White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller (25 page)

“That’s encouraging news.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d be pleased. Todd, what is it with you and Frank Arturo?”

“Why?” Todd asked. “If you’re thinking about asking me to spy on him about his mob you can forget about it. Besides, in all the time I’ve spent with him, he’s never breathed a word about what he does. He doesn’t need to. Everyone in prison lives in fear of him. Guards included.”

“I wasn’t going to ask. I can’t imagine him being involved in securities fraud. I’m just intrigued. You visit him every fortnight. What is it with you and him?”

“I don’t know. He likes me I suppose and for that I am grateful. You and your mates at the FBI promised to protect me and couldn’t deliver. He did.”

“Yeah, but you’re out now. You know he’s a cold-blooded killer, don’t you? You don’t want to get too close to him.”

Todd laughed derisively. ”A friend of his got word to me that it’d be wise if I visited him. What would you do?”

Lord didn’t answer. “Are they still searching you?”

“Fuck! I told Grinich I was never wearing a wire. Don’t you guys know what never means?”

“Jeez, settle down. I wasn’t going to ask you to wear a wire? Do you remember seeing this phone before?” Lord asked, passing Todd a blue Samsung Galaxy.

“You know the answer. It’s the same as the one on Elliot’s desk,” Todd said apprehensively.

“You said you couldn’t get the number, and you didn’t want to run the risk of downloading the SIM card. How do you feel about switching phones?”

“Do I look stupid? None of his saved contacts will be on the phone and his password won’t work.”

“Any password will work.” Lord laughed. “And the phone will crash when he tries to use it.”

“So his login’s fine but when he tries to make a call the phone will fail?”

“His contacts won’t be available and nor will the keypad.”

“Okay, humor me. He takes his cell phone to the local dealer and asks him to take the SIM card out of the old phone and put it in a replacement. After the dealer does it, Elliot’s saved contacts no longer exist. He doesn’t need to be a Rhodes Scholar to work out what happened, and I’m dead. I’m not doing it.”

“What if the dealer says he can’t get his contacts because the SIM card’s corrupted?” Lord smiled.

“Can a SIM card be corrupted?” Todd asked, not trying to hide his skepticism.

“I’m not going to say it’s common, but it can.”

“I’d rather run the risk of carrying two phones rather than wearing a wire. They only pat me down at random now, and I’m not sure that any of them, except Elliot, would be suspicious.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I’ll take it with me and think about it. I’m not promising anything.”

“Todd, if you do it, make sure you turn Elliot’s cell phone off as soon as you make the switch. I’d hate for it to ring while it was in your pocket.”

“That’s the first thing that crossed my mind. You guys come up with the fancy ideas, but it’s not your life on the line.”

As they neared the entrance to Castlebrough Lord said, “Enjoy your visit with Arturo. Who would’ve thought a year ago that you’d be friends with the most powerful Mafia boss in the country?”

Chapter 49

It was a gloomy Chicago morning, and a light drizzle was falling as two carloads of Fibbies drove through the gates signed Refrigerated, Chilled & General Storage Inc. A wagon with two of Chicago’s finest and their German shepherds followed them. Police had blocked the surrounding streets. Grinich was taking no chances. He leaped from the leading vehicle and strode toward the lobby’s double glass doors, warrant in hand. Surprisingly, a man he knew to be Brock Borchard was sipping coffee in one of the visitors’ chairs. He was flanked by two gigantic men while a smaller man sat at the receptionist’s desk. Grinich pushed the warrant into Borchard’s hands who said, “Terrible weather, isn’t it? Would you like coffee?”

“This isn’t a social visit.” Grinich snarled, as agents shoved open the door to the corridor leading to the offices. “Read the warrant.”

“After,” Borchard said, yawning. “Don’t let us hold you up. If you need anything, just ask. We’re here to help.”

Grinich took the door to the warehouse where the two German shepherds were barking and straining to get off their leashes. Four of his agents and the two police officers were searching a sparsely filled warehouse. “What have you found?” he asked one of the officers.

“Nothing yet, but the dogs never get this excited unless they’re sniffing cocaine,” the officer said, bending to let them off their leashes. “Don’t worry, they’ll find it.” 

“Keep one on its leash,” Grinich said. “Let’s see if there’s anything in the offices.”

The dog strained and pulled to get to the boardroom, but there was nothing in it. The imprints of two cabinets were still in the carpet, and the dog stood over them and yelped. The officer led the dog to Borchard’s office where there was a small combination safe. The dog put its paws on it and whined.

“Mr. Borchard,” Grinich shouted, “please open the safe or we’ll have to destroy it.”

“Sure,” Borchard grinned, dialling in the combination and opening the door.

The dog went crazy barking and whining while trying to put its head in the empty safe.

Grinich looked at Borchard’s smirking face and knew the raid had been leaked. They weren’t going to find anything. “Why hasn’t the safe got anything in it?” he asked.

“It was here when I bought the place. I don’t use it,” Borchard replied.

“Yet you had no trouble remembering the combination,” Grinich said. “Funny. Real funny.”

Borchard laughed. “I’ve got a good memory for numbers.”

“So have I,” Grinich said, glancing at one of his agents. “Get Mr. Borchard’s three helpers and bring them to the boardroom.”

“What’s this about?” Borchard asked as Grinich pushed him into the boardroom.

“Empty your pockets and put the contents on the table in front of you,” Grinich said to Borchard and his men.

“I said what’s this about?” Borchard said.

Again Grinich ignored him. “Turn your cell phones on,” he said. “Don’t worry about logging on.”

“Are they on?” Grinich asked two of the agents who were helping him.

They nodded and Grinich took his cell phone out and punched in a number. The phone in front of Dirk Vaughan began to ring, and his face dropped. Borchard’s smirk disappeared.

“Handcuff him and read him his rights,” Grinich said.

“What is this?” Borchard demanded.

“Mr. Vaughan is going to be charged with attempted blackmail. What do you know about it, Mr. Borchard?”

“Nothing. Why would I?” Borchard blustered.

“He’s your employee, isn’t he? Was he acting on your instructions?”

“For what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Borchard said.

As the agents marched Vaughan out the door, Grinich looked over his shoulder. Borchard’s smirk was gone, and his face was black with rage.

Dermott Becker was in the Hamptons watching his wife play tennis when Borchard called and told him what had happened.

“Don’t worry about Dirk,” Becker said. “Without the CD they’ve got nothing. You realize there’s no way you can release it now?”

“Yeah, but when Dirk’s out and the heat dies down I’m going to fix the bitch.”

“Don’t lose your cool. I’ll call Jack Elliot off. The pressure must have driven her to the FBI. Let’s not make it any worse than it is.”

“It’s more than that. The Fibbies knew about the drugs as well. They didn’t find out about them from her.”

Becker put the phone down as his young wife bounced across the court and cracked a booming forehand down the line. The mistake he had made bringing Borchard into the business was starting to hurt. The key to their success was that they had always flown under the radar, but the thug from Chicago was drawing unwanted attention to himself. Becker knew that unless something was done it was only a matter of time before Borchard would lead the FBI to Vulture Inc.

On Sunday night, Todd rationalized that the risk of being caught with the blue Samsung Galaxy was remote. Rarely was he patted down and even if he was, it was no certainty that the second cell phone would arouse any suspicion.

Monday morning was entirely different. It was a cool morning, but the underarms of his shirt were wet, and his jacket was confining. As he entered the club, he saw the thugs around the snooker tables. Amon looked up and shouted, “Hold on.”

Todd’s heart pulsated as the nasty, little Irishman ambled toward him. “You’re looking stressed,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I overslept. I didn’t even have time to shower. I sprinted to get here on time.”

For the first time since Todd had met him, Amon broke out into genuine laughter. “You think we give a feck if you’re late? You’re not working for that fecking posh Manhattan accounting firm anymore.”

“I-I didn’t know.”

“Well, you do now. The boss won’t be in today, but he wants you to calculate the vig on all the outstanding loans and prepare a list of all of the delinquents. You and me are gonna be doing some debt collection this week. If I see you lift your head from the desk today I’ll break your kneecaps,” Amon said, and then laughed at his joke.

Todd watched as Amon rejoined the men around the pool tables, and they started laughing and looking in his direction. He took the stairs two at a time. The phone in his jacket felt like it weighed a ton and the thought of bringing it in again tomorrow made him sick. There was nowhere in his office where he could hide it, though. He had stupidly thought that Elliot would be in today and that he would get the opportunity to make the switch. Now as he sat behind his desk reflecting, he realized that it might be days, even weeks before an opportunity to make the switch arose. Where could he hide the phone? Then it hit him. He grabbed a roll of masking tape and headed toward the cellar. Once there, he looked around to make sure McEvoy hadn’t followed him before kneeling and securely taping the cell phone under the lowest rack. As he walked back up the stairs, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Chapter 50

After Karen Deacon told Chas Grinich what had occurred she felt that a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Soon after she called prominent sportscaster, Libby Mansfield, who was also a friend of Tom’s and hers. The following day Karen sat in Libby’s office looking at the late thirties, blonde woman dressed in a black suit, black shoes and wearing matching thick framed black spectacles. If she was trying to create the impression of power she had succeeded in spades. After Libby had listened to Karen’s story, she said, “This is a story that would be better covered by news and current affairs.”

“I want you to do the interview.”

“I understand. I’m just not sure my bosses will go along with it.”

“Libby, I hate saying this, but you’re not the only friend I have in the media. I’d like you to handle it but if not I will find someone else who I’m sure will help me.”

“And you want me to go over all the questions with you so that you can approve them and get your answers down pat?” Libby asked.

“Yes.”

“It won’t work. The audience will see straight through it. I can lead you through the early questions, but I’m also going to ask you some that are out of left field.”

Karen frowned. “I’m not sure I like that.”

“Karen, listen to me. If you answer my questions with the same sincerity you’ve just shown, you have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to try and tear you down or make a fool of you.”

Karen recalled that Grinich had said something similar. “Okay, when will we do it?”

“I still have to get the all-clear from my bosses. If they say yes, I think we should do it on
Your Nation
this Sunday night. How does that sound?”

“The quicker, the better,” Karen replied.

Karen had no idea how Tom would react, so she arranged to meet him in a small city restaurant for lunch. They ordered drinks and then she said, “I don’t know whether you’ll want to eat after you hear what I have to say.”

For the next thirty minutes, she related everything that had occurred. The pain on her husband’s face was almost too much to bear.

When she had finished, he was white and wringing his hands. “Why?” he whispered.

Karen thought about saying
because you neglected me,
but Tom was hurting enough without having to listen to feeble excuses. “Animal magnetism,” she said, shaking her head. “We knew it was wrong, and we tried to stop, but the attraction was too strong. Devlin took his life because of it.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I feel like a three hundred pound linebacker just hit me.”

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m really sorry.”

“Do you think telling the kids, Devlin’s parents and going on national television is going to help?”

“I know it’s going to hurt you,” Karen said, “but it’s the only way of partially defusing the impact of that CD when it hits the net.”

Tom groaned and then stood up. “I’m going to skip lunch,” he said. “I need time to think. What you did was terrible but no one deserves to go through what you have. I hope the FBI gets those bastards.”

“I know you’re angry. Later, if you feel better, can we talk?”

“I’m not angry, Karen. I’m sad. Sad for a great, young football player who lost his life far too early. Sad for you. Sad for the kids. And sad for me.”

Telling the kids wasn’t any easier, particularly the eldest, Sally, who was nearly fourteen. After her mom had appeared on television, Sally knew that she would be the butt of taunts and cruel jokes at school.

“I have to do it,” Karen said. “It’s the only way I can stop the blackmailers.”

“You said they’re still going to release that CD. Just don’t pay them. You don’t have to go on television and tell the world what you’ve done,” Sally said. “How could you have done that to dad? I hate you.”

“What’s a blackmailer?” asked six-year-old Tom junior.

“Sally, you’ll understand when you get older,” Karen said, instantly wishing she hadn’t.

“I’ll never understand,” Sally shouted, wiping tears from her eyes as she stomped out the door. “I’m going to my room.”

“Will dad be coming home now?” asked nine-year-old Brett.

“I don’t know.” Karen sighed.

As expected, Devlin’s parents proved the most difficult. At first they had been warm and welcoming but as Karen told them what had occurred, they became cold. Karen had not expected sympathy or forgiveness, and she was not surprised by the Coopers’ reaction. When she had finished, there were no questions. Instead, Mrs. Cooper looked at her with hate filled eyes and said, “Is that all?”

“I-I-I’m sorry.”

“Yes, for yourself.” Mrs. Cooper hissed. “If there’s nothing else, please leave.”

“Get out of our sight,” Mr. Cooper said, as he strode to the front door and held it open.

Amon McEvoy was dressed in a full-length black coat as he climbed behind the wheel of the dark blue Chevy Impala. “Have you got the list?” he asked.

“Yes,” Todd replied, locking his seatbelt.

They drove for ten minutes without a word before stopping at the front of a seedy apartment building. Todd watched as McEvoy took a baseball bat from the backseat and put it under his coat. “How much does the prick in #214 owe?”

“Four thousand,” Todd said.

“Let’s go.”

The concrete stairs were cracked, and the steel railing was rusted. The paint was flaking, and the smell of mold and dampness was in the air. Todd knocked on the door of #214 and a fat, bald guy about forty with his arms covered in tattoos and wearing a dirty white singlet answered. Despite the tattoos, the track marks were clearly visible. “Mr. Martin,” Todd said, “I’m here to collect the four thousand you owe Bandits.”

“What is this? I only owe twenty-five hundred!”

“You forgot the interest, sir. Here, let me show you,” Todd said, sensing the little Irishman moving behind him.

For more than five minutes, Todd went over the calculations, explaining that interest kicked in at ten percent per month on the first of every month no matter when the money’s borrowed. “If you borrow in the first week and pay back in full in the last week, you won’t pay any interest, sir.”

The man grimaced. “I don’t have any control of that. Hold on.”

When he returned, he had a handful of cash in all denominations. “Count it,” he said, “it’s all there.”

As they got back in the car, McEvoy said, “Maybe the boss is right. You might make a good collector.”

The scenario was repeated three more times. In each instance, Todd was respectful and helpful.

“We’ll see how good you are in here,” McEvoy smirked as they stopped on a street that looked like a ghetto.

Todd glanced at McEvoy and saw him rest his hand on a bulge under his coat at chest level. This time the apartment was on the ground level and when Todd knocked the door was opened by an African American at least 6’6” and three hundred pounds. His eyes were yellow, and spit was coming from the side of his mouth. “Whaddya want, white boy?” he shouted.

“You owe-” was all Todd got out before two huge hands in the middle of his chest sent him crashing into the opposite wall.

As the man moved forward, McEvoy swung the baseball bat with all his force. It cracked into the big man’s kneecap, and a look of shock came across his face as he toppled to the floor. In an instant, McEvoy had the barrel of his gun hard up against the man’s head. “Listen, motherfecker, I’m going to count to ten, and if you haven’t told me where I can find five gorillas, your brains are going to be splattered all over the wall. One,   two-”

A woman came to the door and screamed, “No, no. Don’t hurt him anymore. I’ll give you your money.”

“You better hurry, sister,” McEvoy said, “three, four, five, six, seven-”

“Here, here,” she said. Todd got to his feet and quickly counted the five one thousand dollar rolls of cash.”

“It’s all there,” Todd said. “Let’s go.”

As McEvoy reached down to pick up the baseball bat, the man said, “The next time I see you, you’re dead.”

“Is that right?” McEvoy said, and then without warning smashed the bat into the man’s head. As he lay unconscious on his back, McEvoy raised the bat again and slammed into the man’s other kneecap. “You’ll find that mighty hard, motherfecker when you can’t even walk.”

The woman was screaming, but McEvoy acted like he had all the time in the world.

“Let’s go,” Todd said, the panic in his voice palpable.

“Don’t worry. The cops never come here, and there ain’t anyone else around who wants to tangle with this,” McEvoy said, patting the bulge under his coat.

Todd sat ashen-faced in the car. “I don’t care what you do,” he said. “I’m never debt collecting again.”

McEvoy sneered. “I told the boss you were spineless. You sure proved that. Weak bastard!”