Chapter 41
I RUSH INTO MY OFFICE to pack my computer and the files I need.
My other laptop is already in my bag. Before I slide my work one in next to it, I boot it up to check my inbox.
Maybe Phil has sent the information for the funds.
Betsey will try and find me today, and I need to understand why she set all of this in motion.
Of course, I’ve eliminated her threat, so this will be on my terms.
There’s an email from Phil’s assistant. I open it and notice two attachments.
From: Nonie Jenkins (Nonie.Jenkins@)
To: Meredith Hansel (Meredith.Hansel@ )
Hi Meredith,
Good morning. Hope you are well and enjoying a few days of rest. Phil asked me to chase down both attachments for you: the securities lending agreement and an extract of Q1 board minutes from almost two years ago. Please let him know if you need anything else.
We’ll see you on Monday.
Best,
Nonie
Chase down is an interesting way of putting it.
I shake my head as if trying to free myself from an annoying mosquito.
I’ve gotten where I see conspiracy everywhere.
She probably meant that neither of the documents was simply hanging out on her desktop ready to be sent off.
But it did mean she probably had to ask someone for them, maybe Hardwin or someone on his staff?
I scan my inbox. No emails from Hardwin. That is suspicious in and of itself. On the two previous occasions I’ve been invited to board meetings, I’ve gotten flurries of emails from Hardwin, Dave, and Terrence prepping me for what to expect.
Everyone is so quiet.
I click on the first pdf, an electronically executed contract through our digital document management system, Remotesign.
The agreement I had Alyssa and Temor review was just a few pages; this one is with our custodial bank and is over eighty with signature pages.
It not only contains the lending agreement but all the custodial services for Garman Straub funds. This is what I expected.
The sound of Clint’s boots slapping the steps has me scanning the document for an understanding of the agreement and anything odd.
The first thing that stands out is a reference to an appendix of funds.
I scroll to the end, but the addendum doesn’t list the new ETFs.
They must be catalogued somewhere else. I make a note and move forward.
There is also language around the investor documents including the fund prospectus.
Which all sounds appropriate. Investors need to be aware of both the risk and return.
Another section is all the service agreements. This also sounds appropriate.
I check the date of the agreement. It was updated as we were launching. The ETFs should have been included, and we get regular reporting on the revenue we receive. I’ve seen the payments summarized in fund accounting. I continue scanning, and then I stop.
The room falls away. I no longer hear Clint and Erika moving around in the other room. Only the document exists. I lean closer and blink twice.
My name.
Clearly written into the management section of the contract.
I’ve rarely seen a corporate contract at Garman Straub that names someone who is not an officer of the company.
Maybe a title. But even more revealing is that there is no named counterparty at the custodial bank listed.
Have I been hung out to dry alone? I send the file to my printer and open the other attachment.
Although it’s quite easy to guess what it contains.
I find the text. They officially recorded my name in the management of contract.
A contract I’ve never seen until now. Did no one think this was odd?
And if the ETFs are not included in the master contract with the custodian, then the contract Alyssa and Temor analyzed could have been drafted to make unsanctioned side deals. That’s a big if.
“Hey, Meredith, you almost ready?” Clint pauses in my doorway.
I smile. I should draw him over and show him, but I don’t. Ingrained habits die hard. “I need another ten minutes.”
He cocks his head at me. I see him trying to be supportive and not paranoid. “You got it. Anything else you need me to pack?”
“Maybe a couple of games or puzzles we got last Christmas that we haven’t cracked.”
He nods and turns away.
I only skim the words surrounding my name in the board minutes—minutes for a meeting I never attended. Pages begin to spit out of my printer.
Today is Friday, Betsey’s deadline for turning over the securities lending agreement. But beyond the obvious—the master document doesn’t include the ETFs—something else doesn’t sit right with what she’s asking.
If I do hand over the custodial contract, I’m incriminating myself.
She’s asking me to deliver documentation that names me responsible for excluding my ETFs from an ongoing lending program with our custodial bank. An agreement different from what is written into the investor prospectus documentation, which makes it a crime.
But we are lending our securities. We’re getting the income. I see the reports. We use it to offset our expenses. So, where is that money coming from?
I scrub the sides of my face with my hands.
The recent income reports should tell us if the custodial bank is actually paying us.
Alyssa and Temor can dissect them. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Maybe I have this all wrong, but something tells me someone is setting me and the ETFs up to take a big hit.
I quickly bang out another email.
From: Meredith Hansel (Meredith.Hansel@ )
To: Alyssa Grant (Alyssa.Grant@)
Hi Alyssa,
Can you track down recent investment income reports we have received from Compliance for our ETFs?
I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Anything that looks odd or may be missing from what we report as an offset to expenses in the prospectus.
And while you’re at it, see if you can locate the dividend replacement confirmations.
We sign off on these, but I think they run through fund accounting.
Legal set up the fee split. Please don’t bother Hardwin or Terrence.
If you have a friendly on their teams, maybe make some inquiries, but keep it quiet.
Everyone is working hard, and I don’t want to call attention until I’m back in the office. Use Temor as needed.
Best,
Meredith
I stare at the email. Should I draw Alyssa and Temor into this without giving them a heads-up that something may be very wrong? At this point, I don’t think I have a choice. I have to know how I’m being framed.
But I delete the email and pick up my phone.
No paper trail.
“Hey, Alyssa.” I ignore the niggle that I am still not entirely sure Alyssa doesn’t know more than she’s saying. I guess I’ll find out. “I’ve got a project for you.” I continue to draw her into the web that was spun for me.
Ten minutes later as I’m finishing packing my bag, something sticks as I try to position my notebook along the two computers.
I pull out the envelope Betsey gave me in the Grand Central bathroom.
My hand hovers above my trash can when I remember she said she wrote something on the back, maybe a number.
I slide out the photograph and stare at the image, remembering the minutes after it was taken, after I left Lucas.
As I rushed to the train station, Clint called.
I didn’t fumble for why I was late. The lie spilled freely from my lips.
“We really have to go, hon.” Clint holds out his watch as he approaches.
I immediately flip the picture and read the number.
“What is that?” Clint comes around the side of my desk.
“Before we go, I need to make one call.”
“To who?”
“Why don’t you take a seat? I’d like you to listen. I can explain more in the car.”
He scowls but sits on my office sofa. It pulls out to a surprisingly comfortable bed. I would know.
I lay my cell phone on the desk and dial the number, putting the call on speaker.
“You have reached the Securities and Exchange Commission. If you know your party’s four-digit extension—” I blanch. My finger disconnects the call. The trembling starts in my hand.
“You’re calling the SEC?”
I shake my head. Each number is clearly legible on the back of the photograph. I must have misdialed. Taking my time, I peck out the numbers again.
“You have reached the Securities and Exchange—”
I slam my index finger down on the red icon like I’ve just been bitten.
“I don’t understand.” Clint leans forward.
“I don’t either.” I take a huge breath and point to the back of the picture. “This is the number Betsey gave me to get in touch with her.”
“And this is the first time you’re calling it?”
“Yeah.” I stare down at the numbers, trying to make sense of it.
“Call it again. Ask for her.”
I don’t respond. That’s either the most foolish idea or perfectly brilliant. Something scratches at my memory of the Grand Central bathroom. She might have told me to do just that when she tried to give me the envelope. Either way, maybe we’ll finally get some answers. Together.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Clint squeezes my quivering knee. “Talk to them.”
“Might not be that simple. I think someone at Garman Straub has set me up. Maybe even Phil himself.” And the SEC is not an organization to take investor fraud lightly.
Their enforcement division isn’t going to assume the portfolio manager of the funds didn’t know what was going on under her nose.
They won’t hesitate to charge me with misconduct, at the very least.
“All the more reason. Everyone’s made their trek and strung their tents. Time you at least took a look at the trail map.”
A small smile curls my lip. I do need a map.
“We’re in this together.” He nods encouragingly.
I press redial, and we listen to the greeting again. I press zero to be connected to reception.
“How can I direct your call?”
I widen my eyes. “May I speak to Betsey Comarsh?”
Sounds of keys clicking come over the line. “One moment please. I’ll connect you.”
“Betsey works for the SEC?” I whisper but it feels more like a hiss.
Clint shrugs. My eyes are probably as wide as his.
“Meredith Hansel, is that you?” an older man’s voice asks.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Gaven Newal. Enforcement Division chief. Are you ready to come in?”
I stare at Clint. Am I? I can share what I’ve found, which all points to me perpetrating a crime against our investors.
His tone softens. “We just want to talk.”
“Where’s Betsey?” Not exactly the question I had planned to ask, but I’m not ready to answer his.
“One of the questions we have for you.”
I suck in a yelp.
Clint flies up from the couch and disconnects the phone.
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. That was the SEC.
“Enough. We need to figure out what the—” He gnaws his lips and then breathes deeply, his body rigid. “We need to get our son.”
I drop my phone in my bag and follow my husband to the car. Fear propels my feet.