Beyond Reasonable Doubt (Keera Duggan), page 15
“Did you tell anyone about it?” Keera asked.
“I wasn’t going to. I mean it was awkward. Really awkward, given Jenna was living with Sirus and his daughter was general counsel. But then I decided, this was wrong. What Jenna did was her own business, but when her actions were unprofessional and could damage the company, then it wasn’t just her business.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to Adria Kohl’s office, and I told her what I had heard and what I saw. I said Jenna’s personal life and her relationship with her father wasn’t any of my business, but her actions were completely unprofessional and if any investors found out it could be damaging to the company.”
“What was Adria Kohl’s response?”
“Measured. She appeared stunned, then hurt. I mean, this was her father. She asked me if I had discussed what I had seen and heard with anyone else, but of course I hadn’t, and I told her I wouldn’t. She told me she knew how uncomfortable it must have been for me to tell her, but she was glad I did. She thanked me and said she absolutely agreed with me. She said she would talk to Jenna and let her know her actions were inappropriate.”
“What about the head of security, Thomas Martin?”
“All I can tell you is he stayed on. I still saw him around all the time.”
“He wasn’t fired?” Keera asked, surprised.
“No. I don’t even know if he was reprimanded.”
Odd. In a company that seemed quick to fire, why wouldn’t they terminate the contract for the security services if a bodyguard is sleeping with the CEO? “Any other incidents?”
“Not that I personally witnessed, but others said . . . PDRT would hold these blowout parties and the investors would often be there. Employees would see Jenna and . . .” She addressed Harrison. “You know when a woman is flirting—the excessive touching, the head tilt, the grin? Jenna would do it with investors in Sirus’s presence, and he did not look happy about it.”
“Angry?”
“I’d say more hurt than angry.”
“Did you ever see them argue?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Isabelle Blowers said PDRT sued you?” Keera said. “What came of the lawsuit?”
“It was costing me a small fortune, so I finally ignored my attorney’s advice and called Adria Kohl directly. I told her that if PDRT didn’t back off and pay me my disability and my severance, I’d let the investors know Jenna and her bodyguard were sleeping with one another.”
“And?” Keera asked, thinking the threat could be dismissed as the untrue weapon of a disgruntled employee, which might have been why Martin wasn’t terminated. Why give him an axe to grind?
“My attorney got a dismissal in the mail within a couple of business days of my telephone call.”
A good indication Tanaka’s perception of Jenna and Martin had been accurate. So again, why wasn’t he fired? “Let me ask you a question. You obviously don’t like Jenna.”
“I don’t, but what I’m telling you is the truth.”
“I don’t doubt it. But why didn’t you ever go public with the information about her manipulating the financial projections? Why not take your knowledge to the IRS or other administrative agencies?”
Tanaka smiled, but it had a sad, you-have-no-idea quality to it. “The US Attorney,” she said.
At first Keera didn’t understand, then it dawned on her why Tanaka still feared Jenna. “You think Jenna is going to blame you in the US Attorney’s lawsuit. You think she’s going to plead ignorance to the fraud and the conspiracy and blame you for the misrepresentations because you signed the documents.”
“I haven’t slept well these past few months. Not since Adria Kohl called me.”
“Adria Kohl called you?”
“Unbelievable gall, don’t you think?”
“What did she want?”
“She wanted me to testify in the US Attorney’s case about what Jenna had me do—how she had manipulated the corporate documents.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I asked her what assurances she could provide me that Jenna wouldn’t blame me for the fraud.”
“Did she give you any assurances?”
“She said her father was going to testify. She said he would tell the US Attorney Jenna had lied at the Wei trial, that she knew her representations about the LINK were false. She said Sirus would back my testimony that Jenna had me change the financial projections.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I was scared of getting involved, and scared of going to jail. I told her I didn’t trust Jenna Bernstein.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she was working out a deal with the US Attorney. She said that, in exchange for Sirus providing such information, she would ask for immunity for him and anyone else who came forward. I told her if she could swing that deal, I would consider talking to the attorney.”
“But then Sirus Kohl died,” Keera said.
“And I’m back on my anxiety meds and looking over my shoulder and around doors,” Tanaka said.
They spoke for more than an hour. Keera thanked Tanaka, provided her with a business card, and said she might have more questions. Then she and Harrison departed.
Back in the car Harrison gave Keera a look. “She seems convincing, but she also clearly has a grudge and the potential of going to jail if she didn’t cooperate with Adria Kohl.”
“Which could make what she has to say unreliable, except . . . Adria Kohl dropped the lawsuit. Wouldn’t that be an indication Tanaka is telling the truth about the corporate projections being Jenna’s doing—and about the relationship between Jenna and her bodyguard?”
“Doesn’t sound like Sirus Kohl was controlling Jenna; does it?” Harrison said.
“No one ever could,” Keera said. “Not even Patsy.” They let that thought linger. Then Keera said, “But we have a bigger problem.”
“The US Attorney?”
“Adria Kohl was getting her ducks lined up to save her father by having him and other employees testify against Jenna. That confirms what I said before: the documents Kohl said she had assembled to prove Jenna knew of the misrepresentations aren’t convincing. Adria Kohl is an attorney. If the documents aren’t enough on their own to establish what Jenna knew and didn’t know, then all she had was her father’s word, and Sirus Kohl could be largely discredited as trying to get even for what Jenna did to him at the Wei trial. Adria needed an independent source to confirm what her father would tell the US Attorney to get the immunity deal.”
“And to have Jenna convicted,” Harrison said.
“It might not have been enough to convict, but it certainly would have been enough to try,” Keera said.
Chapter 17
Rossi and Ford drove to Auburn, Washington, just off a Highway 18 exit. The area was mixed residential and commercial, with single-story rambler homes and industrial complexes. The industrial complex that housed TMTP Security was located behind a cyclone fence with rolls of razor wire strung along the top. While debate raged within the prosecuting attorney’s office whether to charge Jenna Bernstein or to bring the evidence before a grand jury first, Rossi and Ford wanted to learn more about the threats allegedly made to Sirus Kohl following the Erik Wei trial and the US Attorney filing its federal court action.
Ford stopped the pool car at a fence. A security guard stepped from a booth and approached their vehicle in a navy-blue uniform with patches on the sleeves, thick-soled black boots, and an equipment belt holding a Taser, pepper spray, and walkie-talkie. Popeye arms stretched the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt, and reflective sunglasses shaded his eyes.
“Look at this robocop,” Ford said from his driver’s seat. He was already unhappy because of the traffic and had a thing about what he called “rental cops” and “law enforcement dropouts.” He likened them to paranoid militia members preparing for Armageddon and just itching for a fight.
“Play nice, Billy.”
“Help you?” the guard asked, his tone and expression flat.
Ford held up his detective ID and badge. “Got a meeting with TMTP Security.”
“And who at TMTP would you be meeting with, Officer?”
“It’s ‘Detective,’” Ford said. “And that would be none of your business.”
This set the man back a step. He aimed his sunglasses at his clipboard. “Do you recall the time of your appointment?”
“Now,” Ford said. “It’s why I’m sitting in the car speaking with you now.”
Rossi leaned across the car interior. “The name of our contact is Thomas Martin. Appointment is at eleven fifteen.”
The guard scanned a clipboard. “You’re not on the list of approved guests.”
Ford held up his badge. “Look again.”
“I can’t let you—”
“I set up the meeting this morning,” Rossi said. “Perhaps you can call someone at the company to confirm. I’m Detective Frank Rossi. This is Detective Billy Ford.”
The guard pivoted and returned to his booth.
“Why do you pacify those guys?” Ford asked.
“Because I don’t want to waste time talking to him out here.”
“Bunch of white supremacists looking for any reason to start shooting people.”
“That sounds kind of racist, Billy. I am white, you know.”
“It ain’t racist if it’s the truth. And I said white supremacist.”
The guard returned. “Sorry for the confusion and the delay, Detectives. Mr. Martin neglected to call and put you on the list.” He pushed a button on his utility belt and the gate rolled back. “Take a left at the end of the first building. TMTP is in Building C. It will be on your right.”
“Thank you for your help, Officer,” Rossi said.
“Officer?” Ford said, rolling the pool car into the complex.
They pulled up to a cinder-block building. The only thing stenciled on the glass doors was the address. “Understated,” Rossi said as they got out.
“The Ku Klux Klan didn’t advertise their hoods either.”
“You do have a bug up your ass,” Rossi said.
Rossi pressed a button and, after identifying himself to a camera over the door, they were let in. The interior smelled musty, like a gym in need of a better ventilation system. Behind a reception desk a wall displayed a stenciled drawing of a growling, muscled man with a crew cut bursting through a concrete wall. On his bulging sleeves was the TMTP Security patch.
“So much for subtlety,” Ford said.
Rossi greeted a receptionist who said, “Mr. Martin is on his way out.”
A lean, fit-looking man came through a secure interior metal door dressed in a black formfitting T-shirt, black tactical pants, and black boots.
“Detective Rossi? Thomas Martin,” he said extending his hand. Rossi shook it and introduced Ford. “Sorry about the mix-up at the gate. We’re in the middle of our six-week training of new cadets and I neglected to alert them you were coming. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
“It’s all good,” Rossi said. “New cadets?”
“We put prospective hires through a rigorous physical and mental training camp, not unlike at the police academy. We try to eliminate those with the wrong disposition.”
“Who would that be?” Ford asked.
“The cowboys who just want to knock heads. That isn’t what we’re about. Come on back. You can see our tactical course on the way to my office.”
As they walked through an open warehouse, Rossi considered military training ropes, nets, towers, and other obstacles. Martin explained he had served in the army—Special Forces—along with his business partner, Tim Peterson. When they got out, they were looking for a profession. “There was a need for well-trained, highly skilled, private security. We don’t employ the security guards you find in malls. Mostly we do corporate contracts, providing security to prominent executives and their families.”
Of which quite a few existed in Puget Sound. The tech industry had made billionaires out of some and millionaires out of many more.
Martin’s office on the second floor was also understated. He had photographs on the wall and what looked like military medals in display cases. Rossi noted a wife and two small boys in a picture frame on his desk. The children, blond, resembled their mother. A large picture window looked down into the warehouse obstacle course.
“Where are the recruits?” Ford asked.
“Taking a psychological assessment. If they pass, they will undergo interviews to evaluate stress management, emotional stability, decision-making abilities, and ethics and empathy.”
“Sounds thorough,” Rossi said.
“We push them to weed out those who can’t make the physical standards, and a handful more that fail the psychological assessment.” Martin moved behind his desk and gestured to two chairs. “Take a seat. This is about PDRT?”
Rossi and Ford sat. “You provided security to the company?” Rossi asked. He and Ford had agreed that Rossi would take the lead.
“At the company headquarters, and to two of its officers,” Martin said.
“Which officers?”
“Sirus Kohl and Jenna Bernstein.”
“What did the security entail?” Rossi asked.
“For the company?”
“Start with that.”
Martin rocked back and forth, his leather chair creaking. “We performed background checks on new hires. We checked for drug use and criminal convictions and checked out their references and past work history . . . if any issues existed at prior places of employment. We reviewed social media postings for red flags such as drug and alcohol use. We also provided security in the building lobby. Employees were required to scan a pass to be admitted and when leaving. Guests had to be on a designated register and escorted onto and from the floors.”
“And what was the security you provided for Sirus Kohl and Jenna Bernstein?” Rossi asked.
“Twenty-four seven.”
“That seems extreme,” Ford said.
“We kept security at the front gate and at the back of Mr. Kohl’s home, which overlooked Lake Washington and could be accessed by boat, or someone swimming. We also provided a car service to and from work, and to wherever Mr. Kohl or Ms. Bernstein desired to go—restaurants, for instance. We checked out and secured meeting locations, beforehand, and scanned their corporate headquarters several times a week for bugs and cameras and other forms of corporate espionage. We also scanned their internal internet.”
“Did you ever find a threat—of any kind?” Ford asked, sounding skeptical.
“We recommended rejecting certain hires for various transgressions, and we identified instances in which an employee broke company contractual policies regarding social media.”
“Which was what exactly?” Rossi asked.
“Disparaging the company and/or disclosure of corporate secrets.”
“Who did you report these violations to?” Rossi asked.
“Contractual violations were reported to Adria Kohl. She was general counsel. Other violations were reported to Sirus Kohl.”
“Did you report to Jenna Bernstein?” Rossi asked.
Rossi detected a subtle pause before Martin said, “Not on security violations, no. We did, however, transport her, as I mentioned.”
“Did you get involved in the lawsuits Adria Kohl brought against employees who quit or were fired?”
“We gathered evidence if they violated their employment contracts.”
“And you gathered the evidence necessary to . . . what, intimidate those employees?” Ford said.
Rossi had worked with Ford long enough to know he was doing something similar to what the border patrol did to individuals who fit a certain terrorist stereotype seeking to drive across the border. They asked questions intended to provoke and rattle the person. A person under stress, like those sitting in a car atop explosive dynamite, or who had illegals, or drugs, could display physical manifestations when put under pressure.
Martin smiled. He, too, seemed to know what Ford was doing, and he sounded eager to prove he’d passed the psychological assessment. “We just gathered the information. We didn’t act on it.”
“Any threats from any disgruntled former employees?”
“Some. Those who were sued had no love lost for the company or for upper management.”
“Any threats issued by any of those employees?”
“Yes.”
“How did you handle those threats?”
“We assessed whether they were viable and reported the threat to local law enforcement. Most were just angry and blowing off steam. Police would pay them a visit and that would be the end of it.”
“Any employee threats to reveal that the company product, the LINK, was fraudulent?” Rossi asked.
“Nothing that specific; no.”
“How specific?” Rossi asked.
“The threats were more along the lines of a disgruntled employee bad-mouthing the company atmosphere as oppressive and intrusive, rather than revealing anything about the corporate products.”
“Any lawsuits go to trial?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Like I said, most employees didn’t want the fight.”
“Did you find that odd, given what eventually transpired about the company’s product being fraudulent?”
“Wasn’t really for me to consider the nature of the threat. My job was to assess if the threat was viable and provide proper security measures.”
