Ian Hamilton - The wild beast of Wuhan

“Ava?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if I’m a little early. I was rather anxious to see what you have.”

“Not to worry, your timing is actually quite good. Come with me.”

Ava followed Chan to the boardroom, where three files were laid out side by side on the table. “Those are his annual financial statements and tax returns,” Chan said, pointing to the stack. “I separated the paintings transactions into these three files to make it easier for you.”

“Three files. Three transactions?”

“No, five. Two each in two years and one in another year.”

“There were twenty transactions.”

“I have records for five, that’s all.”

“Let’s look at them,” Ava said, knowing there was no point in arguing.

She sat next to Chan, who opened the first file. “Kwong paid $1.5 million for this painting from a gallery in Paris. Actually, he didn’t technically pay. He negotiated a price, invoiced the Wongs, took their payment, deducted a commission of five percent, and then forwarded the balance of the money to the seller. The seller then sent the painting to Kwong. He used the same procedure for all five of the paintings I have records for.”

“That was trusting of the Wongs,” Ava said.

“Kwong wasn’t a fool,” Chan said. “Why would he risk making an enemy of one of the most powerful men in China?”

Ava leafed through the paperwork. Chan had grouped it in chronological order, making it easy to follow. The procedure she had described for the first painting had been repeated four more times. Each had a different seller. “So he was acting as a broker, a middle man. He never had actual possession of any of these paintings.”

“That’s the case.”

Ava worked through the files again, noting the dates, the artists, the paintings. Then she opened her notebook and compared them against her list. Chan’s files documented three of the five paintings Torrence judged to be genuine; the other two were on his questionable list. She guessed those two were going to pass muster.

“I have a problem,” Ava said to Chan. “Our records show that the Wongs bought twenty paintings from Great Wall, not five.”

“This is all I have.”

“Could you leave me alone with these other files for a little while?” Ava asked, pointing to the stack.

“Certainly. I’m borrowing an office two doors down. Come and get me when you’re done.”

Grace Chan was a good accountant. Ava found it easy to go through a year of business at Great Wall. The income statements and balance sheets were clear and concise, the backup was referenced. It wasn’t much of a business, not in ceramics anyway. The first year she examined had sales of less than HK$2 million — about US$300,000 — and after a myriad of expenses the company was US$20,000 in the red. It was only with the commission on the Wong sale that the company had made any profit.

The next year was more of the same, except this time Grace Chan had recorded four commission payments. Four? Ava thought. Two paintings were sold to the Wongs that year, not four. Where did the other two commissions come from?

She left the boardroom, the file under her arm, and found Grace Chan. “These two commissions,” she said, pointing to the entries. “Were they invoiced?”

“Yes. I only pulled out the copies of invoices and paperwork relating to the five paintings, but yes, those entries were invoiced. The paperwork is in the back storeroom.”

“Could you get them for me, please?” Ava asked. “And Grace, how many other large commissions were there over that period — commissions not directly related to Kwong and Wong?”

“Quite a few. They were making him wealthy. He could have retired in style if not for the cancer.”

“What were the commissions for?”

“I was never sure. The invoices just say, ‘For consulting services rendered.’ When I asked him what that meant, he said he was doing provenance work on Chinese ceramics for a European company.”

“And you believed him?”

“Ava, as long as the paperwork and the money matched, and as long as he was properly declaring his income and paying his taxes, it wasn’t up to me to question him.”

“I think we should look at all the files and put dates and amounts to these commissions.”

“I’ll get the files.”

It took them more than two hours to go through each file and find the appropriate copies of invoices. Ava recorded everything in her notebook. When they were done, she compared dates and amounts. There were exactly fifteen invoices, each issued shortly after the Wongs had bought a painting from Great Wall. But the commission invoices weren’t made out to the Wongs; they were made out to a numbered company with a Liechtenstein address. The invoice amount was exactly three percent of the Wongs’ purchase price.

“Is it possible for me to make a private phone call?” Ava asked Grace.

“Certainly. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Ava tried May Ling’s office line first and got voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. She tried May Ling’s cellphone, which she answered on the first ring. “Ava, I was hoping you would call.”

“I’m in a meeting but I need you to answer a couple of simple questions for me. First, the paintings you bought, how did you pay for them?”

“By cheque or by wire transfer, a bit of both.”

“You paid against an invoice, correct?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Always?”

“No invoice, no payment.”

“I need you to do something for me. Get one of your financial people to go back through the twenty transactions. Dig out the invoices and then tell me who, when, and how you paid. It’s probably best to email everything to me. I’d like copies of the invoices and any wire transfers, and copies of the returned cheques — back and front.”

“What have you found?”

Ava heard the eagerness in her voice and knew she was going to have to be cautious about how often and in how much detail she spoke to May Ling. “Nothing yet. I’m just trying to be thorough about recreating the transactions.”

“I’ll have someone do it right away.”

“Thanks.”

“Please call me later.”

“If I have something to report.”

Ava hung up and then used the boardroom phone to call reception. She asked to be connected to Grace Chan. “How was Mr. Kwong paid these commissions, the ones for the supposed ceramic provenance consultations?” she asked.

“By cheque.”

“Do you have the bank deposit slips, the cheques?”

“Not the original cheques; they stayed with Mr. Kwong. I have copies.”

“They will do just fine.”

Ten minutes later she had copies of the fifteen cheques the numbered company had sent to Kwong for commissions. The company’s bank was the Liechtenstein Private Estate Bank. Ava knew what her chances were of getting any information from the bank: zero. She wrote down the address anyway and double-checked the numbered company. If it wasn’t registered in Liechtenstein she might be able to find out something about it.

“You’ve been really helpful,” Ava said to Grace, passing her a sealed envelope with HK$2,000 in it. Grace looked at it but didn’t open it. The lady has some class, Ava thought. “If this works out well, I’ll see if I can find an additional bonus for you.”

“To be honest, the money doesn’t mean that much to me,” Grace said, not raising her eyes from the envelope.

“Pardon?”

“I’m more interested in knowing whether Mr. Kwong was involved in something improper and if I’ve been a party to it. I’ve found all this quite unusual, and upsetting.”

“I don’t know what he was actually involved in, but whatever it was it won’t be any reflection on how well you did your job. I found your work completely professional and beyond reproach. You have nothing to fear.”