Terminal Compromise Part 13

"Well, I grabbed the Beanie from the Bas.e.m.e.nt and said, help me with these now, and I got research to come up with the 10K's on First State since 1980 when McMillan took over. And the results were incredible." Mason held out a couple of charts and some graphs.

"We compared both sets of books. The bottom lines on both are the same. First State has been doing very well. McMillan has grown the company from $1 Billion to $12 Billion in 8 years.

Quite a job, and the envy of hundreds of every other S&L knee deep in their own s.h.i.t." Higgins cringed. He thought Ms. Man- chester should be shielded from such language. "The problem is that, according to one set of books, First State is losing money on some investments merely by wishing them away. They disappear altogether from one report to the next. Not a lot of money, but a few million here and there."

"What have you got then?" Higgins pressed.

"n.o.body notices cause the losses are all within the limits of the loss projections and reserve accounts. Sweet and neat! Million dollar embezzlement scam with the SEC's approval."

"How much follow up did you do?" Higgins asked as his pen fly across the legal pad.

"Due to superior reporting ability," Scott puffed up his chest in jest, "I found that a good many account numbers listed in the package I received are non-existent. But, with a little prod- ding, I did get someone to admit that one of them was recently closed and the funds moved elsewhere.

"Then, this is the clincher, as the caller promised, today, I looked for the First State SEC reports, and d.a.m.ned if the numbers didn't jive. The books with the overseas accounts are the ones with the real losses and where they occur. The 'real' books don't."

"The bottom line, please."

"Someone has been embezzling from First State, and when they're through it'll be $3 Billion worth." Scott was proud of himself.

In only a few days he had penetrated a huge scam in the works.

"You can't prove it!" Higgins declared. "Where's the proof? All you have is some unsolicited papers where someone has been play- ing a very unusual and admittedly questionable game of 'what if'.

You have a voice on the end of a phone with no name, no nothing, and a so-called confirmation from some mid-level accountant at the bank who dribbles on about 'having to do it' but never saying what 'it' is. So what does that prove?"

"It proves that McMillan is a fraud, a rip-off," Scott retorted confidently.

"It does not!"

"But I have the papers to prove it," Scott shuffled through the folders.

"Let me explain something, Scott." Higgins put down his pen and adapted a friendlier tone. "There's a little legal issue called right to privacy. Let me ask you this. If I came to you and said that Doug here was a crook, what would you do?"

"Ask you to prove it," Scott said.

"Exactly. It's the same here."

"But I have the papers to prove it, it's in black and white."

"No Scott, you don't. What you have is some papers with accusa- tions. They're unsubstantiated. They could have easily been phonied. You know what computers can do better than I do. Now here's the key point. Everybody in this country is due privacy.

You don't know where these came from, or how they were obtained, do you?"

"No," Scott hesitantly admitted.

"So, someone's privacy has been compromised, in this case McMil- lan's. If, and I'm saying, if, these reports are accurate, I would take the position that they are stolen, obtained illegally.

If we publish with what we have now, the paper could be on the receiving end of a slander and libel suit that could put us out of business. We even could be named as a co-conspirator in a criminal suit. I can't let that happen. It's our obligation to guarantee responsible journalism."

"I see." Scott didn't agree.

"Scott, you're good, real good, but you have to see it from the paper's perspective." Higgins' tone was now conciliatory. "This is hard stuff, and there's just not enough here, not to go with it yet. Maybe in a few days when you can get a little more to tie it up. Not now. I'm sorry."

Case closed.

s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t s.h.i.t, thought Scott. Back to square one.

Hugh Sidneys was nondescript, not quite a nebbish, but close. At five foot five with wisps of brown scattered over his balding pate, he only lacked horn rimmed gla.s.ses to complete the image.

His bargain bas.e.m.e.nt suits almost fit him, and he scurried rather than walked down the hallways at First State Savings and Loan where he had been employed since graduating from SUNY with a degree in accounting twenty four years ago.

His large ears accentuated the oddish look, not entirely out of place on the subways at New York rush hour. His loyalty to First State was known throughout the financial departments; he was almost a fixture. His accounting skills were extremely strong, even remarkable if you will, but his personality and appearance, and that preposterous cartoon voice, held him back from advancing up the official corporate ladder.

Now, though, Hugh Sidneys was scared.

He needed to do something . . .and having never been in this kind of predicament before . . .he thought about the lawyer . . .hiring one like he told that reporter . . .but could he afford that . . .and he wasn't sure what to do . . .was he in trouble? Yes, he was . . .he knew that. That reporter . . .he sounded like he understood . . .maybe he could help . . .he was just asking questions . . .what was his name . . .?

"Ah, Mr. Mason?" Scott heard the timid man's Road Runner voice spoke gently over the phone. Scott had just returned to his desk from Higgins' office. It was after 6P.M. and time to catch a train back home to Westchester.

"This is Scott Mason."

"Do you remember me?"

Scott recognized the voice immediately but said nothing.

"We spoke earlier about First State, and I just . . .ah . . .wanted to . . .ah . . .apologize . . .for the way I acted."

Scott's confirmation. Hugh Sidneys, the Pee Wee Herman sounding beancounter from First State. What did he want?

"Yes, of course, Mr. Sidneys. How can I help you?" He opened his notebook. He had just had his story nixed and he was ready to go home. But Sidneys . . .maybe . . .

"It's just that, well, I'm nervous about this . . ."

"No need to apologize, Hugh." Scott smiled into the phone to convey sincerity. "I understand, it happens all the time. What can I do for you tonight?"

"Well, I, ah, thought that we might, maybe you could, well I don't know about help, help, it's so much and I didn't really know, no I shouldn't have called . . .I'm sorry . . ." The pitch of Sidneys' voice rose as rambled on.

"Wait! Don't hang up. Mr. Sidneys. Mr. Sidneys?"

"Yes," the whisper came over the earpiece.

"Is there something wrong . . .are you all right?" The fear, the sound of fear that every good reporter is attuned to came over loud and clear. This man was terrified.

"Yes, I'm OK, so far."

"Good. Now, tell me, what's wrong. Slowly and calmly." He eased Sidneys off his panic perch.

Scott heard Sidneys compose himself and gather up the nerve to speak.

"Isn't there some sorta rule," he stuttered, "a law, that says if I talk to you, you're a reporter, and if I say that I don't want you to tell anybody, then you can't?" Sidneys was scared, but wanted to talk to someone. Maybe this was the time for Scott to back off a little. He stretched out and put his feet up on his desk, making him feel and sound more relaxed, less pressured.

According to Scott, he generated more Alpha waves in his brain and if wanted to convey calm on the phone, he merely had to a.s.sume the position.

"That's called off the record, Hugh. And it's not a law." Scott was amused at the naivete that Hugh Sidneys showed. "It's a gentleman's agreement, a code of ethics in journalism. You can be off the record, on the record, or for background, not for attribution, for confirmation, there's a whole bunch of 'em."

Scott realized that Hugh knew nothing about the press so he explained the options slowly. "Which one would you like?" Scott wanted it to seem that Sidneys was in control and making the rules.