Kerri took a sip of her orange juice, then spoke. “That’s what I want to talk about… My first inclination was to ignore the call and forget about it, but the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. I don’t think I have anything to gain by getting involved in this thing, but it won’t let go. It’s like an itch that needs scratching, but it worries me that it might be poison ivy. The more you scratch it, the more it spreads.” She made pleading eye contact with both her father and Karen. “Help me with this. I really value your advice.”
Mike responded without hesitation. “Approach it from the other end. Instead of trying to decide if you have anything to gain by getting involved, you should consider what you have to lose by not getting involved. I think a good place to start is to remind yourself of what happened to Wilhelm Lentz, an innocent man who lost his life because of Enerco’s greed. He lost his life because the management of that company was more concerned about trying to force you to sign their offer, and simultaneously to stop you from doing the right thing. You told me that Lentz was married and had two teenaged daughters. Consider what his wife and daughters would think of you if they knew you had an opportunity to force the people responsible to atone for Wilhelm’s death, and you passed on it because you didn’t want to get involved. Those sons of bitches went to war with you, Kerri. They kicked you out of your job and never once gave any consideration to what their actions would do to your life, Lentz’s life, the lives of his wife and children, and the lives of the families of the Iacardi employees who died last September. I think you owe it to yourself and a lot of people to get involved.”
Kerri exhaled loudly. “Thanks, dad. You have a way with words. You’ve analyzed the situation better than I could ever think of doing. I’m grateful.”
“You’re welcome. That’s what fathers are for… So tell us what you think. Are you going to take the sons of bitches down, or spend the rest of your life wishing you did?”
“I’m certainly going to return Sandra Schafer’s call and make arrangements to see her material. Then I’ll know what to do. I’m sure you already know.”
CHAPTER 67
Houston. Friday, April 19.
Sandra Schafer, on her way to work and at the wheel of her white 2001 Chrysler Town & Country, was traveling south in heavy traffic on North Freeway. She reached for her Blackberry when she heard its familiar ring. “Schafer,” she said.
“Sandra, it’s Kerri King returning your call. Can you talk?”
“Sure,” Schafer replied, excited. She was talking to The Iacardi Santa Claus, the mysterious woman for whom the whole world was looking. “Where are you? I guess you know a lot of people are looking for you.”
“I do, and I don’t want to be found. I can tell you that I’m calling from somewhere in Canada… To the best of your knowledge, is there any way this conversation can be monitored?”
“No. I’m using my personal cell, and you just called my private number.”
“Good, then let me tell you I’m honored that you and your boss chose me to work with you. I also want you to know that I think what you’re doing is extremely courageous. Judging from my experience with Enerco management, I don’t blame you for being concerned about your job. To the extent that I can, I’m prepared to help you. I’m also prepared to take every precaution to keep you and your boss anonymous.”
Schafer was overjoyed. In addition to doing what her conscience had demanded, she had succeeded in enlisting the support of a world wide celebrity. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support… I’ve wanted to do this for quite a while, but I’m really worried about my job. I just can’t lose it. I feel like such a weakling.”
“You’re not a weakling. You’re dealing with very dangerous people. I speak from experience. On that subject, I was initially inclined to fly to Houston to see you, but because of my recent notoriety, that’s not going to happen. I’m going to ask you to make copies the information you have and to mail them to me. Can you do that?”
“Yes. I’ve already taken everything I have to Kinkos and had it copied. There was no way I could use the company’s copying machines. They’re too closely monitored.”
“Good, then package your copies and send them to Steve Monteith, Post Office Box 297, Port Carling, Ontario, Canada. The zip code is…”
Schafer interrupted. “Who is Steve Monteith?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s a very close friend of mine. Your secret will be safe with him. I don’t have to tell you why I can’t use my name and address.”
“Okay… Could you email that address to me. I can’t write it down because I’m driving. I sent you my email address.”
“Sure. I’ll do that as soon as we end this call. I’ll review your information when I get it, then call you and tell you what I’m going to do. If the information is actionable, I promise I’ll do a lot.”
“Oh, it’s actionable. You won’t believe it. I’ll send it to you today,” Schafer promised, then continued her journey to work at Enerco headquarters.
Her first order of business was to tell her boss the good news. She knocked on Soloman’s door, then opened it and peered in. “Clarence, you busy?”
“Yes, but never too busy for you. Come on in,” he said, beckoning with his right hand.
Schafer entered and sat in a chair closest to Soloman’s desk. She smiled like the proverbial Cheshire cat. “You won’t believe what just happened… I got a call from Kerri King. She’s agreed to blow the whistle for us.”
Soloman forced a smile. “That’s good news,” he said, fear now gripping him. He wished he had not suggested Kerri King or anybody to Schafer. No matter who blew the whistle on Enerco management, Jeffrey Wheeler would immediately assume the information came from his department. Questions would be asked. Answers would be demanded. Heads would roll.
CHAPTER 68
Port Carling. Friday, April 26.
It was a cool day for late April. The temperature had struggled to reach fifty. Rain was heavy and constant.. Following a suggestion from Gail Menschew, Kerri had asked Steve to drive her car all the way from Toronto to Muskoka. She believed that it was time to re-introduce him to a driving experience. He had performed his assignment flawlessly, never once displaying any sign of trepidation. She had concluded that he had succeeded in subverting his fear, or he had done a masterful job of hiding it.
During the two hour drive, she had, in addition to monitoring his performance, explained to Steve, in considerable detail, what she was doing and what she intended to do. She had left nothing out, describing her communications with Sandra Schafer and her subsequent discussions with Karen and her father. She had done so because she loved and trusted Steve, wanted him to know her motivation for getting involved, and most importantly, needed him to be in her corner, in case anything went wrong.
They arrived in Muskoka for the first time since their defining moment nine days earlier. They had been virtually inseparable during the interval. Long walks, endless discussions, mutual discovery, affectionate touching, and frequent sex had filled their days and nights. Creative and imaginative disguises had miraculously saved her from being identified as The Iacardi Santa Claus and the media frenzy that would have inevitably ensued. The anonymity and the joy of being in the company of Steve had given her an inner peace. She had begun to enjoy her new life, out of the pressure-cooker atmosphere of New York, and at last free to choose instead of decide. There was, however, one final hurdle, one that terrified her, yet strangely attracted her. She was about to become a whistle blower, lifting the curtain on the illegal and corrupt activities of Enerco management. To bolster her courage, she had continuously told herself that she was embarking on a crusade for all the reasons her father had identified. Try as she did to deny it, however, she was compelled to admit to herself that at least a tiny component of her motivation was revenge.
The
heavy rain continued as Steve stopped the car in front of the Port Carling post office. He kept the motor running, then ran inside to pick up his mail, including Sandra Schafer’s package, a wrapped legal page-sized box over four inches thick. He raced back to the car and drove to his home. Once he and Kerri were inside, he turned on the electrical base board heaters, built a roaring fire in the bowels of his pot-bellied stove, and prepared a large pot of coffee. While Steve continued to work, Kerri eagerly opened Schafer’s package and began to read. She continued to do so until the aroma of freshly brewed coffee invaded her nostrils. She interrupted her reading and looked up at Steve. “If it’s half as good as it smells, I’ll have a cup,” she said.
Steve removed two dark blue ceramic cups from his cupboard and filled them. He gave one to Kerri, then sipped his own as he watched the most beautiful woman he had ever seen continue to read. Intrigued and curious, he also began to read. By coincidence, he picked a section of Schafer’s package that she had entitled ‘Illegal Mark to Market Accounting.’ While the process was extremely complex, understanding it was greatly facilitated by notes Schafer had hand written in the margins. Minutes passed with only the pounding of heavy rain disrupting the silence.
His profound distaste for dishonesty was quickly offended. “This is incredible!” he declared, shattering the silence. “I’m not an accountant, but I can understand this. These people are declaring profits they haven’t even made. How the hell can they get away with it?”
Kerri smiled, delighted that Steve had not only shown an interest, he was now involved. “They can’t. I’m going to make sure of that,” she promised. Instead of continuing to read, she stared at Steve, her blue eyes conveying love and admiration. “You’re a hell of a guy, Steve Monteith. You’re really into this thing, aren’t you?”
He smiled, blew a kiss to her, then held up the papers he had been reading. “Absolutely. I started reading this for you, but that’s changed. It took me five pages to realize I’m reading for us.” He paused and displayed a worried expression. “This stuff is unbelievable. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s obvious you’re dealing with dangerous people.”
“I have to. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t,” Kerri replied, straining to avoid showing any sign of the fear that had gnawed at her from the moment she listened to Schafer’s message.
CHAPTER 69
Toronto. Monday, April 29.
Kerri, with willing and capable support from Steve, and a weekend reading marathon, had completed her study of Sandra Schafer’s lengthy information package. It consisted of more than seven hundred type-written pages, containing rheims of well documented data, complete with dates, supporting invoices, receipts and explanatory notes. She had not only concluded that the content was actionable, it contained enough evidence to constitute a slam dunk, one way ticket to lengthy prison terms for Ken Layton, Jeffrey Wheeler, Andrew Speers, and likely a number of other Enerco executives. With the fraudulent complicity of Benjamin, Alexander & Gabriel LLP, a large and respected accounting firm, the company had been duping the investment community into believing Enerco was far more successful than it actually was. Primarily with the use of special purpose entities, a myriad of complex offshore companies and limited partnerships, the company had been hiding gigantic trading losses, and over-stating revenues and income. In addition, the company had been fraudulently reporting profits without actually realizing them.
The timing of Enerco’s corporate shenanigans had been exquisite. It was the golden age of corporate thievery, a time when executive compensation headed for the stratosphere, huge bonuses were based on short term performance, and long term planning was limited to the next quarterly report. Breaking the rules was considered smart, or at least cool. Corporate executives thought they could continue to do so forever, and with impunity. Each of Enerco’s thieves had a role. Ken Layton was the boss, the man who sanctioned everything, schmoozed influential politicians with lavish parties and obscene campaign donations, lobbied and encouraged them to change the rules in Enerco’s favor. When he failed to get his required rule changes, he broke them. Jeffrey Wheeler, a financial genius, was the idea man. Incredibly, over his decade long association with Enerco, he had conjured up a mind-numbing blizzard of schemes, plans and vehicles, all of which were designed to bend or break accounting rules, to avoid or evade income tax, and to improve the market value of Enerco’s stock. Andrew Speers was the facilitator. Possessed with a brilliant and creative mind and a successful, near vertical career path, he made Wheeler’s ideas happen.
Kerri decided it was time to act. She could have taken Schafer’s information directly to The Internal Revenue Service, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Securities and Exchange Commission, but instead elected to talk to Jeffrey Wheeler first. She wanted to give him and his two colleagues a chance to make a voluntary confession, to disgrace themselves publicly. She also wanted, needed to watch Wheeler squirm, just as he had done to her. She privately admonished herself for that need, but refused to suppress it.
With dogged determination in her mind, fear and trepidation in her heart, she turned on her Blackberry and dialed Wheeler’s office number. His secretary answered and Kerri asked to speak to Mister Wheeler.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Kerri King.”
A perceptible delay was followed by, “He’s in a meeting, Miss King. If you can give me…”
“Tell him it’s urgent,” Kerri interrupted. “I think he’ll speak to me.”
“… Please hold for a moment.”
Kerri waited for thirty seconds, then heard a click, followed by Wheeler’s voice. “Nice of you to call, Miss King. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a meeting with you, at your earliest convenience. We can do it in Houston, but I would prefer Toronto. You probably know I’m living there now. I don’t think you would want me to discuss the reasons for the meeting on the telephone, but I will if you insist.”
Wheeler chuckled. “Go ahead and tell me why I should interrupt my busy schedule and fly all the way to Toronto, just to see you. You’re old news, Miss King. I really don’t think we have anything to say to each other, unless you’re calling to tell me you’ve decided to take the job I was kind enough to offer you.”
Listening again to Wheeler’s arrogance succeeded in raising the level of Kerri’s ire and determination. “You can find someone else to fill that position. I respectfully decline your offer… Now, about the meeting. My place or yours?”
“You still haven’t told me what you want to talk about. Do it fast. You’re wasting my time.”
“I want to talk about a ton of accounting irregularities at Enerco.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Wheeler said, his heart rate accelerating, his haughty confidence punctured like a balloon.
“We both know you do, Jeffrey. I can be a lot more specific, but I don’t think you want me to do that on the phone.”
“I think you’re full of shit.”
“Fine, then we’ll say ‘goodbye’ and I’ll take my information straight to the F.B.I, the I.R.S., and the S.E.C.”
“Wait. Where did you get your information?”
“That’s none of your business. Who knows? Maybe I got it from Wilhelm Lentz.”
“I can be in Toronto by tomorrow morning,” Wheeler said, his arrogance gone. “Where and when will I meet you?”
“In the lobby of The King Edward Hotel. Noon. I’ll buy your lunch.” Kerri took delight in offering lunch because that was exactly what Wheeler had done when he met and blackmailed her at The Plaza in New York the previous December.
Wheeler slammed his receiver into its cradle, then hurried to Ken Layton’s office. He entered without knocking and found his boss, feet on his desk, reading glasses hung on the end of his nose, scanning a hand full of correspondence. “We’ve got big trouble,” he d
eclared, causing Layton to frown at his visitor. He hated surprises. Worse, he hated bad news. “What kind of trouble?” he asked in his deep baritone voice, clearly annoyed by the intrusion.
“I just got a call from your friend and mine, Kerri King. She wants me to meet her in Toronto tomorrow, to discuss what she called a ton of accounting irregularities at Enerco.”
Wheeler’s news succeeded in attracting Layton’s attention. He removed his legs from his desk and sat upright. “What do you think she’s got? Did you ask her?”
“I don’t know, and no to your second question. I tried to blow her off, but she threatened to take whatever she’s got to the I.R.S., the F.B.I., and the S.E.C.”
“Then you’ve got to go to Toronto and find out what she has. If it’s serious, we’ll have to deal with it. Make her an offer, whatever it takes to keep her quiet.”
Wheeler shook his head. “I’ll try, but I’m sure it won’t work. That broad isn’t for sale.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Where and when are you meeting her?”
“Lunch at The King Edward Hotel.”
“Call me as soon as it’s over. Meanwhile, I’ll call Lorenzo Mengalli and tell him we might have a job for him. Put your game face on, Jeffrey. This could get messy.”
CHAPTER 70
New York.
Lorenzo Mengalli, now forty-seven, had lived an exciting life. He made his living in an extremely dangerous way. He was a mercenary. He killed people. He had chosen that particular career because he was good at it, and it paid very well. When business was slow, he did other odd jobs: stealing, covert intelligence, abduction, and physical intimidation. He preferred killing, however, because it was his specialty, spiritually satisfying, clean and fast. He had killed often, both in the United States, his adopted country, and earlier in Columbia, his homeland, where he had honed his skills. He lived alone in a reasonably expensive apartment on Manhattan’s lower east side. He had never married, always preferring the company of prostitutes to satisfy his sexual requirements.