Ian Hamilton: The disciple of Las Vegas

She glanced quickly at Uncle. His expression betrayed no reaction. Then she looked back at Ordonez, studying his face. It was certainly Chinese, the eyes smaller than the photos portrayed, the irises pitch-black and intense, but the whites were shot through with crimson patches of broken blood vessels. His face was round, his nose bulbous, his lips thick. High on his left cheek and partially covered by his unruly mop was a large black mole from which sprouted a single long, curly hair. It was a Chinese superstition to let such hairs grow — they were thought to bring good luck.

“I’m not sure what a bookkeeper should look like,” Ava said.

Ordonez seemed surprised and shot a look at Chang.

“Let’s sit,” Chang said.

They took opposite sides of the boardroom table, Ordonez and Chang sitting with their backs to the window so the light shone directly on Uncle and Ava.

“This is a terrible mess,” Ordonez said to Uncle. “I’m grateful that you’re going to help us get to the bottom of things.”

“Until we know exactly what happened, we cannot be sure how much help we can be,” Uncle said.

“I have faith in you. When we met all those years ago, I never thought I would actually need to engage your services — or be able to.”

Uncle dipped his head to acknowledge the compliment. “And I am honoured to meet you again. This is a remarkable enterprise you have built.”

Ordonez took a deep breath. “Thank you. We have worked hard, my brothers and I and Wang, to bring it this far. There haven’t been many setbacks, although, as you can imagine, there are always challenges in the Philippines, always some politician who wants to nationalize us, always another who wants us investigated for bribing his colleagues — though that kind usually disappears as soon as we add him to the payroll. All in all, it has been good.”

Ordonez’s attention was focused entirely on Uncle. Ava was used to that. Chinese men of Ordonez and Chang’s background and position treated most women as window dressing. It irritated her, but she would never embarrass Uncle by overreacting. She waited until they had finished their little dance of compliments before inserting herself into the conversation.

“Excuse me, but is Philip Chew going to be with us?”

Ordonez gave her another sharp glance and then turned to stare at Chang.

“I’m sorry for asking, but since your problem seems to stem from the Canadian operation that Mr. Chew runs, I just assumed he would be here.”

“Philip is ill. He can’t travel,” Chang said.

“He’s in Vancouver?”

Ordonez glared at Chang.

“This isn’t the time to talk about Philip,” Chang said. “The records and the files are here, not in Vancouver. That should be a good enough place to start. Louis Marx, who is the comptroller for our Canadian business, is one floor below, in the boardroom there. He’s been briefed and will give you all the assistance you need.”

“How much money are we discussing?” Ava asked.

“Just over fifty million dollars,” Chang said.

“Can you explain to me how you found out about the missing funds?”

“Marx can tell you,” Ordonez snapped.

Ava glanced quickly at Uncle, whose steady gaze was on Ordonez. “I don’t mean to be rude,” Ava said quietly, “but I would like to get an overview from you before I meet with Mr. Marx. He may have a vested interest.”

“Ava makes a good point,” Uncle said.

Chang looked pained. “It’s a swindle, plain and simple. Our Vancouver office thought it was investing in a golf course and residential complex in Kelowna — you do know where Kelowna is?”

“I do,” Ava said.

“They worked through a supposed local developer named Jim Cousins. The plan was for him to purchase various tracts of land and to start clearing it and putting infrastructure into place. He fronted the first two million. Our Vancouver office sent him the balance on a purchase-by-purchase basis,” Chang said.

“He bought the land first?”

“Yes.”

“Then sold it to you?”

“Yes. Marx has all the paperwork downstairs.”

“So what happened?”

“There is no land.”

“And no fucking Jim Cousins,” Ordonez hissed. He was sitting stiffly upright and his eyes were still on Uncle. She could feel him bristling under her gaze.

“How did you find out?” she asked.

“Deloitte is our outside accounting firm,” Chang said. “They do an annual audit. This time they were particularly thorough.”

“In what way?”

“They sent someone from their Kelowna office to the local land registry to confirm that we had title to the property.”

“And you didn’t?”

“No. Deloitte informed us that the land that we were supposed to be developing was actually owned by a whole bunch of people who had never heard of us or Jim Cousins.”

“But didn’t you have copies of the bills of sale, title transfers? Weren’t the purchases papered from your end?”

“Forgeries.”

“Wonderful,” she said.

“That’s a poor choice of word,” Ordonez said, his eyes finally meeting hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“This man Marx,” Uncle cut in, “he is completely knowledgeable?”

“As much as can be expected,” Chang said. “Philip was the primary contact for Cousins. Everything flowed through Philip.”

“And I can’t speak with him?” Ava said.

“Ms. Lee,” Chang said, “please, no more discussion about Philip. He is ill.”

“We can talk by phone, email.”

Ordonez interrupted. “My brother has had what my sister-in-law insists is something like a nervous breakdown. She says he isn’t up to talking to anyone about anything.”

She heard scorn, verging on disgust, in his tone. Ava guessed that Ordonez was someone for whom mental illness either betrayed a character flaw or was merely an excuse for failure. “That is regrettable,” she said. “Have you spoken to him at all?”

“No,” Ordonez snapped.

“Mr. Chang, have you?”

Chang shifted in his seat. “Louis Marx was the last person in the business to talk to him. You can ask him about what Philip had to say.”

Uncle’s eyes were still on Ordonez as he said to Chang, “Where is this man Cousins?”

“We have no idea. His office in Kelowna turned out to be a vacant apartment; he moved out about two weeks ago. None of his phone numbers work. His bank says he cleaned out his accounts. We hired a private detective agency to track him through family and friends, credit cards — anything and everything. They came up empty. Cousins has vanished.”

“Did Marx meet him?” Ava asked.

“Twice, both times at our Vancouver office when he was dropping off papers.”

“So he can describe him for me?”

“I imagine,” Chang said.

She heard Uncle shift in his chair. She knew she was trying the men’s patience and that he was sensitive to it.

“I think that maybe Ms. Lee’s time would be best spent with Marx,” Ordonez said, his breathing rapid and heavy. “There is nothing more we can tell her.”

“I agree,” Uncle said, reaching over to touch her hand.

“I’ll have my girl take her down,” Ordonez said to Uncle, turning slightly away from Ava.

“We’ll spend some time getting caught up, and we still need to finalize your fee,” Chang said. “Then I’ll have you taken to the Peninsula. Ms. Lee can join you there later.”

Louis Marx looked up from his chair. He was in the boardroom one floor below Ordonez’s office, surrounded by boxes and files strewn across the table.

“Hello,” Ava said from the doorway.

Marx looked confused. “And what do you want?”