Laura Caldwell - Red Hot Lies

She caught me looking at the windows. “They place them up there,” she said, “so that if someone shoots from outside, even if they could crack the window, they wouldn’t hit anyone.”

I nodded, wondering what it was like to work every day in a job where getting shot at was a possibility.

Andi took a seat behind her desk and gestured at the chairs. We took our seats, and I noticed that there was nothing personal on Andi’s desk, not a framed photo or even a mug. The desk itself was clean, but for a stack of plain manila folders and some white legal pads. Andi sat back and picked up the top folder.

She opened it, glanced at what appeared to be a few sheets of paper, then replaced the folder on her desk and picked up a pen and a pad of paper.

“As you know,” she said, “we’re investigating the disappearance of Panamanian bearer shares from the office of Mark Carrington, along with the apparent disappearance of Sam Hollings. What is your relation to Mr. Hollings?”

“He’s my fiancé.”

“Had you set a wedding date?”

“Yes. A couple weeks before Christmas.”

Andi asked me a series of questions about when I’d last seen Sam and the day that he disappeared. I told her everything I remembered. There had been nothing remarkable, I told her, except that Sam seemed distracted when I’d seen him at the wedding coordinator’s office and he’d said there were complications at work. I told her how I’d searched for Sam-looking at his office and his apartment the next day. I told her how I’d called his friends and family.

“May I have the phone numbers of those friends and family members?” Andi asked, pen poised.

I pulled out my address book and read off the numbers.

“Did Sam have any enemies?”

“Enemies?” The word almost made me laugh. It seemed like something out of a Star Wars movie. “No, everyone loved Sam.”

Andi squinted.

“It’s true. His friends adore him. So does his family. As far as I know, everyone at work loves him…” I faltered for a moment, thinking that Sam’s boss probably didn’t love him so much right now. “And everyone in his rugby club, they think he’s the best.”

“ Rugby club?”

“The Chicago Lions.”

Andi squinted some more, as if she found this business about rugby utterly suspicious. I found myself racing forward with my words, explaining about the practices every Tuesday and Thursday, how Sam had taken some time off from the club because it was too much to handle with the wedding and work.

“And what does Sam do for work, exactly?” Andi asked.

I explained that he worked for Mark Carrington, who owned a private wealth-management firm. Forester was one of those clients, and Sam was the adviser who backed up Mark to manage Forester’s money, assets and investments.

Andi didn’t write anything down. She clearly understood already what Sam did for a living. “Did you and Sam discuss the investments he was making on Forester’s behalf?”

“Sometimes.”

She gave me a stern look.

“He hadn’t told me anything about the Panamanian shares.”

“And what about Sam’s finances? Was he a big spender?”

“No. The only thing Sam really splurges on is guitars. He plays music.” I thought of all the time I’d spent in the acoustic lounge of the Guitar Center on Halsted, while Sam tried out every Martin or Gibson they carried.

“Was the wedding costing you a lot of money?”

“Yes, although my mother was helping us out with a few things.”

“Did you and Sam have joint bank accounts?”

Maggie leaned forward a little. “Ms. McNeil’s finances aren’t in question here.”

“They’re not in question per se,” Andi said. “But if they’ve got joint accounts and there’s been a big deposit lately…”

I looked at Maggie, who gave me a look that said, It’s up to you.

“Sam and I do not have a joint account. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“We planned to do that after we get married.” I glanced at my engagement ring, thinking of the platinum band sprinkled with tiny diamonds that was supposed to go under that ring.

“Where does Sam bank?”

I had to think about that. “Um…I think Chase?”

“You think?”

“Sam received his bank statements at his apartment. We’d talked generally about how much money we had, but I never asked to see his statements.”

“Did he have any debt?”

“A student loan from his MBA.”

“How much?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Cars?”

“He has a Volvo that’s five years old. I think it’s paid off.”

“But you’re not certain?”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Credit-card debt?”

“No.”

“Where do you do your banking?”

“That’s not pertinent,” Maggie said.

“Do you have any debt?” Andi asked.

Maggie held up a hand. “Her financial status is not in question here. Not in any way. I’m going to advise her not to answer that.”

“It’s okay-” I said.

Maggie looked at me pointedly and shook her head, then turned back to Andi. “I’m going to advise her not to answer any questions about her financial status. If you have other questions, fine, but let’s move on.”

Andi regarded me.

“I have a small student loan,” I said quickly, before Maggie could stop me. I knew that she was thinking it was an invasion of my privacy, a completely unnecessary one, to answer questions about my finances, but I didn’t care. I had nothing to hide. “And I’ve got three grand to pay off on my credit cards,” I continued. “I got in a little trouble with a store on Damen that won’t stop selling me clothes.”

“Did Sam ever talk to you about Panama?”

“No. We talked about a few places in South America when we were planning the honeymoon, but we never discussed Panama. I don’t know anything about it.”

“An interesting country,” Andi said. I got the feeling she knew more about Panama than from just working on Sam’s case. “They’ve made it very attractive for expatriates to buy there. Affordable luxury housing, low taxes on all levels.”

“Explain something to me,” I said. “How is it possible that someone can just take possession of your luxury property and sell it? I mean, that’s what you’re accusing Sam of, right?”

“We’re not accusing anyone of anything right now.”

“Fine, but how does this Panamanian-property thing work? Are people just snatching people’s shares and running around selling them?”

Andi shook her head. “It’s not as simplistic as it seems. Many people there buy property like we do here, with a title that’s transferred to the buyer’s name.”

“But it’s different if a corporation owns the property?”

“Right.” She paused. “You’re a lawyer, you know how it goes.”

“I’m an entertainment lawyer. If you’re a cabaret singer on the side and you want me to negotiate your recording contract, let me know. But this stuff?” I shook my head.

“Well, look, I don’t necessarily have to share this with you, but here’s how it works. If the title is in the name of a corporation, there is no transfer of title, only a transfer of shares of the corporation.”

“So whoever has the shares can sell the corporation and essentially the property.”

Andi nodded. “The buyer can then keep the same officers of the corporation or appoint new ones.”

“Aren’t there safeguards against the wrong people selling the shares?”

“If you can provide legal documentation that you own the corporation, and not someone else, you can put a lien on the property, eventually have your shares reissued and the others voided, but that takes time. So if the person who has the shares acts quickly, they can essentially do what they want with them.”