Getting Even

Robert Edwards was an unspectacular real estate salesman for Century 21 in Chicago. He completed the requirements for his brokerage license, and moved here about the same time that James Rogers took over the First National. Robert started his own real estate agency, which was struggling until he hired Mary Sue Rogers. Mary Sue introduced her boss to Daddy, and they became golfing buddies, playing every Saturday at the Columbia Hills Country Club.

Robert Edwards Real Estate started making some very lucrative deals in commercial properties. It was almost like they were getting exclusive listings for these properties, and all of their sales were to three property management corporations registered in Panama. Bank loans on these properties, always through First National, were given the lowest rates. As Jimmy dug deeper, we found that James Rogers was the chairman of the board of each of these three corporations, and all the properties sold were bank foreclosures.

The owners had never filed for occupancy permits with the county records. They were all supposedly vacant, but another dummy corporation, JR Enterprises, was paying rent on these properties every month. The rent went to Robert Edwards Real Estate as the property management agent. That money, minus ten per cent, was deposited into an account in Jamaica.

Our next question was, where is JR Enterprises getting the money to pay exorbitant rents on non-income producing properties? I had John Thomas drive by each of the properties to confirm they were indeed vacant. Bobby confirmed for us that the rent for these properties was indeed much higher than would be expected.

We came to one conclusion. This was some kind of money laundering operation for the Columbian drug cartels. Three cartels put money into the Panamanian banks, where it was then transferred to JR Enterprises. The rent was paid, Edwards and Rogers got their cut, and the money was sent on to Jamaica.

What if some of the money didn't make it to the bank in Jamaica? If some of the money was diverted into another account, would it be noticed? If it was, would Rogers and Edwards get blamed by the Columbians? Jimmy and Bobby G. started working on a plan.

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Jimmy set up an account in the Jamaican bank. He then created a monthly transfer to move ten percent of the monthly deposit to our new account. From there, the money was immediately moved to three other accounts, each in separate banks in the Cayman Islands. We weren't greedy, and we had nothing but time. In two years we had each accumulated a tidy nest egg. I guess the cartels never caught on since Rogers and Edwards kept on doing business.

My only outside contact was my old boss, John Thomas. I paid John to take Carol and the kids on a vacation to the Bahamas. While he was there, he contacted Nigel Smyth, an attorney, to set up an investment capital corporation. The three principal investors each put up one million dollars, from three banks in the Cayman Islands.

Upon his return home, John incorporated John Thomas Service Corporation, and sold three million dollars of stock to the Bahamian investment corporation. Bobby G., Jimmy and I now owned one million dollars in stock each in JTSC, through untraceable numbered bank accounts.

JTSC bought a fleet of trucks, Ford F-750s of course, to start doing field service work for heavy construction equipment. At my direction, John hired ex-cons that I had trained while they were in prison. If they finished the apprentice program, once they were paroled they had a job waiting for them.

John hired Bubba to be the operations manager. Since his parole, Bubba had married his high school sweetheart, they had a baby and another on the way. Bubba was now making enough to rent a nice house and take care of his family. After he was paroled, Bobby G. became the general manager. Within a few months, Jimmy was released and became our IT guy.

Every time I was eligible for parole, I was turned down. After the second time this happened, I decided there had to be something going on. It turns out my ex-wife had convinced the parole board that my PTSD meant I was still a threat to her and my son. Her father had the political connections to insure that the parole board would do whatever he said.

I sent instructions with John Thomas to Bobby G. and Jimmy. We had waited long enough; the time was now to take these bastards down. For the next three months, Jimmy made sure that all of the payments to the cartels went into our Jamaican account. It only took three months for the cartels to decide that James Rogers and Robert Edwards had outlived their usefulness. Payments to JR Enterprises stopped.

Rogers and Edwards disappeared. After receiving an anonymous tip, the IRS and the FBI started investigating their businesses. Robert Edwards Real Estate was shut down, and all their properties were confiscated. Mary lost her house, her car and any other personal possessions that the FBI and IRS could attach. Anything that could be shown to have been purchased with illegally obtained funds was confiscated. She got to keep some of her clothes and little else.

Mary had nowhere to go. Her father's house and all of his property had been confiscated as well. Mary, her mother and Robert Jr were homeless. Did Mary's country club friends come to her aid, and offer her a place to stay? Of course they didn't. Mary no longer existed in their world.

Mary Sue Edwards became the newest employee at the Big Town Thrift Store. She, her mother and her son moved in with Aunt Susie. Without a car, Mary had to ride the bus to get to her job.

It turns out that Rogers and Edwards had not been murdered by the cartel, but were whisked away to a safe house before the cartel could find them. They were encouraged to spill their guts on the cartel, or they would be placed back on the street for their Columbian friends to find them. They sang like canaries. They pled guilty to all charges against them, and will spend the next twenty years in a super-max prison.

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The door opened and the guard permitted a man to enter the room. He wore a charcoal gray pin-striped suit, a crisp white shirt and a red and gray striped silk tie. He had dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples.

"Good afternoon. You are George Masaroni, I believe." I nodded my head while shaking his hand.

"I'm Charles Alexander, the managing partner of the law firm Alexander, Thornton, and Carlson. Your case was referred to me by an associate of mine, a law school classmate as a matter of fact. I've looked over the trial records, and some interesting facts jumped out at me. Johnny and Ralph were over at my house last weekend, drinking my good Kentucky bourbon, and I went over some of the details of your case."

I learned that Johnny is the State Attorney General, Jonathan Thornton, and Ralph is Governor Ralph Carlson. John Thomas had arranged for the most politically connected law firm in the state to review my case. They went back to my original trial, checked the backgrounds of the attorneys and the judge, and were able to prove that I had been railroaded into prison. My father-in-law had been able to buy off everyone to get the result he wanted.

The governor issued a pardon and I became a free man again. I sent a case of Kentucky bourbon to Charles Alexander, after finding out his favorite brand. The Attorney General referred my case to the state review boards, and the judge and both attorneys will never practice law in this state again.

JTSC was very successful. After the initial stock purchase that got the company started, Bobby G., Jimmy and I never had to tap into the cartel money again. Upon my release, I took over as President and CEO of JTSC, with a very good salary and benefits package. We each held 25% of the stock in the company, and it looked like it was going to pay some very substantial dividends.

We used the cartel money to set up a foundation to help parolees restart their lives. We started by giving jobs with JTSC to the graduates of the automotive apprentice program. This expanded to finding work for other parolees that needed a helping hand. Then we started a program to provide family assistance for inmates. We hired counselors to set up support groups across the state. Our motto became "Cons helping Cons." The recidivism rate for our people is less than 10%, while the normal rate would be more than 30%.

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I was wearing a $2000 suit from Brooks Brothers, $500 Italian shoes, and a $200 silk tie. I had just spent $250 for a haircut and manicure. I got out of my Mercedes AMG GT, and walked into the Big Town Thrift Store. I walked over to where Mary Sue was arranging some children's clothing on a shelf. I stood behind her for just a minute before I said "Hello, Mary. You are looking well today."

She really wasn't, you know. From the way she was dressed, she must be the Thrift Store's best customer. She was wearing no makeup and her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.

Mary turned around, and saw me for the first time. I could see the recognition in her blue eyes, and then the horror. I caught her as she fainted, and eased her to the floor. I had to leave before she woke up because I had an important business meeting to attend, with Bobby G., Jimmy, Bubba, and John Thomas. We were planning our first JTSC stockholders meeting. It was going to be on a fishing boat off the coast of Florida.

The End