A few months after the move to his new office on the second story of the mall, Fernandez instructed Bernie to begin planning an expansion into the adjacent lot. He advised him on how to keep his cost-on-the-books, down, by using a cash supplement that Fernandez would provide. Within six months the addition was completed, on budget, and the entire project was fully leased and financed for roughly the total outlay of both the acquisition and the new construction. Fernandez told Bernie to find another property. Inside three years Bernie’s holding company owned seventeen properties. With each acquisition Bernie’s off-shore account grew and his taxable salary was augmented with taxable bonuses that he ostensibly paid to himself.
Bernie always brought his projects in on budget. That was his specialty. It wasn’t hard. His formula was steadfast. With ten percent in cash, Bernie could bring any project in on budget. His bankers marveled at the loyalty of Bernie’s architects, engineers, lawyers and contractors. His projects were never plagued with disputes and legal wrangling they had seen with other developers.
As time went on, Bernie’s reputation grew and he was soon to be lauded as a Guru of Real Estate. It never bothered him that with each acquisition he signed new promissory notes. He knew the notes would never be called, unless he quit or died. Certainly he had no intention of doing either in the foreseeable future. Eduardo gave him only one mandate. Expand. And expansion was so easy. All he had to do was bring his projects in on budget and his bank was falling over backward to finance the next deal.
Then one day, Fernandez had instructed Bernie to position the company with ten percent of its assets in stock. He wanted something that would offset a slump in the real estate market. Bernie agreed, well aware of what a slump in the real estate market could do to a real estate development and holding company. Fernandez asked for a suggestion regarding a stock pick. Bernie asked for some time to research the market. After a week of research, Bernie, over lunch in a downtown hotel, suggested Intracell Communications. The cell phone craze was just beginning. Fernandez was surprised at the choice of stock but after a half hour of convincing discussion, he agreed to Bernie’s selection.
Intracell prospered. Their financial statements were public documents and Bernie reviewed them quarterly and kept a close eye on their stock price but other than that, wasted little time on what he considered a simple side-show to his real estate business. When the NASDAQ market crashed in April, 2000, Fernandez, who had slipped out of sight over the years, made a rare appearance. He wanted Bernie to substantially increase his investment in Intracell, while the stock price floundered.
And now Bernie Wheeler stood before the mirror. A real estate magnate with an impeccable reputation, who had just been offered a position on the Board of Directors of Intracell Communications, the nation’s leading cell phone provider.
It didn’t matter one whit that Bernie Wheeler didn’t own a single share of his company. At least not a single share that wasn’t tied up as collateral security for an astounding series of promissory notes. He owned his four million dollar home, paid for after tax. He owned vacation property paid for the same way. He had a multi-million dollar account in the Cayman Islands that he never touched. He was driven to work in a limo. He had been interviewed by Forbes Magazine. And now he was invited to join the Board of a major American Corporation. He smiled to himself in the mirror. Who cares if he didn’t own his company? Nobody knew. Not even his wife.
Chapter 6
When Phil and Michael entered the bar they received a frosty look from the owner. Before their drinks arrived Tom Barrens entered and joined them at their table. The waitress was at the table within seconds. She spoke out immediately.
“These two have already been warned. The same goes for you. If anyone at this table so much as sneezes my friend at the bar will be showing you the door. Get it!”
All three men instinctively glanced toward the bar where a three hundred pound Hawaiian monster sat. He turned his bar stool around backwards, and was now directly facing them, intimidatingly.
“What do you say?” asked Phil, directing his question at Michael and Tom.
Farris looked at the monster and grinned. “I’ll be good,” he said.
“Sure, me too,” added Tom.
Phil gave the waitress his best, innocent smile for which he received nothing but an icy stare in return. Drinks were placed on the table and the waitress left.
The three men each took a swallow of their beer. Tom was the first to speak.
“So, as I was saying yesterday, I’m with the DEA. I’m not going to show you my credentials because we are in a crowded space. If you want to confirm my identity call the number in the phone book and ask for extension 5536. I’ll be there at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. Now, let me explain my proposal.
“First of all, DEA has no warrants for you and you are not under investigation for any particular crime. We have done background checks and Mr. Harrison has come up without a blemish. Mr. Farris,” he looked directly at Michael, “has attracted suspicion in the past for smuggling activities, but there has never been any hard evidence of that. Furthermore, there has been nothing at all in the last five years, except for a tiny blip concerning the disappearance of a Ricky Ferungali.”
“That’s nice to hear,” drawled Farris.
Tom ignored him.
“A few weeks ago a DEA agent, by the name of Jeff Ritkies, was killed in an explosion at sea, about fifty miles from here. I knew him, slightly. Naturally, what I am about to say is strictly confidential. That agent was undercover in an operation directed at breaking a cocaine smuggling ring. It took two years of dangerous undercover work to get our man inside. We were close to arrests which would have seriously hurt the drug cartel. Instead, our man was set up, and then blown up, in mid ocean. The explosion was so powerful that there was barely a trace of evidence as to what had taken place. However, we were in telephone contact with our man at the time. We also witnessed the explosion on radar.
“Training a new agent, getting him in and letting him work his way up through the organization would take a couple of years. Perhaps the result would be different, perhaps not. Would you like another drink? I’ll just put it on my expense account.”
“I’m fine,” said Phil. Farris said nothing.
“Gentlemen. I think we should all have a bit of a laugh, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. Right now we may appear too serious.”
Tom Barrens sat back in his chair and let out a believable couple of grunts from a smiling face. In fact, the act was very good. Farris and Phil responded, with less enthusiasm. The bouncer turned back toward the bar and the owner, who had been watching closely, seemed to relax. Tom glanced over at her and waved for another round.
The drinks were served without comment. Tom leaned forward as soon as the waitress left.
“Look, we have good historical knowledge, not evidence, of Mr. Farris’ past dealings. What we are proposing is setting up a sting operation and nailing the bastards who blew up our agent. We need your help, Mr. Farris. You have credibility in Colombia, so we need you.”
“I’m flattered that you would like me to do the DEA’s dirty work, but I’m afraid I have no interest in the matter.”
Tom leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and sifted through what Mike Farris had just said, searching for a crack he could work on. He found none. He had been told repeatedly from a variety of agents and analysts to expect this response. His alternate approach would have to be an unpleasant one.
He opened his eyes and plastered a ridiculous grin on his face. He watched carefully as Phil and Michael responded, smiled and reached for their drinks.
“Come on, gents. You know I’m not going to be able to