the SEC audit request. I bought it all. And why Brazil? The company had no connection there until Castelo Branco appeared from nowhere.
What became clear was a carefully executed pl
ot by Hewett and Castelo Branco to gain control of Hawthorne’s four billion in assets under management. He was set up. There was no cash shortage, no software glitch, no questionable cross transactions, no SEC audit. It was all a lie. Hewett and Walters, who joined with Castelo Branco in the ruse, had suckered him. When Castelo Branco showed up, he swallowed the rest of the bait and got on a plane to Brasilia. The crash, and his announced death, made it all the more easy for the conspirators to pull off the scheme. He wondered about the meeting that was so carefully arranged and whether he would have walked away alive if he refused to comply. There were more reasons than ever to bury Castelo Branco, then take care of Hewett.
He grew tired trying to digest everything he had learned. The TV was on, but he wasn't listening. His mind was on other things. The question
was what to do with the information he had acquired. Simply releasing it to the media might be enough to force the company into bankruptcy, but he wasn't ready to risk exposure yet. Now there was a new twist. He had to figure out how to deal with Hewett and get his company back. The revelation about his onetime friend and partner left him numb, but there was a silver lining. Until now, he assumed imminent indictment for fraud and years in prison if he returned to the United States. Now, all that changed. He was innocent, and once he finished his business in Brazil, there was nothing to prevent him from going back to the States. He smiled and pictured the look on Hewett’s face when he found out he was alive.
Bankrupting Companhia Do Azevedo would end the mining operations
, and that would be good for the people of the Amazon. That is, until someone else came along. There were others just as greedy, but he would have the satisfaction of taking Castelo Branco out of the picture. This meant bringing him to his knees but stopping short of cutting his head off. He needed his money to finalize the deal he had in mind. Ill-gotten gains would be used to cure messy problems. He broke practically every other law to get as far as he had, so what would a little blackmail matter?
The approach was bold.
Attempts to call the company and speak with Castelo Branco proved futile. He decided on a variation of the tactic used on him a year or so earlier. He heard the familiar:
“
Executive offices, Companhia Azevedo.”
“May I speak with Senhor Castelo Branco
, please.”
“I'm sorry, he's not available
. May I ask who is calling?”
“Tell him he may want to take my call. My name is Stanley Provencher. I am in touch with a Reverend Templeton
, and may have urgent information. He’ll know immediately who I am.”
“Hold please.”
“Go ahead.”
He guessed right.
“This is Castelo Branco.”
“Bom dia, senhor. I am sorry to trouble you, but I have met a Reverend Templeton
. I think you might be interested in the information I have in my possession. Our meeting was unexpected, I assure you. I cannot tell you over the phone how our paths crossed, but he has told me an incredible story. It will affect you and your company significantly. He has asked that I convey it to you in person.”
“Why can't he tell me himself?”
“Because he is dead.”
“How did you come by...?”
“I can't talk about that now. I am in the city for a very short time. This has interrupted my schedule, but if you wish to see me, it can be no later than 10 tomorrow morning.”
“Very well, my secretary will be expecting you.”
Castelo Branco hung up and turned to Jaime and Santos.
“Provencher! He’s the one you clowns have been trying to find for a month! And he calls here, to me? Leaves his name as if I know nothing about him? You were convinced he was Templeton
, then this…Hawkes! When he shows his face here tomorrow, you better hope you were right.”
The next morning at five minutes before ten, Connery stood in front of the secretary, dressed in suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, looking very businesslike.
“Stanley Provencher to see Mr. Castelo Branco. We have an appointment.”
“He's waiting to see you. Please come this way.”
For the next several minutes, he would be at the mercy of a ruthless organization. Once again, he had it all on the line. Anything could go wrong. He knew his life hung in the balance. He also knew the name Stanley Provencher was his ticket to see Castelo Branco. In person. The door closed. He stepped into a large office with deep leather chairs and an enormous mahogany desk.
Behind the desk was the man who had taken a year from his life and would have taken much more. He had grown noticeably thicker around the neck and mid
- section. His face was red. The first thing that came to Connery’s mind was an over ripe melon about to burst. Castelo Branco motioned toward the chair in front.
So this is what it’s like to be at the center of a large crime organization?
Connery’s eyes darted to several objects. Nothing unusual. On the desk were two framed pictures, one of an attractive woman, but it seemed dated.
Maybe that’s what she looked like twenty years ago
. The other, he could tell, was more recent. Something about the photography. A girl in her late teens beamed a broad smile. She too was beautiful. Written on the bottom corner were the words,
Para o pai. Com Amor.