MARK OF DECEIT

  A Short Story

  Gledé Browne Kabongo

  MARK OF DECEIT

  Copyright © 2015 Gledé Browne Kabongo

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this book is illegal. No part of this book may be shared electronically, scanned, uploaded, used whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Notice: This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  To learn more about author Gledé Browne Kabongo, please visit www.gledekabongo.com or Subscribe to her Newsletter

  Table of Contents

  MARK OF DECEIT

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  MARK OF DECEIT

  AUTHOR NOTE

  EXCERPT: SWAN DECEPTION

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Mark of Deceit

  A Short Story of suspense and corporate intrigue

  Ambitious career girl Natalie Grainger Fox is in for the fight of her life when she becomes the unwilling recipient of a computer flash drive that could bring about the collapse of her employer—a global powerhouse that may be guilty of financial fraud and cold-blooded murder.

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

  — Joseph Heller, Catch 22

  One ominous sentence was about to push Natalie Grainger Fox into the fight of her life. She double clicked the email client icon from her laptop computer to wade through the dozens of emails and packed meeting calendar needing her attention. This time of year was especially crazy: preparation of the annual report. As Director of Communications, she worked closely with the executive management team in the development and production of the report.

  At the top of her email inbox was a message from Tom. The subject line read, “The numbers are wrong.” Natalie frowned. Tom who? Was this some bogus email with a virus attached that managed to get past the company’s firewall? The only Tom she knew was the guy who ran the copy center downstairs, and he barely grunted a greeting at her the few times they ran into each other. Why would he email her?

  Natalie inhaled deeply, curiosity getting the better of her. She clicked on the message, and then sat up straight with a jolt. Big, red letters shouted at her.

  WARNING: DO NOT PUBLISH THE FINANCIALS YOU HAVE FOR THE ANNUAL REPORT. THEY’RE BOGUS.

  She closed out the email and pushed back from the desk. Someone knocked loudly on her half-open office door. The sudden noise startled her.

  “Come in,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  Tim Hardwick, the Director of Finance, walked in and closed the door behind him. Tim ran marathons for fun. At six feet tall, with dark hair and a muscular build, he was secretly referred to as “hot stuff Hardwick” by the ladies in accounting.

  “What can I do for you, Tim?”

  “You read my email?” He showed no interest in getting comfortable, despite the fact that Natalie’s office was outfitted with a mini sofa and two additional swivel chairs.

  “That was you?” she asked, perplexed.

  “Delete that email. No one can track it, but it’s better to be safe.”

  “Tom doesn’t exist.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s with the foreboding message?”

  “There’s a lot going on you don’t know. I had to warn you.”

  “Warn me about what?” She stood up and faced him directly. Despite the skyscraper designer pumps she wore, Tim still towered over her. Then again, everyone did.

  “A storm is brewing. When it hits, it will be catastrophic.”

  Natalie was losing patience. Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind and curb the drama? Tim wasn’t the kind of guy to be an alarmist. He was steady, diligent, and good at his job. Now, he was standing in her office, acting all mysterious.

  “You said the numbers are bogus. What does that mean? Neil expects me to have all the pieces of the report in place and ready for review by senior management before the call with investors in three days.”

  “Meet me at the Layton Express garage tonight, at 10:00 pm. Level B. Make sure you’re not followed.”

  “What? Tim, you’re freaking me out. Why—”

  He left without a backward glance or another word.

  ***

  Natalie pulled into the parking lot of Siam Café on Route 9, a popular Thai restaurant she frequented with Ben, her sweet but commitment-phobic boyfriend of two years. After Tim left her office that morning, her day went by in a blur of meetings, conference calls and catching up on deadlines. When Ben proposed dinner, she jumped at the chance to spend time with him and put some distance between her and Tim’s sinister request. But now, her mind was preoccupied, running through all kinds of scenarios. Mostly bad ones about why Tim wanted to meet under the cover of night in the first place.

  “Hey, baby doll.” When she arrived at their table, Ben kissed her on both cheeks and pulled out a chair for her.

  Natalie forced herself to relax. Ben always knew how to bring a smile to her face. Thanks to his cute dimples, preppy chic wardrobe, and Ivy League pedigree, her mom and sister, Ava, constantly grilled her about when Ben was going to pop the question.

  “So, should we break out the champagne? Are you going to become the youngest vice president in the history of Phallon International or what?”

  Natalie removed a napkin from the table and placed it on her lap. Ben had already ordered her favorite appetizer: golden bags, made of ground shrimp, pork, mushrooms garlic and soy sauce mixed together and fried in little, tied-up wrappers.

  “I spoke to Neil during our one-on-one this morning, and he confirmed that the promotion is mine. His boss endorsed me, too. There should be nothing standing in my way.”

  Phallon International was a leading global healthcare products company headquartered thirty miles west of Boston. At just thirty years-old, Natalie paid no attention to those who felt she didn’t deserve the big-time boost to her career. She didn’t graduate summa cum laude from Boston University in three years and earn her MBA from a top business school in sixteen months so she could sit around waiting for others to recognize her value. She worked her butt off and had earned that promotion.

  “That’s my girl,” Ben said, and kissed the back of her hand.

  Natalie shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the jolt of electricity she felt whenever Ben touched her or if it was because of the man sitting three tables over from them. The one she noticed the moment she sat down. The one wearing a black trench coat and black hat in a crowded restaurant that was comfortably warm. The one who did a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t observing her.

  “You okay?” Ben asked, stroking her hand. “Are you cold?”

  “I’m fine, baby. Just a little stressed about work, that’s all.”

  “It will get worse. Once the promotion comes through, you’ll be working even longer hours and traveling more. I must admit, that makes me nervous.”

  Natalie perked up. “Why would my promotion make you nervous?”

  A waiter appeared, ready to take their order, but Natalie hadn’t even touched her golden bags. They asked Dennis to give them a few more minutes.

  “You could meet someone else. They might convince you to show me the door. A lot of things happen on business travel.”

  Ben, jealous? That never happened before. He was one of the most confident without being cocky guys Natalie had ever met. Her mother and sister were right that he was a great catch, but he’d never even hinted that he was afraid of losing her.

  “If I wanted to end things, I would tell you face-to-face, not fool around on you.”

  He leaned over in his seat, his face anxious. “What are you saying, Nat? Are you thinking of breaking up with me?”

  “No. Things are going great, aren’t they?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Yes they are. As a matter of fact, I was thinking…”

  Ben’s voice faded into the background. Natalie focused on the man in the trench coat, who was now on his cell phone, engaged in what looked to be an intense conversation. As if he sensed her eyes on him, he ended the conversation and hung up. Then he looked straight at her, his dark eyes burning a hole through her like a laser. She knew she should look away but like a trapped animal, she stared helplessly. Goosebumps appeared on her forearm. He broke off their staring contest, got up, and left the restaurant.

  “Natalie. Natalie, what’s wrong?”

  She quickly turned her attention back to Ben.

  “Do you know that guy?” his voice went up a notch.

  “No,” she answered. Her lips quivered.

  “Natalie, what’s going on? Why are you afraid of that guy?”

  “I’m not. It was just weird. Who wears a black trench coat and a black hat in a restaurant? I was just curious, that’s all.”

  Ben leaned over the table. “Don’t lie to me, Natalie. You’ve been on edge since you got here, and you haven’t touched your appetizers. Then you freaked out when you saw that guy. Something is off. You’re paranoid, and I want to know why.”

  “You’re overreacting, Ben. You’ve never seen someone who gives you the willi es just because of the way they look? That’s all this is.” She didn’t make a habit of lying to Ben, but until she knew why Tim wanted to meet her, she didn’t want to worry Ben unnecessarily. And knowing Ben, he would try to stop her from meeting Tim.

  Ben reluctantly backed off, but Natalie sensed that the incident still occupied his thoughts. Ben calculated risk for a living as a Corporate Insurance Risk Manager. Combined with his sixth sense about her moods and behaviors, she imagined he came to the same conclusion she did: the appearance of the man in the black trench coat was out of the ordinary. Natalie’s hands began to shake. She removed them from the table and placed them in her lap, away from Ben’s scrutiny.

  Ben walked her out of the restaurant and insisted he go home with her. It was 9:45 p.m. Layton Express was a quick five-minute drive from the restaurant, although Natalie would have to make a U-turn on Route 9 to take the road that led to the bus depot.

  “Ben, I’m fine. I’m just tired. I promise I’ll go home and head straight to bed.”

  “Are you sure? It’s my job to protect you, you know.”

  He gave her that boyish, nervous smile as they approached her car in the still crowded parking lot. Natalie knew he loved playing hero for her benefit, but he also acknowledged how fiercely independent she was. It made her itch whenever he felt the need to rescue her.

  “There’s nothing to protect me from,” she said with forced cheerfulness. She glanced to his right, where the nighttime traffic flowing on Route 9 served as a reminder that the clock was ticking. Within minutes, she would be meeting up with Tim.

  Natalie disarmed the car alarm. Ben opened the door for her, and she slid into the driver seat. He leaned in, his face anxious. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

  “I know that, silly,” she said.

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Rest up. I’ll text soon to make sure you got home okay.”

  She waved to him as she pulled out of the parking spot and merged into traffic.

  ***

  Natalie arrived on Level B of the Layton Express Garage, a recent addition to the bus depot service that took travelers from surrounding MetroWest towns to Logan International Airport. She killed the engine and waited. There were a few cars parked on the level, and the stillness of the night was eerie. Not a single car had entered or left since she pulled in.

  A loud knock on her car window made her jump. It was Tim, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. She placed her hand over her chest, letting him know he almost caused her heart to jump right out.

  She signaled him to go around to the front passenger door. She opened it and let him in.

  “This whole thing is creeping me out. Why are we meeting in this place?”

  “Sorry for scaring you. Nobody followed you, right?”

  Natalie thought of Mr. Trench Coat in the restaurant. An involuntary shiver went up her spine. She should really calm down. There was no law against showing up at a restaurant dressed in all black. All the man did was stare at her, and she had to go thinking the worst.

  “Did something happen? Were you followed? Tim’s voice was shrill, his alarm clear.

  “No, I wasn’t followed. What are you dragging me into? Shouldn’t you be talking to Marv about company financials? They pay him a ton of money to be our Chief Financial Officer.”

  “That would be the worst mistake I could possibly make,” Tim said. He swiped a hand across his forehead to remove sweat that hadn’t been there only seconds before.

  Natalie stared at him “What are you talking about?”

  Tim reached into his backpack and pulled out a gray laptop he placed on his lap. “I want to show you something.” He reached up and flipped on the light.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Natalie asked. “Someone could see us, and based on your behavior so far, you don’t want that.”

  He flipped the switch off in a hurry, and then typed his password into the computer. When he found what he was looking for, he handed Natalie the laptop.

  “Where do you want me to look?” The file was a massive excel spreadsheet.

  “It’s the balance sheet for the annual report. Look toward the bottom at the numbers. Seem familiar?”

  The numbers were familiar, the same ones she’d been looking at for the past several weeks.

  “Okay, nothing strange so far.”

  “Now, click the tab at the bottom with today’s date on it, and look at the numbers there.”

  Tim swiped his forehead again. Natalie’s heart rate skyrocketed. Her fingers quivered when she touched the tracking pad, and then clicked on the tab. She swallowed hard. Whatever she was about to discover would bind her to Tim in ways she had yet to fully comprehend.

  Natalie gasped. She prodded her brain to process what she saw, but it wasn’t cooperating. Phallon International had sustained massive losses this year alone, over $200 million worth. But the numbers she was given for the annual report painted a far rosier picture—one that showed a highly profitable company, information that looked believable because the stock price was soaring.

  She glanced at Tim, who stared out into the darkness. Without looking at her, he instructed her to click through the remaining tabs.

  Every year, for the past five years, the company took heavy financial losses. Yet, every year for the past five years, the report told the story of a company on solid financial footing, healthy growth, smart acquisitions, and a bright future. She had prepared the report for three of those five years. Bogus numbers indeed.

  Natalie shut down the computer and turned to Tim. “It takes a village to perpetrate that kind of fraud.”

  “I know, Tim said. “Believe me, I know.”

  “Creative accounting isn’t the word. This is a deliberate, and coordinated scheme to deceive investors, Wall Street, not to mention regulators and employees. It’s simply criminal. Why would they do this?”

  “Greed,” he responded.

  “I don’t understand how they could hide these kinds of losses.”

  Tim turned to her. “Shell companies. They would create a bunch of companies that were essentially a front to transfer liabilities and losses that wouldn’t appear on financial statements, so stock prices would continue to rise. Plus, it would allow Phallon to maintain its standing with the credit-ratings agencies.”

  “So, it’s all a lie? The accolades, the praise for effective management, the ranking as one of the best companies to work for, the amazing employee benefits we have, they’re all built on lies?”

  “Phallon is like a house you fall in love with online. It has everything you ever wanted in a dream home, so you call up the realtor for a viewing. Only problem is, once you get inside, you notice the shoddy construction. The whole thing is falling apart, and if you stay there, the house could collapse on you.”

  “Even with Sarbanes-Oxley and Dodd-Frank, they still got away with it?”

  “They’ll get caught.”

  Natalie rolled down the window to let in some fresh air because she couldn’t breathe. She quickly rolled up the window when a dark sedan passed in front of them in search of a parking spot. There were a few open, but Natalie didn’t want to think about whether this was an innocent traveler about to take a late night flight out of Logan or if it was something more sinister. She noticed Tim’s death grip on the door handle when the car passed by.

  “Now, what? What do you want me to do? What are you going to do?”

  “Nobody at Phallon knows I have this information. I’ll spare you the details on how I found out, but they’re all in on it. Marv, Frank, and Chip, even our guys at Miller Cosgrove. They’ve been shredding documents, and their sign-offs on the auditor’s report is fraud, pure and simple. We have to stop them.”

  “Whistleblowing was not part of my career plan, Tim. Do you know what they could do to us?”

  “Not if we act fast.” He reached for something in his shirt pocket and handed it to Natalie. “That’s the flash drive with all the evidence: names, dates, activities, the real numbers, and email conversations. I already contacted the SEC. All I need is for you to corroborate that I talked to you about it. They’ll handle the rest.”

 

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