Water's Edge (24 page)

Tom quickly scribbled notes on a legal pad as Harrelson talked. He reviewed the arrows and boxes he’d drawn to illustrate the transactions.

“What did he give the real purchasers of the CDs to make them think their money was in the Barbados bank?”

“Phony certificates that looked legitimate. Because Addington was the only person who knew about the investments, there wouldn’t be any communication from the home office with the customers at the time of purchase. Monthly transfers to Pelham’s bank in Barbados for new CD accounts were averaging ten to twenty million euros a month, so everything looked legit. I’m not sure about Addington’s long-range plans, but he only diverted funds from people and companies that expressed an interest in keeping the money on deposit for longer than a year. It was probably the beginnings of a Ponzi scheme in which he paid interest on existing accounts from funds collected on new ones. It would be impossible for one of our advisers working in the US market to pull something like this off because the deposit information passes through multiple hands; however, Addington was on a corporate island by himself developing a new market. Selling CDs was his job, and he was very good at it. Of course, it helped that we pay among the best rates for bank CDs on the planet. As soon as he died, there was an automatic audit of his accounts, and the embezzlement was discovered.”

“Sounds like a breakdown in organizational structure.”

Harrelson was silent for a moment. “That would be one way to put it. There are safeguards in place to prevent something like this from happening in the future.”

“How did you find out about the phony companies in the UK and Barbados? Wouldn’t that information be protected by privacy laws?”

Harrelson coughed. “We have a close working relationship with the bank regulators in Barbados. Discreet inquiries are allowed if we provide reasonable grounds for obtaining information.”

“It’s a more informal financial world than here.”

“And in some ways more efficient. Hopefully, this is the background information you need. How do you want me to send you the data? I can send hard copies via overnight courier or scan it as an e-mail attachment to a secure server. It’s about twenty pages in all.”

“E-mail is fine.” Tom gave him the address. “Did Arthur mention that I’d like to obtain probate court approval before I turn over the money? I can ask the judge to seal the order after it’s entered. That would also protect me if the state bar association ever makes an inquiry.”

“What would trigger an inquiry?”

“Nothing, unless someone complains. In this situation the only person who might do that would be a member of Addington’s family. Are you going to notify them about the embezzlement?”

“We’d hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. Harold Addington is dead, so he’s not subject to prosecution. Return of the money will satisfy our interests. The only loss to the company is the interest we’ll have to pay to the legitimate holders of CDs whose money never made it into their accounts. If Addington’s widow and children never know what happened, it’s fine with us.”

“That’s generous, but I may have to tell Rose Addington, the executrix of Harold Addington’s estate.”

“Why?”

“She’s persistent.”

“About what?”

Tom suddenly felt nervous. At that moment, he couldn’t remember why he’d decided to show Rose the bank account information and deeply regretted that he had.

“The relationship between her father and mine,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Ms. Addington believes my father was representing her father, which was probably true since the money ended up in a designated trust account.”

“Why did Addington hire your father?”

“Based on what you’ve told me, I believe he intended to use my father’s trust account to launder the money. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“That’s what I concluded too.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Does Ms. Addington know about the designated trust account?”

Tom licked his lips. “Yes, I told her.”

“Why did you do that?” Harrelson raised his voice.

“Because I had to respond to a subpoena. Ms. Addington showed up in court, then we had a meeting in my father’s office.”

“That’s not a reason to tell her about the money.”

“It was a mistake.” Tom saw no way to wiggle out of an admission.

“Obviously, and because of it you’ll have to tell her about the theft. Arthur was willing to spare Addington’s family the pain of disclosure, but that’s no longer possible. Can I trust you to handle it?”

Tom felt like a guilty schoolboy. “Yes, sir.”

“And will you be able to obtain a sealed order from the probate judge without generating any publicity?”

“Yes.”

“I hope so. The supporting data will be in your in-box within thirty minutes.”

“Should I communicate in the future with you or Arthur?”

“Me. You’ll have my contact information in the e-mail.”

The call ended. Tom felt stupid for telling Rose Addington, but as executor of the estate he’d not done anything wrong. His error came in making the powerful men at Pelham Financial uncomfortable about his actions.

A few minutes later he received an e-mail from Harrelson’s administrative assistant. Tom printed out the information. It was the type of clear-cut evidence he loved to receive in cases at Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther. Harrelson’s staff had done their homework. The dates, documents, and amounts matched. The identity of the European investors was blacked out to protect their privacy, but Harold Addington’s name appeared at every crucial juncture.

It felt odd reading confidential bank records released without any judicial action or notification to the owner of the accounts. Money poured into Addington’s Barbados account over a two-week period from the Newcastle bank and was withdrawn five days before John Crane opened the designated trust account. Harrelson was right when he said the lax island ways were more efficient when it came to catching bad guys. Of course, the same attitude also made being a bad guy easier. Tom put the information in the empty Addington file and placed the folder in the bottom drawer of the desk.

That evening Tom didn’t look through any more boxes in Elias’s garage. Nothing could trump the information that streamed through cyberspace.

After supper, he and Elias sat on the front porch in a pair of weathered wooden rockers. It was cool but comfortable. Rover ambled off the porch and sniffed around the yard.

“He won’t wander off, will he?” Elias asked. “When I’ve gone for walks with him, I always put on his leash.”

“It’s okay. He considers this home now.”

“How about you?”

“You keep bringing that up. Are you trying to forget about the great job offer I received in Atlanta?”

“Have you accepted it yet?”

“No, but I will.”

They rocked back and forth in silence for a few minutes.

“I wish I didn’t have the pressure of shutting down my father’s office,” Tom said. “A few weeks of vacation sitting on this porch in the evenings would be nice right now.”

“What kind of pressure? I thought you were just calling clients and helping them find other lawyers.”

“That part is easy. The pressure has to do with Harold Addington. I can’t tell you the details, but it’s a serious situation, and I’m about to be at odds with Rose.”

“You need someone like your father to step in and be a peacemaker.”

“I don’t have a problem with Rose. The wrongs are in the past, and she didn’t do them. But I’m going to have to tell her some very hard things that are going to hurt her and devastate the rest of the Addington family if she chooses to let them know.”

Elias stopped rocking. “That’s why you asked me the other day how a serious Christian could commit an obvious sin. You were thinking about Harold Addington.”

“Yeah,” Tom admitted, “but please don’t ask me any details.”

“I’m too old to be curious, but I’ll pray for you to have wisdom.”

“And that Rose will be able to accept the truth.”

chapter
TWENTY

T
he next day Tom decided it would be best to call Rose as soon as he reached the office. There was no use putting off the inevitable. He took out the Addington folder and stared at the number for a few seconds with a heavy heart before picking up the phone. Rose was a nice young woman who loved her father. To permanently soil his memory with a stain that couldn’t be removed was sobering. Tom could only hope Elias’s prayers proved potent. He placed the call.

“Hello,” Rose said.

“It’s Tom Crane. I have some information to go over with you.”

“Me too,” Rose responded. “When can we get together?”

“Uh, any time today.”

Tom doubted anything Rose had found would prove relevant.

“I’ll be down to see you in a couple of hours. Mum isn’t feeling too well, and I have some things to do around here first.”

“Okay.”

After the call ended Bernice arrived at the office. Tom saw that she still moved slower than normal. Leaving the Addington file on his desk, he stepped into the reception area.

“Did your back flare up again?” he asked. “I thought it was getting better.”

“I raked a few leaves yesterday, which was a big mistake. It will loosen up.”

“You can go home early if you need to. Rose Addington is coming in to meet with me in a few hours.”

Bernice eased herself into her chair. “I won’t go home until she leaves. My back may hurt, but I’m more uncomfortable with the idea of leaving you alone with her. She’s a clever thing, and when she starts flapping her eyelashes at you and jabbering away in that accent of hers, you’re likely to buy whatever she’s selling.”

Tom sat on the edge of Bernice’s desk. “I appreciate the offer of protection, but this is going to be a very painful conversation that should be handled privately. I have information that confirms some bad financial dealings by her father. My guess is that I’m going to need a box of tissues, not a witness to a meltdown.”

“At least leave the door cracked open. I can position my chair—”

“Nope,” Tom interrupted, then stood up and eyed Bernice suspiciously. “Did you ever do that when my father was meeting with a client?”

The older woman hesitated. “There were a few times.”

“This won’t be one of them.”

Tom spent part of the next two hours getting ready for the meeting with Rose. He prepared a PowerPoint presentation based on the information he’d received from Owen Harrelson and made extra copies of the documents. His phone buzzed.

“Ms. Addington is here,” Bernice announced in an official-sounding voice.

“I’ll be right out.”

Rose was standing in the middle of the reception area with a slender leather pouch in her right hand. She was wearing a tartan skirt and a light blue sweater. Tom noticed that Rose did, in fact, have beautiful eyelashes.

“You’re not Scottish, are you?” Tom asked.

“Not a bit, but that doesn’t keep me from liking the colors.”

Tom saw Bernice roll her eyes.

“Come into the office,” Tom said.

“Would you like me to join you?” Bernice asked.

“It’s fine with me if she does,” Rose said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Tom said, holding his hand out to stop Bernice, who was sliding back her chair.

Tom firmly closed the door. Rose sat in one of the side chairs. Tom positioned the computer screen so she could see it. Before he could start his presentation, Rose reached into the leather pouch and took out a sheet of paper.

“I found this in my father’s office at the house,” she said. “Mum and I cleaned out all the valuable stamps and important papers in the home safe weeks ago, but I’d not gone through everything in his desk. Most of it wasn’t important, but he had a memo to your father in a bottom drawer.”

Rose handed a single sheet of paper to Tom. It was dated three days before the designated trust account was opened.

To: John Crane, Esq.
From: Harold Addington
John,
This will confirm our conversation this past Wednesday at Gilbert Lake. I have no confidence in PF’s willingness to address its issues in an appropriate way. Once the funds are received by you, please deposit them in a designated trust account and notify me.

Your legal assistance and personal friendship during this difficult time are greatly appreciated.

Tom read the memo three times.

“What does this mean?” he asked. “It’s vague.”

“It seems clear enough to me. Papa was aware of problems at Pelham and hired your father to advise him. The money in the trust account has something to do with Papa’s plans to correct the situation.”

“That’s a stretch. It might make sense if he’d told your mother about the problem and what he intended to do about it.”

“What could she do but worry? Obviously, your father was his confidant.” Rose pointed to the memo. “And attorney.”

Tom placed the sheet of paper on the front of his desk. “My father didn’t have a copy of this memo in his file. How can I know it was delivered?”

“Why would you have any doubt?” Rose asked with a puzzled expression. “Wasn’t the money deposited into your father’s trust account a few days after the date of this memo?”

“Yes, three days.”

“Would that be what is called circumstantial evidence?”

“Maybe.” Tom paused. “But since we talked I’ve seen direct, not circumstantial, evidence about the origin of the money.”

“You found your father’s file?”

“No, something more complete than anything he could have prepared. I’ve organized the information for you on my computer.”

Tom hit the space bar on his computer, and the first PowerPoint slide appeared. Rose listened attentively and looked at each sheet of paper as he handed it to her. At first she didn’t seem to grasp the significance of what she was seeing, but after he explained how her father sold CDs to European customers without forwarding the money to an account in the name of the person or company buying the CD, her face suddenly turned red, and she snatched the paper from his hand.

“This is a lie!”

Tom stopped. Rose’s lower lip quivered, and he slid the box of tissues on the edge of the desk closer to her. She didn’t grab one.