then there was the question of where the money went.
Anthony Baumgartner’s lifestyle showed none of the fruits of this labor. He lived in the same home he’d been in for years. Drove a nice, though midrange, vehicle. Had not gone on any luxury vacations.
It was a rare person who was greedy enough to steal clients’ money and then disciplined enough not to spend it.
Unless the lion’s share was going somewhere else. To someone else.
“And how do you manage this situation?” he asked.
“Well, the first thing I do,” she said, reaching for the phone, “is call the regulatory commission and report this.”
“We’ve already done that.”
“I see. I’ll call as well, later.” She put down the phone, slightly miffed. “We will, of course, replace any money taken from clients.”
“Stolen.”
“Yes.”
“Bit awkward, isn’t it?” he said. “This isn’t the first time Anthony Baumgartner embezzled from clients.”
“You’re talking about what happened a few years ago,” she said. “That wasn’t him. Not directly. It was the assistant of one of the senior partners.”
“You?”
“No.”
“They were having an affair, I believe,” said Beauvoir.
“That’s true. The assistant apparently used Tony to get at his access codes and was siphoning money from various accounts. He was bound to be caught. Not very smart, really. But he did get away with quite a bit before it was discovered.”
“Who caught him?”
“Tony. He came to us immediately, and we acted.”
“By firing the assistant.”
“Yes.”
“And not Monsieur Baumgartner.”
“He’d been foolish, trusted someone he shouldn’t have. But his actions weren’t criminal.”
“And yet you suspended his license.”
“There had to be a consequence. Other brokers had to see that if you’re tainted in any way, there will be a punishment.”
“And his clients?”
“What about them?”
“Were they told?”
“No. We decided not to. The money was replaced, and it was decided Tony would work with another broker, who’d put in the tickets and do the actual transactions. But Tony would continue to manage the portfolios. Make the decisions. It wasn’t necessary for this to be spread on the street.”
“The street?”
“Our language. It means the financial community.”
The street.
Beauvoir was beginning to appreciate that the only thing that separated this “street” from rue Ste.-Catherine was a thin veneer of gentility. But once that was peeled away, what was revealed was just as brutal, just as dirty, just as dangerous.
“Baumgartner was fine with the new arrangement?”
“He understood. Look, he didn’t have to come to us. He probably could’ve figured out how to cover it up. But instead he sat right where you’re sitting and told me everything. About the affair. About finding out Bernard had stolen his access codes for the accounts. He offered to quit.”
“But you didn’t take him up on it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“You know as well as I do that you could’ve fired him. And given what’s happened, perhaps even should have.” He looked at the statements. “I want the truth.”
She took a deep breath and continued to hold his eyes.
“He was the best financial adviser we had. Brilliant. I am, after all is said and done, my father’s daughter, Chief Inspector. I know talent, and I want to keep it. Tony Baumgartner was that. And so we chose a middle ground. Suspending his license to trade but allowing him to continue managing portfolios.”
“So if he could no longer trade, how did he manage to steal all that money?” Beauvoir pointed to the papers on her desk.
“No, no, these are all fake. There were never any trades. That’s the whole thing. He made it look like there were, but it’s all gobbledygook. If a client actually bothered to read this”—she put her splayed hand on the paper—“what they’d see are numbers that are both impressive and mind-numbingly boring. No one, other than another financial wonk, would bother to study these.”
“So where did the money go?”
She shook her head and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But it looks like millions. Tens of millions.”
“More,” said Beauvoir, and, after a small hesitation, she also nodded.
“Depending on how long this’s been going on, yes. It’ll take us a while to work it all out.”
“But wouldn’t people, his clients, realize? When there was no actual money in the account?”
“How?”
“When they asked for it.”
“But people don’t,” she said. “They give it to their investment dealer, and at best they cash in the dividends or take the profits. But the capital remains in the account. Weren’t you ever told by your parents never to touch the capital?”
“No. I was told not to touch my brother’s bike.”
She smiled. “Point taken. But a truism in investing is