Hubby embezzled; wife has to repay.
*
"You're sure about this?" Greg Urban asked his company's chief accountant, examining the papers in his hand. The older man nodded. "What the fuck was he thinking? Any trace of where the money went?"
"Looks like parties and women--entertainment type of expenses. We checked the signatures on the receipts and requests for service. The client signatures are forgeries, and the companies deny requesting service trips for most of the dates."
"Did you look at his local financials?"
"Yeah. He's refinanced his house - - a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights- -to pay for his kids' educations. He has a daughter, a junior at Binghamton, and a son, will be a junior when he returns to Stony Brook in the fall. He's on a study tour of German wineries this semester. That's the major load. Three or four credit cards, nearly maxed out. He and the wife both drive moderately expensive Japanese cars, leased. No major vices, locally. He seems to keep his tomcatting for when he's away from home.'
"What do you know about the wife? She benefit from Harry's dipping?"
"Not as far as we can see. She's in her late thirties, a looker, not a trophy wife, even if she does look like one. She's ten or fifteen years younger than her husband, married him right out of high school. Went to business school after the son was born. Works temp jobs a couple of days each week for pocket money for her and the kids. Volunteers at a senior center when she doesn't work. Not much else. No evidence of any involvement with boyfriends. Has a couple of friends, women, she has dinner with when the husband is on the road. That's about it.
"She's nice people, Greg. When Sarah's mother died a couple of years ago, she had us over for dinner a couple of times when Harry was traveling. They were pleasant evenings during a difficult time. I'd really hate to see her hurt by this."
"I'll see what I can do. See what else you can find out about her, preferably without her knowing. And ground that son of a bitch. Twenty grand is enough to lose."
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"There it is, boss. What I told you earlier, I got in conversation with her the times Sarah and I were over for dinner. I had a P.I. from Chicago go down to the town where she and Harry were married. Apparently her mother worked for a Dr. And Mrs. Jenkins, Harry's parents. Angela Carmody, the mother, and Aymee lived in, with the doc paying the mom under the table, so to speak. Angela died just before Aymee graduated high school. A freaky accident and when she was in the hospital, she developed an infection by some penicillin resistant bacteria.
"Harry, apparently, met her on one of his infrequent visits home and was smitten. From what the P.I. could learn, he was her first and only boyfriend. They were married less than a month after her mother's funeral."
Greg looked down at the single page report in his hand. Could it be? How many women would spell the name that way?
"Call her, have her come in. Don't say anything about a problem. Tell her it's an effort to get to know the employees and their families better."
"I'm not sure I can do that, Greg. I told you, I don't want to see her hurt by this."
"That's okay, Don. I'll have Nancy call her and invite her to come in. And, I'll do my best to keep the hurt as small as I can."
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As Aymee Jenkins examined the documents her husband's employer had given her, she felt sick to her stomach. She recognized his signature on many of the receipts, and more importantly, she recognized his handwriting forging the signatures on service requests. She quickly totaled the fraudulent sums and realized there was no way they could repay the money. "Does Harry know you know?"
"Not that we're aware." His tone was soft, gentle. It helped ease her anxiety and pain.
"I had no idea. I don't know why...What are you going to do? Why did you ask me to come in?"
"I don't know yet what we're going to do. Other than keeping him off the road, we haven't made any decisions yet. I guess partly I wanted to see what you might suggest." He got up from his desk and moved to the sideboard where a fresh pot of coffee waited. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Hmmm, uh, oh, yes, thank you." Her mind was distracted, confused. "What could I possibly suggest? We don't have the means to repay that kind of money, even if there were no penalties or interest. We don't have any assets worth anything close to that amount. The only thing we have worth anything is the condominium, and it's mortgaged to the hilt" She rose and moved to stand next to him, taking her coffee. He led her to the conference area in his office, a grouping of furniture in a corner near the sideboard. They sat down on a small sofa, half turned toward each other, knees nearly touching.
"Mrs. Jenkins," he started. "May I call you Aymee?" She nodded. "I had a sister with that name. I always thought of it as belonging to bright and cheerful people." He took a deep breath, then proceeded.
"For a few minutes I'm afraid I have to be brutally frank. I know there is no way you and Harry can afford to repay the money he stole. But if I report the theft, he'll go to jail, for a fairly long time. You, and your children, would suffer a huge financial loss. You'd lose your house, the cars, your children would have to drop out of school, I know you are working on a degree. You'd have to give that up for the immediate future." She nodded, indicating she understood. She had, in fact, played that same scenario as she had fixed her coffee. She sat, looking down at the floor. "I would rather not see that happen."
He reached over and lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. As he spoke, his hand slipped down to her shoulder. "What are you willing to do for your children, for you, to avoid that? I won't say for Harry. He doesn't, shouldn't merit your consideration."
"What would I do? What can I do? I'd do anything I can, short of murder." She gave a small smile. "Although I am considering that."
