navigates the page. His little elf-like eyebrows shoot upward and disappear under his hairline. ‘No,’
he mutters, mostly to himself. ‘No, no, no.’
He looks up at me. ‘Jim,’ he says, softly but with great conviction, ‘I have no idea what these payments are for. I have never heard of this company before today. International
Tradeshow Services.’ He repeats the company name slowly, spitting it out, as if it’s a filthy word.
‘You didn’t submit these expense reports?’
‘No,’ he says. His voice is quiet but firm. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You didn’t authorize these payments?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘It’s three million dollars,’ I say. ‘Tao Software paid that company three million dollars. Where did it all go?’
‘How should I know?’
‘David,’ I say, lowering my voice. I adopt the tone of a father gently reprimanding a favourite son. ‘I want you to come clean with me. I can help you, but only if you tell me
the truth. We can avoid taking this to the authorities. We can settle this quietly. I have no desire to make this into a criminal matter. Let’s just work this out, man to man.’
He turns aggrieved. ‘Jim, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. But I have nothing to do with this. Besides, I couldn’t get those expenses approved without sign-off.
Ask Joan. There’d be paperwork.’
Of course there would be. Even at a rinky-dink operation like Tao, no one signs a cheque for fifty grand without
someone’s
approval.
I dismiss David with a wave of my hand. He leaves my office in a huff, muttering to himself. I dial Joan.
I say, ‘Joan, I see a vendor here... ’
‘International Tradeshow Services?’ she asks.
‘Who are they?’
‘No idea.’
‘Did David authorize those payments?’
‘There’s no paperwork. I already looked. Someone cut those cheques, but it wasn’t me.’
‘Who wrote the cheques?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Get me any information you have on the company. Phone number, address, anything—’
‘Last page of the packet,’ she says. ‘“Vendor Details”. All the way on the bottom... ’
I flip to the last page. Again, Joan is one step ahead of me. She has thoughtfully included the mailing address and phone number of International Tradeshow Services. It’s a 941 area code,
and a Naples, Florida street address that looks suspiciously like a commercial post office box – ‘Suite 3524’ in a town without any thirty-five-storey buildings.
‘Thanks, Joan,’ I say. ‘Got it.’
I tap down the receiver, hang up on Joan, and dial the number for International Tradeshow Services.
A female voice answers. ‘ITS. How may I help you?’
I come up with the most unlikely name I can think of. ‘Tanisha Rockefeller Margarita please.’
‘I’m sorry, she’s not available. Can I take a message?’
This confirms my suspicion. I am speaking not to a real secretary, not to someone who knows the names of her fellow employees, but, rather, to an answering service. I ask: ‘Where are you
located?’
‘Who’s calling please?’
I hang up.
I blow out a long breath. I’m astounded. In my days parachuting into troubled companies, I have seen a lot of incompetence, and a lot of petty thievery. But I have never seen anything so
brazen. Usually a sham vendor asks for a few thousand dollars here, a few thousand there. The idea is to keep the amounts small enough so that they fly under the radar. But
three million
dollars
? What the hell were they thinking? That I wouldn’t notice three million missing dollars?
Well, I have a little surprise for the thieves. They probably don’t expect the CEO of Tao Software to show up on their doorstep. But this is exactly what I intend to do.
First things first. I need their address – their
real
address, not the postal box that they rent in Naples.
I take the Manila envelope that held Joan’s expense report. I stick a piece of unread junk mail inside, just to give it some realistic heft.
he mutters, mostly to himself. ‘No, no, no.’
He looks up at me. ‘Jim,’ he says, softly but with great conviction, ‘I have no idea what these payments are for. I have never heard of this company before today. International
Tradeshow Services.’ He repeats the company name slowly, spitting it out, as if it’s a filthy word.
‘You didn’t submit these expense reports?’
‘No,’ he says. His voice is quiet but firm. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You didn’t authorize these payments?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘It’s three million dollars,’ I say. ‘Tao Software paid that company three million dollars. Where did it all go?’
‘How should I know?’
‘David,’ I say, lowering my voice. I adopt the tone of a father gently reprimanding a favourite son. ‘I want you to come clean with me. I can help you, but only if you tell me
the truth. We can avoid taking this to the authorities. We can settle this quietly. I have no desire to make this into a criminal matter. Let’s just work this out, man to man.’
He turns aggrieved. ‘Jim, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. But I have nothing to do with this. Besides, I couldn’t get those expenses approved without sign-off.
Ask Joan. There’d be paperwork.’
Of course there would be. Even at a rinky-dink operation like Tao, no one signs a cheque for fifty grand without
someone’s
approval.
I dismiss David with a wave of my hand. He leaves my office in a huff, muttering to himself. I dial Joan.
I say, ‘Joan, I see a vendor here... ’
‘International Tradeshow Services?’ she asks.
‘Who are they?’
‘No idea.’
‘Did David authorize those payments?’
‘There’s no paperwork. I already looked. Someone cut those cheques, but it wasn’t me.’
‘Who wrote the cheques?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Get me any information you have on the company. Phone number, address, anything—’
‘Last page of the packet,’ she says. ‘“Vendor Details”. All the way on the bottom... ’
I flip to the last page. Again, Joan is one step ahead of me. She has thoughtfully included the mailing address and phone number of International Tradeshow Services. It’s a 941 area code,
and a Naples, Florida street address that looks suspiciously like a commercial post office box – ‘Suite 3524’ in a town without any thirty-five-storey buildings.
‘Thanks, Joan,’ I say. ‘Got it.’
I tap down the receiver, hang up on Joan, and dial the number for International Tradeshow Services.
A female voice answers. ‘ITS. How may I help you?’
I come up with the most unlikely name I can think of. ‘Tanisha Rockefeller Margarita please.’
‘I’m sorry, she’s not available. Can I take a message?’
This confirms my suspicion. I am speaking not to a real secretary, not to someone who knows the names of her fellow employees, but, rather, to an answering service. I ask: ‘Where are you
located?’
‘Who’s calling please?’
I hang up.
I blow out a long breath. I’m astounded. In my days parachuting into troubled companies, I have seen a lot of incompetence, and a lot of petty thievery. But I have never seen anything so
brazen. Usually a sham vendor asks for a few thousand dollars here, a few thousand there. The idea is to keep the amounts small enough so that they fly under the radar. But
three million
dollars
? What the hell were they thinking? That I wouldn’t notice three million missing dollars?
Well, I have a little surprise for the thieves. They probably don’t expect the CEO of Tao Software to show up on their doorstep. But this is exactly what I intend to do.
First things first. I need their address – their
real
address, not the postal box that they rent in Naples.
I take the Manila envelope that held Joan’s expense report. I stick a piece of unread junk mail inside, just to give it some realistic heft.
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