Read White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller Online
Authors: Peter Ralph
It was midday when Vanessa Hodge knocked on Doug Lechte’s door. He looked up, grim-faced. “Take a seat. I’m sorry, I have some bad news.”
Five minutes later Vanessa said, “That’s ridiculous. I never discuss clients’ business with anyone. Why would Mr. Cromwell want to suspend me? Why does he hate me so much?”
“It’s not you that he hates,” Lechte replied. “It’s his way of attacking me. He spent the morning lobbying the other partners and as usual the Catholic bloc voted with him. I told them that suspending you was stupid, but Cromwell had the numbers. Are you sure you didn’t inadvertently discuss the results with anyone? A friend, someone from your family?”
“God, even you think it was me.”
“Vanessa, I trust and will defend you with all my being. I just wanted to cover the possibility of you making a slip. You know, you say something to someone you know, and they, not realizing the importance of the information, accidentally pass it onto someone else who acts on it. You know how it works.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I’d never breathe a word to anyone.” A tear ran down Vanessa’s cheek. “It’s so unfair.”
“Yes, it is. I made sure you’re on full pay. You’ve been working long hours. Why don’t you try and get some rest? It won’t take long for the SEC to absolve you.”
“I’ll never be absolved,” Vanessa said. “This will stick to me for the rest of my life. Other firms will soon find out. I’ll never make partner anywhere. I’ll be suspected of breaching client confidentiality. It’ll always be on my CV.”
Lechte knew that everything Vanessa said was true. “Look, I know how stupid it is and how vindictive Phillip Cromwell is. Don’t get disheartened. I’ll always support you, and I guarantee you will make partner here.”
“I don’t know whether I still want to be a partner.” Vanessa sniffled as she fought back tears.
Lechte came around from behind his desk and sat next to her, putting his hand on her arm. “Trust me, Vanessa. It’ll blow over, and when it does, I’ll make Cromwell pay.”
Devlin Cooper’s return performance was passable rather than brilliant in the Cougars comfortable win over the Marauders. The following day he was awoken by the ringing of his prepaid cell. “Good morning, Devlin,” the accented voice said. “You did a good job against the Pirates. We were very pleased. We want you to do it again in the playoffs.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t let my teammates down. Jeez, every camera in America will be on me. It can’t be done.”
“Yes, it can, and, yes, you will.”
“That wasn’t what you said. You said you’d only ask me to do it once.”
“I lied.”
“If I do it again, I’ll be finished for life.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll just have to be more convincing. Take a few more hits.”
“I can’t do it.”
“If you don’t we’ll make you and Mrs. Deacon the best-known porn stars in the country,” the voice hissed. “I’ll be in touch again before the playoffs. Don’t cross me.”
Cooper lay in bed staring at the ceiling and for what must have been the thousandth time cursed himself. He was trapped. There was no escaping the mess. He pulled the blankets up around his neck. He had no reason to get out of bed.
Todd Hansen was returning from lunch when he bumped into Vanessa at the elevators. Her eyes were red and swollen. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough. I’ve been suspended.”
“Suspended? Suspended? What for?”
“An SEC investigator was in seeing Cromwell this morning. The SEC suspect there was insider trading in the stock of Virtex Software and Philco Laboratories immediately prior to the release of their results to the market. They suspect the leak came from the firm. Phillip Cromwell thinks it was me.”
“That’s crazy,” Todd said, relieved that Vanessa was staring at the floor. “You’ll soon be cleared.”
“I’ll never be cleared.” Vanessa looked up and smiled bitterly. “Some of the mud will stick forever.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Thanks for asking. You’re a good friend, Todd, but, no, there’s nothing anyone can do. I have to go.” Vanessa sniffled, as she stepped into an elevator.
Todd could barely walk. His feet seemed glued to the carpet, and he felt his lunch surging up in his throat. He stumbled down to the rest rooms and was violently ill. He splashed cold water on his face and tried to regain composure.
As Todd walked down the poorly lit alley to the coffee shop in Chinatown, a hand reached out and dragged him into a doorway.
“Hello, Todd.” Ferguson grinned. “I’ve just gotta make sure you’re clean before you meet the boss. Turn around.”
“I’m hardly likely to be wearing a wire. It’s my last meeting. I can’t wait to see the last of him and you.”
“Your last meeting, huh? I didn’t know that. That’s not a nice way to talk to someone who looked after you. Have you forgotten what happened to Giovani?” Ferguson asked as he shoved Todd back into the alley. “You better get a move on. The boss doesn’t like being kept waiting.”
Elliot was sitting at a table in the corner and at the back of the near empty coffee shop. He was nursing a short black, and there was a latte sitting opposite him.
“Take a seat, kid.”
“I told you I wasn’t staying,” Todd replied, “but I do want to talk to you. The SEC were in our offices yesterday, and the firm suspended the woman responsible for the audits. You said that no one would ever know about the trades. Did the fools who you work for get too greedy?”
Elliot’s demeanor didn’t change. “The SEC’s got nothing. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over. You’re in the clear. Here’s your note. You’re off the hook as far as owing anyone anything goes.”
Todd wadded it up and pushed it deep into his pants pocket. He hadn’t touched the coffee. “I’m going,” he said. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, and I hope I never set eyes on you again.”
“Not so fast,” Elliot said, pulling a Dictaphone out of his pocket. “You might like to listen to this.”
Todd felt sick. Even before he heard the first word, he knew what it was. He listened as he heard his voice quoting Virtex Software’s results in detail.
“You bastard. You low bastard! You went to the bullshit of searching me every time we met while you were recording everything I said.”
“Would you like to hear what you told us about Philco?” Elliot smirked. “Your coffee’s getting cold, Todd.”
“I won’t help you again. I’ll go to the police before I ever do it again. I’m warning you.”
Elliot laughed. “You’re warning us? Here’s what will happen if you go to the police. You’ll get at least seven years, you’ll disgrace yourself and your precious family, and you’ll never work in a position of trust again. We own you.”
“The seven years might be better than having to deal with you. Besides, if I go to the police, I’ll make certain I’ve got you for company in prison.”
“You stupid, little fool. We know every move you make. We know you’ve been looking for a cheaper apartment. We know everything. We’ve even got our people on the force. Keep that in mind when you’re spilling your guts to your friendly, local cop. He might be one of ours. And if that’s not enough, think about what Ferguson did to Giovani and just imagine that little Italian squealer was your mother.”
Todd involuntarily reached out for the coffee. It was cold. He downed it in one gulp. “You low life bastard,” he said getting to his feet.
“Todd, Todd.” Elliot smiled. “Stay and have another coffee with me. We’re even prepared to pay the rent on your apartment. We don’t want you wasting your time looking at other apartments and going through the hassle of shifting. You deserve a comfortable place.”
“Fuck you,” Todd said as he stumbled toward the door.
“We’ll be in touch. Now you have a good night.”
Elliot’s laugh echoed around Todd’s head as he shuffled down the alley.
Could life be worse?
Elliot waited for Todd to disappear before calling Dermott Becker. “The SEC are investigating those transactions.”
“Is our boy safe?” Becker asked.
“He’s not under suspicion. Montgomery Hastings & Pierce have suspended the manager pending the outcome of the SEC’s investigation.”
“Just as well we covered ourselves. Give the SEC the woman and ease up on Hansen. Let’s give him six months or so before asking for another favor.”
Vanessa Hodge loved her large family and the support it afforded her, but one disadvantage was the total lack of privacy. She moped around her apartment totally bored. Music didn’t work, television didn’t work, reading didn’t work and the countless sympathetic phone calls, some sincere, others not, did nothing for her. She had never suffered down days, mainly because she was so incredibly busy. Brooding gave her time to reflect on the unfairness of her situation. She was still in her nightgown and hadn’t showered. Why would she? It wasn’t as if she was going anywhere. She flopped down on the sofa and rested her chin in her hands. She would have loved to visit her mom, but she knew the grilling about why she wasn’t working would be intense. Worse, this would lead to a flood of calls from sisters, brothers, cousins, aunties and uncles. She resolved that sulking by herself was the better of the two options. Doug Lechte had assured her that it would take no time at all for the SEC to clear her and that she’d most likely be back at work within the week. She already knew that, but it was comforting knowing she had his unconditional support.
It was an overcast Sunday afternoon, and Devlin Cooper would have rather been anywhere than at a family barbecue, but his parents had insisted. As usual, he was surrounded by cousins, uncles and friends all asking questions about the Cougars when his fifteen-year-old nephew, Jason, laughed and said, “You had a real shocker against the Pirates. It looked like you were tanking.”
A few others in the group chuckled.
Without warning Devlin’s demeanor changed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he shouted. “Where do you get off talking shit like that?”
Jason looked like he was going to burst into tears. In all his life, his hero had never spoken to him like that before. “I-I-I’m sorry,” he said, “I-I was joking.”
Devlin’s sister, Marci, who had been standing near the pool, rushed to comfort her son. “What’s wrong with you, Devlin? Don’t you have a sense of humor? Are you starting to believe that media rubbish about you being the golden boy? Oh, and I watched you against the Pirates. You stunk! Now apologize to Jason.”
There were close to a hundred friends and relatives around the pool and barbecue, but there was dead silence.
“Fuck you!” Devlin yelled and stormed across the lawn and out the back gate.
“Devlin! Devlin, get back here,” his father shouted.
Devlin didn’t look around. He jumped in the Ferrari and screeched off down the street. Thirty minutes later he sat in the driveway of his palatial home and sobbed uncontrollably. His world was falling apart.
Aaron Lord held the plain white self-sealing envelope up to the light looking for any clue it might reveal. In bold black typed letters, it had been addressed,
Private and Confidential, Mr. Aaron Lord, SEC,
3 World Financial Center - Sandy Hook #400, New York, NY.
It had contained a note that said,
Vanessa Hodge, The Cayman National Bank, Account number 1197:03561.
Lord had called the bank and with a minimum of pressure had confirmed the existence of the newly created account opened with a deposit of $150,000. For Lord, it was all too easy and had a distinct smell about it. However, Montgomery
Hastings & Pierce had suspended Vanessa Hodge on the mere mention of an SEC investigation. Her boss, Doug Lechte, had gone to pains to say that if there had been a leak it could’ve come from any one of numerous sources. Despite this, Montgomery Hastings & Pierce had suspended her. Were they hiding something? And who had forwarded the envelope? Was it a co-worker or perhaps even a partner?
Lord could have obtained the answers he was after by interrogation and subpoena but a faster way of obtaining it was by seeking the help of the FBI. When Grinich had heard about Virtex and Philco, he’d drawn the same conclusion as Lord. He was more than pleased to be given the chance to participate in the investigation“Aaron, from what you’ve told me it sure looks like your Miss Hodge is the insider,” Grinich said. “What do you want us to do?”
“Warrants to search her mailbox, her apartment, her desk, cell phone, files and computer would sure speed up the investigation.”
“Consider it done. We’re gonna be charging her with some serious offenses.”
It was 6 A.M. when Vanessa was awoken by loud banging on her door and a man shouting, “FBI, open the door, or we’ll smash it down.”
Vanessa threw on a robe and opened the door. There were half a dozen burly men standing there, one with a sledgehammer in his hand.
“Wha-what’s this ab−?” she asked.
The man at the front pushed a piece of paper into her hand and shoved her out of the way, and the others followed. “We have a warrant to search your premises.”
“It-it mus-must be a mis-mistake.”
“It’s no mistake, lady,” one of the men said as they threw her mattress on the floor.
The clothes in her closet were strewn everywhere, and they went through her handbag, purse, and drawers. They found her cell phone and laptop and put them in a tie-up bag. They made no attempt to tone down the noise, and soon neighbors were in the hallway trying to find out what was going on. The agent at Vanessa’s door said, “FBI, don’t worry. Go back to your apartments.”
Vanessa was stunned. She couldn’t hear herself think. She couldn’t phone anyone, and the FBI agents ignored anything she tried to say. She felt defiled and utterly degraded by these obnoxious brutes.
Then one of the agents shouted, “What’s this we have here?”
He had overturned the set of drawers next to her bed, and there was a set of keys taped underneath the bottom drawer. The agent who’d shoved the warrant into her hands said, “What are these for, Miss? Why are you hiding them?”
“I-I-I’ve nev-never seen them be-before.”
“You’re not a very convincing liar,” the agent said. “You’re going away for a long, long time.”
The FBI search had taken less than ten minutes. Vanessa, now alone, knelt down and plugged the landline back into the wall. Deep in shock she pushed some clothes off a chair and sat down. Her tiny apartment looked like a hurricane had gone through it. As the realization of what had occurred dawned on her, she wept. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she gasped for air.
The FBI were no more subtle when they searched Vanessa’s cubicle at
Montgomery Hastings & Pierce. Staff were shocked, and partners were dismayed. Doug Lechte had tried to intervene but had been told to butt out in no uncertain manner. Phillip Cromwell could barely contain his delight. With luck, this would give him the means to finally get rid of Lechte.
When Aaron Lord called Vanessa Hodge and asked her to come in and see him, she had been angry and defiant. He had suggested that she bring a lawyer with her, but she had said that only guilty people needed lawyers. When she entered his office, he was taken aback by her beauty despite the contempt written all over her face. She wore a gray knee-length business suit, a white blouse, and black shoes. Lord extended his hand, but she kept her hands folded in front of her. “Take a seat, Miss Hodge,” he said. “You know why you’re here.”
“No, I don’t! Why am I here? Why did you trash my apartment? How dare you.”
“It’ll save a lot of time if you drop the aggrieved act, Miss Hodge,” Lord said pushing a Cayman National Bank statement toward her. “I suppose the $150,000 materialized out of thin air?”
Vanessa looked at the statement in amazement. “I’ve never had an account with this bank. It’s not my account.”
“We’ll progress a lot faster if you start telling the truth. Are these notarized copies of your driver’s license and passport?”
“Ye-yes. Where-where did you ge-get them from?”
“They were attached to this,” Lord said, sliding an account application with The Cayman National Bank across the desk. “Is that your signature?”
Vanessa felt sick. “Ye-yes, bu-but it must be a for-forgery. I nev-never signed that application. I don’t have an account with tha-that bank.”
“So someone forged an application and deposited $150,000 in your account and you know nothing about it. Do I look like a fool?”
“Somebody framed me!” Vanessa said, with some of her earlier defiance.
Lord laughed. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa replied staring at the bank statement. “It has a mailbox address. I don’t have a mailbox!”
“Stop it,” Lord shouted, shoving the PS 1583 form at her. “This is what you gave UPS. Stop lying. We know what you did. Are you going to try and tell me that signature’s a forgery too? It’s your signature! We’ve checked it.”
Vanessa reached out and held the edge of Lord’s desk. She was shaking. “I–I ne-never fill-filled that form in,” she said. “I-I’ve ne-never seen it before.”
“I don’t suppose you know what these are either,” Lord said, jangling two distinctive keys in his hand.
“I-I saw them for the fir-first time this morn-morning when the FBI was trash-trashing my apartment.”
“You’re not a good liar. They’re the keys to your mailbox.”
Vanessa felt as if the whole world was closing in on her. She had been so confident when she had entered the SEC investigator’s office. Someone had framed her, but she had no idea why. “I-I don’t have-have a mailbox. Tho-those keys mus-must’ve been plan-planted.”
“So you have a $150,000 in a bank account that you never opened. The statements are going to a mailbox that you never opened. And before today you’ve never seen the keys to the mailbox that were found hidden in your apartment. And you know nothing? I told you I’m not a fool, Miss Hodge. You’re going to jail, but I can help you if you tell me who else was involved. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll start cooperating. Who’d you leak the Virtex and Philco results to?”
“I did-didn’t breathe a word to anyone ab-about those res-results. It’s a frame up.”
“Why?” Lord smirked.
“I-I don’t know,” Vanessa said and then paused. “To con-conceal the real cul-culprit.”
“That’s funny. Look, the evidence is damning. You need to come clean. I can tell you that dealing with me is going to be a lot more pleasant than dealing with the FBI, and they’re your next port of call. Now tell me, who did you inform about the results of those companies?”
“No one.”
Lord sighed. “Miss Hodge, I’m going to ask you one last time. Tell me the names of those who put you up to this and we’ll go a lot easier on you. If you cooperate, I’ll do my best to make sure you get a reduced sentence. You could be out in two years.”
A shiver went up Vanessa’s spine. “I-I’ve told you every-everything I know. If there’s nothing el-else. I-I’m going.”
Lord sat at his desk looking at the evidence. It was overwhelming. Despite this, a small part of him believed what the young woman had said. She had never paused or faltered and had been adamant about her innocence. As he picked up the phone, he felt sorry for her. He hadn’t lied about the FBI and the interrogation she was about to undergo was going to be brutal. Chas Grinich answered his phone on the second ring.
“She didn’t talk,” Lord said.
“In the face of all of that evidence. Aaron, I gotta to say I’m surprised. You’re not losing your touch are you?”
“She says it’s a frame up.”
“Yeah, and three pigs just flew past my window. You’re too soft; that’s your problem. We’ll bring her in. A copy of her confession will be on your desk within twenty-four hours.”
“Good luck.”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Grinich replied. “I’ll be in touch.”