I Take You Read online

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Right!” I say. “Never say anything beyond the bounds of what the questioner posed to you.”

  “Can I have a doughnut now?”

  “No. We’re going to do an exercise. Remember the rule,” I say. “Listen to the question and answer only that question.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pauses. “Was that the exercise?”

  “No. This is it. Do you know what time it is, Pete?”

  He checks his watch. “Ten forty-five.”

  “Wrong,” I say.

  “Sorry,” he says. “It’s ten forty-three.”

  “The answer is ‘yes’!” I shout. “The answer to the question, ‘Do you know what time it is?’ is ‘Yes’!”

  “What if I’m not wearing a watch?” he whispers.

  I put my head in my hands. “Let’s take a break.”

  Pete scuttles out of the room. I text Will:

  —get yr tuxedo?

  —I just picked it up.

  —try it on for me later?

  —Bad luck!

  —fine. just bowtie

  Will doesn’t answer. When Pete comes back, I remove the e-mails from my binder and place them in front of him. “Do you recognize these documents, Pete?”

  He glances at them quickly. “I know those e-mails. I wrote ‘em.”

  “Do you remember sending them?”

  “Yes’m, I do.”

  “You are telling me, Mr. Hoffman, that you have a specific, clear recollection of sending these e-mails. You remember,” I bore deeply into his droopy little eyes, “sitting down at your desk one morning, turning to your crumb-strewn keyboard and typing each and every one of these words?”

  “My keyboard’s not—”

  “Under oath,” I continue relentlessly, “under penalty of perjury, you are testifying here today that you recognize both of these e-mails, word for word, that you remember the date, the hour, the minute, the second your index finger hit ‘send’?”

  He looks frozen. “No?”

  “Okay!” I say. “So you don’t specifically remember sending these e-mails?”

  He grins. “Sure I do!”

  For once I’m glad I won’t be defending this deposition. As second chair, all I’ll have to do is keep an eye on the running transcript and hand Philip the occasional document. Watching how he deals with this yahoo will be good experience, at least.

  “Let’s talk about what you actually wrote here, Pete. What did you mean when you said that you were going to give certain figures a, quote, good old scrub-a-dub, end quote?”

  “That’s an accounting term,” he tells me.

  “‘Scrub-a-dub’ is an accounting term?”

  “Scrubbing numbers, massaging numbers.” He waves a dismissive hand. “It’s standard CPA terminology.”

  “Is ‘It’s kind of a scam’ standard accounting terminology, too?”

  “Sure.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “You know,” he says, “that something’s a little off. A little fishy. Not quite right.”

  I stare at him for a moment. “Pete? That’s what ‘It’s kind of a scam’ means in non-accounting terminology, too.”

  “Oh yeah,” he chuckles. “Right.”

  I grip my pen tightly. “You need to avoid using that sort of language during your deposition. The plaintiffs want sound bites, pithy little quotes that they can put in a brief, or cite in their opening arguments, or plaster across the Internet to make EnerGreen look bad. Don’t oblige them. If you find yourself about to give an answer that uses the word ‘scrub,’ or ‘massage,’ or ‘scam,’ or ‘creative accounting,’ or ‘fraud,’ or anything that those of us here in the real world consider negative, just—don’t say it, okay?”

  He looks chastened. “I’ll try.”

  I drill him on the e-mails for a long time. I finally get him to a place where he can testify that what he wrote was a combination of imprecise wording, wonky CPA talk and playful irony. That the other accountants he was e-mailing would have understood that he wasn’t actually suggesting that they commit fraud, lie to their auditors or hide anything from anybody. It’s not great, but it’s the best I can do.

  We take another break, and I check my phone. I have a new e-mail.

  Hi honey ok know you dont want to hear it but we are worried you havent thought this thru! gran never told you the whole story about her husband (my dad) but maybe it’ll help you understnad why we’re making a big deal out of this. Gran grew up poor as you know the family having hit hard times and she had terrible teeth because they didnt have any money for dental care plus in those days people werent aware about flossing like they are now.

  This is my mother’s signature style. The woman changes the oil in her own truck, can fix almost any mechanical object and has an encyclopedic knowledge of tropical hardwoods. But she punctuates like a modern poet.

  she went up to Miami for law school she met a wonderful man. A dentist. The initial attraction having been due to her dental problems but she loved him and she married him very fast only to find out he was a TERRIBLE GAMBLER. Several times they would have to leave where they were living in the middle of the night as they didn’t have the rent money. She got pregnant (me) and had to drop out of school. And then one night he didnt come home and she waited and waited sure that his debts had caught up with him but no.

  He ran off with his HYGIENIST!

  Now im not saying this is what Will is going to do (of course!!!) but that marriage distracted her from what she wanted to do and of course she got back on track but it was HARD. People maek big life decisions without thinking and it matters honey!

  Love,

  Mom

  I start composing a snarky reply, but I hesitate. Mom means well. She always means well. And I love her to pieces. She used to play with me for hours when I was little—get right down on the floor with my wooden blocks and dolls and dinosaurs, building fantastical structures, inventing whole worlds. But as I got older, she had a harder time dealing with me. Reasoning and argument were not her things. I could talk circles around her, tie her up in knots. She couldn’t discipline me for shit. Fortunately Gran was there to stop me from going totally off the rails. Until she couldn’t.

  Why am I thinking about this now? I shake out of it and type a quick reply:

  Wow—crazy story! can’t believe hadnt heard this one before. talk soon—busy today with work. thanks mom! xxL

  I toss my phone into my bag as Pete shuffles back into the room. It’s almost one. “Now, Pete,” I say, for what feels like the millionth time, “the plaintiffs allege that EnerGreen committed fraud in its financial statements by inflating the projected costs of the oil spill in order to hide losses racked up by the company’s energy trading subsidiary.”

  “Yep,” Pete says confidently.

  I stare at him hard. “What do you mean, ‘yep’?”

  He suddenly looks super shifty. “I mean,” he says slowly, “that I understand that what you just contended, right there, is that which the plaintiffs also are themselves contending with.”

  Jesus, this is painful. I remove a few more documents from my binder and spread them on the table. “Let’s talk about the financial statements, Pete. I’m going to pretend to be the plaintiffs’ lawyer, okay?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Mr. Hoffman, do you recognize this document?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Can you tell me what it is?”

  “This is EnerGreen Energy, Inc.’s 2012 annual report to the Securities and Exchange Commission,” he says.

  “Would you please turn to page forty-five?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Do you see at the top of the page, in Schedule 9, line 14, that the projected damages from the Deepwater Discovery oil spill are assessed at $55 billion?”

  “Yes’m.”

  I finally snap. “Enough with the goddamned yes’ms!”

  He looks cowed. “Okay.”

  “You
’re killing me with the yes’ms, Pete.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’d like to show you a different document,” I say, handing him another one. “This is the insurance claim that EnerGreen Energy filed with AIG, its primary accident insurer. Do you see that on page four, EnerGreen projects its total losses from the spill as only $25 billion?”

  “Yes,” Pete says.

  “Mr. Hoffman. How do you explain that while EnerGreen was telling the SEC and its shareholders that damages from the spill were going to be over $50 billion, it was telling its insurers that the losses were only going to be $25 billion?”

  Pete shifts in his seat. “I would say that when you’re dealing with audited financials, which is an extensive process, a multifaceted process, there’s always lots of moving pieces, balls in the air if you will. You’ve got various cost centers utilizing different metrics and rubrics to achieve your ultimate outcomes. Any discrepancies therein would be in the normal course caught and corrected in the standard processes of verification and reconciliation.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense,” I tell him.

  “Are you you right now,” he asks, “or the plaintiffs?”

  “I’m me,” I say. “What’s the truth?”

  “We were using the spill to hide major losses from our trading division,” he says.

  I stare at him.

  “Our traders had entered these long-term forward swaps that fixed the price of natural gas at year-end 2011 levels,” Pete continues. “But the price plummeted when a new field was discovered out there in Uzbekistan. We were stuck in these godawful contracts, which they tried to hedge by entering into a different set of swaps pegged to the price of titanium—”

  I wasn’t following him, but I didn’t have to. “Fraud,” I say. “You’re talking about fraud.”

  Pete looks taken aback. “I don’t know that I’d call it fraud.”

  “What would you call it?”

  He thinks a moment. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s fraud.”

  He keeps explaining, and all I can do is gape at him. He’s so nonchalant. He’s just told me that his employer is committing accounting fraud, securities fraud and probably a dozen other kinds of fraud I’ve never even heard of. EnerGreen, a company responsible for one of the most horrific environmental disasters in history, actually saw that disaster as a convenient opportunity to hide other mistakes, a handy way to lie, cheat and steal so that it could keep making money.

  And what’s Pete doing? Sitting here serene as can be, eyeing the last doughnut.

  “How big are the losses?” I ask him.

  “North of fifteen billion.”

  My mouth drops open. “Fifteen billion dollars? That’s enough to bring down the company.”

  “You bet. If the truth got out? Credit would dry up. We wouldn’t have enough cash to cover daily operations. It’d be your classic run-on-the-bank scenario.”

  He pauses, glancing at the doughnut, then at me. I nod. He takes it.

  “That’s why we had to hide the losses,” he continues, his mouth full. “What I said in that e-mail is true. The spill was a goddamned godsend, coming when it did.”

  A goddamned godsend. I take out my phone and text Philip:

  —Big problems at the deposition prep. Can you please call me? Thanks.

  Then I text Lyle:

  —hoffman = nightmare. we have to postpone dep

  I stand up. “We’re done here, Pete.”

  “We are?”

  “I think it’s safe to say that your deposition is not going to happen anytime soon. My boss is going to call your boss’s boss’s boss’s lawyer, and then somebody’s going to write a big check, and we’re all going to say good-bye.”

  Lyle writes back:

  —Call me. Also pltffs want his empl records.

  —dep cant happen, lyle!

  —Just do it.

  Unbelievable. “So there’s one last thing,” I say to Pete. “In the highly unlikely event that this deposition goes forward sometime in the very distant future, the plaintiffs want us to produce your employment records. It’s a formality, but we have to do it or they’ll yell and scream and accuse us of violating the rules. You said something about working for a subsidiary?”

  “Right,” he says. “EnerGreen Energy Solutions LLC. We just opened a branch office in Key West. I came down to help set up their accounting system and decided to bring the family. The office has a couple geologists doing deepwater testing around here.”

  “Hey,” I say. “Awesome. Welcome to the Florida Keys, EnerGreen.”

  “There’s a secretary there named Maria. She can get you what you need.”

  “Why do you work for an LLC?”

  “It’s a tax dodge,” he explains.

  Why did I ask? Why?

  Pete looks worried. “They gonna ask me about that?”

  “They’re not going to ask you about anything. Ever.” I hold out my hand. “It was really nice meeting you, Pete. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

  11

  I dial Philip’s number as soon as I step outside. Betty says he’s on the other line. I tell her to interrupt him. She tells me, politely, to go to hell. I hang up and think. I need to call Urs, our in-house lawyer. There’s no way he knows about the fraud—he’s far too upstanding to have kept it from us. Which means EnerGreen employees lied to him—their own attorney—about what Pete’s e-mails really meant. Insanity! I start dialing his number, but hesitate. Lowly associates aren’t supposed to deal with the client directly. It would be a major breach of protocol to go over Philip’s head like that. So I call Lyle.

  “We have a problem,” I say when he answers. “The plaintiffs are right. About everything. EnerGreen is committing fraud. Massive, crazy fraud. Hoffman told me everything. He’s a disaster, by the way. He—”

  “Slow down,” Lyle says. “What happened?”

  I take a deep breath and tell him everything.

  “Jesus,” he says when I’m done. “Jesus.”

  “This case has to settle, Lyle. Now. I tried calling Philip but I couldn’t get through. He needs to talk to the client. He needs to convince them to settle. But first and foremost, someone needs to call the plaintiffs and postpone this deposition.”

  “Relax, Wilder. The deposition isn’t going to happen. EnerGreen made a new settlement offer this morning. Philip is on the phone with the mediator right now.”

  So that’s why Lyle sounds so calm. “That’s such great news!” I say.

  “I know. I’m drafting the paperwork as we speak.”

  I lean back against the hood of the car. The anxiety I felt moments ago begins to fade. “I’m so glad this case is over. EnerGreen. Ugh. What a bunch of scumbags.”

  “Alleged scumbags,” Lyle corrects me. “And they’re no worse than our other clients.”

  “Are you kidding me? They’re criminals. You should have seen this guy sit there inhaling doughnuts and describing how EnerGreen is flirting with total financial collapse.”

  “It sounds rough,” he agrees. “I’m sorry you had to deal with it alone.”

  It’s nice to have a halfway civil conversation with him. The prospect of settlement must be putting him in a good mood.

  “Will you be sure to tell Philip everything I told you about the prep? He needs to know how deep this hole is and impress upon Urs that EnerGreen really does have to suck it up and pay.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Lyle says. “In fact, that’s him on the other line. I better go.”

  We hang up. I feel much better. The morning was a total waste, with some truly dire moments, but it’s going to be fine.

  Then something else occurs to me. Do I have a personal obligation to report EnerGreen to the authorities? I can’t remember the exact ethics rule, but I know someone who will. I dial Gran’s number.

  “What’s the rule about client confidentiality and the commission of a crime?” I ask.

  “Florida Rule of Professional Conduct four da
sh one point six, subsection b, part one,” she replies instantly. “A lawyer must reveal information pertaining to the representation of a client to the extent the lawyer reasonably believes such disclosure necessary to prevent the client from committing a crime.”

  “She’s still got it, folks!”

  “Who cares?” she grumbles. “I might as well be dead.”

  “So if the crime has already been committed, I don’t have to reveal it?”

  “Not only do you not have to,” she says, “you can’t. Client confidentiality.”

  “Sweet!”

  “What’s this about?” she asks suspiciously.

  “Can’t tell you! Duh!”

  “Please give me something,” she pleads. “I’m so bored.”

  I listen to her complain for a while about gardening and crossword puzzles and chair yoga. I consider asking her about the dentist. I’d always had a general idea of who he was and why they got divorced, but I’d never heard the full story before. Compulsive gambling and irresistible hygienists is one thing. But Gran deferring her career for a man? Impossible to imagine.

  Instead I say, “Why didn’t you tell me Teddy was back?”

  There’s a pause. “Is he?”

  “Please, Isabel. You know everything that happens around here.”

  “Leave him alone, Lillian Grace.”

  “He came looking for me!”

  “He’s doing well,” she tells me. “It’s a miracle the state took him on, after … what happened. Being in the service probably helped.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “He was in the army,” Gran says.

  Teddy, in the army? There’s no way.

  “Let it go,” Gran warns me.

  “Fine,” I say. “I’m letting it go. This is me, letting it go.”

  “I’m serious, Lily.”

  “So am I. Later, Gran.”

  I head back to Key West and immediately get snarled in construction traffic on Roosevelt. I see the sign for the EnerGreen Solutions office—the subsidiary Pete mentioned. I might as well get his employment file, dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s like a good little associate. There are a few protesters gathered in the parking lot when I pull in. I smile and wave at them as I go inside. I try to be pleasant whenever I run into people protesting the oil spill. They’re generally pretty nice one-on-one, and their signs are hilarious. (ENERGREED! Obvious, but clever.)