In re National Corn

“Colder?”

James looked up from his screen and removed his reading glasses. Gabriella Fontaine stood in his doorway, holding a folder of printed documents.

“Got a minute?”

“I can make one,” he said, grateful for the break. “Whatcha got there?”

“Janet Boroughs. Divorce case. Kind of a nasty break up.”

Gabby came in and sat down across from Colder. The sun glinted off her black hair.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” she added.

“So, you brought it to me,” Colder noted.

She smiled and nodded. Pushed the file over to him.

“And,” she said. “Boroughs is kind of a referral from you. Says she went to undergrad with you.”

“Maiden name Anderson?” Colder asked as he leafed through the file.

“Umhmm,” Gabby murmured, crossing her arms.

“She’s asking for ten million?” he asked.

Gabby said, “She wants to settle and get out. No alimony. Just child support, but that’s not contested. Did you bone her?”

“No, of course not. Husband is the controller of National Corn? What’s he draw down annually?”

Colder already had a tax form in his hand.

“Six hundred plus,” he said. “I should’ve just gone into corporate accounting. I’d be him by now. Big ass pension fund. House on the hill.”

“You have all that,” Gabby reminded him.

“Still,” Colder mused. “I’ll bet we work harder than he does.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ten million seems steep.”

“She says he has it.”

“So, what do you need me for?”

“She wants to bring some pressure to bear on him.”

Colder stared at the file.

“Not an affair, then, I take it,” he said. “All you need for that is a regular investigator with a camera.”

“He’s had several affairs. Courts don’t even blink at that anymore. She says they’ve been living beyond their means for a long time now.”

“She thinks he’s skimming?”

Gabby nodded.

Colder had been ignoring the audit reports, but now he picked them up and flipped to the opinions, checking the past three years for anything obvious.

“Clean audit reports,” he said. “Those accountants are trained to spot fraud.”

“You know as well as I do that it was probably kids right out of college.”

Colder crossed his arms and rocked, breathing through his nose. He stopped, rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, supported his chin with his thumb, and touched his upper lip with his index finger.

“Let me sleep on it,” Colder said. “Can I keep this file?”

Gabby smirked, stood up, and walked out.

*                      *                      *

Colder drove home along Terwilliger, slowing down as he passed the Boroughs residence. Two Mercedes in the drive. An expansive, well-manicured lawn. Even with a high six-figure salary, it was a bit extravagant, but not alarmingly so. He chewed on the inside edge of his lower lip and drove on. Ashley was out at a board meeting, so he had the place to himself. He sat down at the dining room table and spread everything out, shifting piles back and forth as he read and re-read documents. The most recent audit report was dated just a week ago.

*                      *                      *

Colder got up early, dressed business casual, gathered up the Boroughs file, and headed down to the HQ of National Corn on Front Street. Based on what he’d read, the company brokered transactions, running about $9 billion in product a year. It was only seven, but the lights were on, and the door was unlocked. The financial office was spartan, with room for only a dozen workers. He stopped at the front desk. A young man with curly blonde hair and dark eyes smiled at him and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I was just passing by and thought I’d buy some corn,” he said. “For dinner.”

The receptionist’s smile didn’t falter.

“No,” Colder said, grinning. “Really, I’m just on an errand. Holcheck and Jensen sent me to pick up some hardcopy audit files.”

“We don’t keep audit files on the premises,” he said. “They have them all.”

“No. I know that. But the audit team left a file case. I’m supposed to pick it up.”

The young man shook his head and said, “There’s nothing like that here.”

Colder feigned frustration and checked his phone.

“Says here to pick up a case from National Corn.”

The young man’s smile faded.

“I’ll call the firm,” Colder said. “Who was the lead auditor? I’ll talk to him directly.”

“Her. Amber Landis,” he said.

“Right,” Colder said. “I’ll call Amber. Thanks.”

Colder walked out, pretending to dial a number as he looked up the directory for Holcheck and Jensen. Amber Landis was young, ambitious for sure, since she was working for one of the largest firms in Portland. He drove downtown and parked in front of the Kelly Tower. The suits started showing up in dribbles and then droves, and he spotted Amber, carrying a white cup of coffee, shoulders square, stride purposeful and confident. Colder slipped out of his Jag and caught up with her at the elevators.

“Amber Landis?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Can I have a chat with you, just for a moment?”

She blinked.

“It’s business related,” he said.

Junior accountants were expected to bring in new clients. It was rise or die. She took the bait and followed Colder across the lobby to a small café. He ordered coffee, black, and they took a seat at a round table in the corner. The sound of busy voices and footsteps echoed off the granite floors and rolled off the high ceiling.

“You led the audit for National Corn?” he asked.

She leaned back, frowning. “Yes.”

“Notice anything unusual? Any unresolved comments?”

She studied his eyes, and Colder saw her clenching her jaw.

“No,” she said.

“I read the audit reports for the last three years. Was this your first year on the audit?”

“I can’t talk about our clients,” she said. She stood up and so did Colder.

“I can get an affidavit of probable cause,” he said.

He could see a slight flush to her face and her breath had become a bit shallow and quick. She hesitated.

“I don’t want to do that,” Colder said. “Just want some information.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“James Colder,” he said. “With Colder Fontaine.”

She grunted and nodded as the name connected dots in her mind.

“Whatever you tell me, I keep between us,” he said. “But if you have something you don’t tell me now, I’ll bring in the big guns.”

Colder could see she was weighing talking to him against bringing on a search warrant that would probably end her career.

“I’m not after Holcheck,” he said. “Tell me what you found that they covered up and I’m a ghost in the wind.”

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She glanced around and said, “A junior accountant came to me with a hand-written ledger. Foreign exchange transactions. We couldn’t reconcile the accounts. Partner-in-charge told us to pass on it.”

She was visibly shaking now and turned to leave. Colder grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Who’s in charge of those transfers? Whose ledger?”

She looked as if she might pass out, but she was in this deep already.

“Controller,” she said. “That’s all I have. I’m leaving now.”

He let her go. When he got back to the office, he knocked on Gabby’s door.

“Hey, Colder,” she said.

He dropped the Boroughs file on her desk.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he said.

Gabby leaned back and said, “Fire away. But be gentle with me.”

“Simple scheme, really. National Corn sends out an invoice for say $100,000. And let’s say the exchange rate for Euros is about 1 to 1. But, when the buyer pays, the Euro is a bit weaker, say 99 cents on a dollar. So, the buyer pays 100,000 Euros but National only collects $99,000. A straight accountant records a $1,000 loss on foreign currency transactions. But Boroughs records $2,000 and transfers $1,000 to his own account.”

“So…”

“Based on just that scenario, he could skim maybe $9 million a year.”

“Can you prove it?” Gabby asked. She’d been working with Colder long enough to not be affected by those kinds of numbers.

“Do we need to?” Colder asked. “Janet just wanted leverage.”

“Yeah, but you’re just supposing, right?”

“Based on a conversation with the lead auditor.”

“So, Holcheck buried it?”

“He passed on it, so yeah. Looking the other way.”

“It’s a violation of Sarbanes-Oxley at best. Outright criminal fraud more likely.”

“Why would they protect Boroughs?” Colder asked.

Gabby shrugged. Colder stood there, waiting.

“We don’t have legal standing to order a search warrant,” he reminded her.

“Criminal case,” Gabby said. “You file an affidavit with the prosecuting attorney and let them handle it.”

“This is deleterious to our client,” he said. “She can’t collect $10 million if her husband is in jail and all his assets are impounded.

“We have to do the right thing,” Gabby reminded him.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Saw HOLCHECKJENSEN on the screen, so he excused himself and walked out into the foyer.

“Colder here.”

He recognized Earl Holcheck’s voice.

“Just had an interesting chat with Amber Landis,” he said.

“I’ll bet,” Colder said.

“Maybe you and I should have a chat, too,” Holcheck said.

“We’re having a chat right now,” Colder said. “Say your piece.”

“What’s your play here?” Holcheck asked.

“No play,” Colder said. “I’m just following up on some curious inconsistencies in the audit reports.”

“Why?”

“My own business,” Colder said.

Silence, and then, “Listen Colder. I’d like to hire you to look into this. Say a hundred thousand, retainer. Not your firm. Just you, personally.”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Colder said.

He stepped back into the office. Gabby was getting a coffee at the Nespresso machine.

“Holcheck just offered me ten stacks to look the other way,” he said.

Gabby’s eyes got narrow.

Colder laughed and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not taking it.”

“You were his protégé for a while,” Gabby noted.

“He gave me my first accounting job,” Colder reminded her.

“So,” Gabby said. “We roast them?”

“What about Janet?”

“We’ll get her a piece of whatever is left. House, retirement funds, car. Likely be enough to live on.”

She turned to go and then stopped.

“She’s a yogini. Cute as a bun.”

“Who?”

“Janet,” Gabby said.

“I’m married,” Colder reminded her.

“But you weren’t when you knew her before,” Gabby said.

“I didn’t bone her,” Colder said.

Gabby shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Colder dialed the prosecuting attorney’s office and asked for Delaine Oechsner.

“Hey, Colder,” she said.

“Delaine, I’d like to report a crime.”

“Oh hell,” she said. “Here we go again.”