Motion to Kill

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Diane Farrell was waiting for Mason in his office. “You want to talk about the fixtures deals or try and figure them out on your own?” She was sitting in the chair Kelly had occupied an hour earlier, holding a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of root beer in the other. “I brought you a sandwich. Consider it a peace offering,” she said as she shoved a brown paper bag toward him.

“Do I need a food taster?”

“Don’t be such a tight-ass. Try living on the edge. It’s turkey and horseradish on rye. Same as me.” She took a bite of her sandwich and washed it down with root beer.

Mason examined the sandwich and resisted the temptation to sniff it before he bit into it. “Thanks,” he managed to force out before the horseradish lit a fire in the back of his throat.

Diane laughed, reached beneath the table, and produced another bottle of root beer. She twisted the top off and handed it to Mason.

“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked him.

Mason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nope.”

Diane laughed again. “Good. I don’t like you either. Makes us even.”

“Then why did you buy my lunch and offer to help me with the fixtures deals?”

“Sullivan was my boss. I still work here. It’s my job. Take your pick.”

“Works for me. Tell me what I need to know.”

“Quintex started investing in these deals in 2008.”

“How many deals?”

“Twenty. In each transaction, Quintex purchased fifty thousand to seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth of fixtures.”

“What kind of fixtures?”

“Retail store and entertainment fixtures. They could be used to display merchandise, serve food, or house televisions and stereos in bars and restaurants.”

“What were the economics?”

“Quintex leased the fixtures to other companies for thirty-five hundred to six thousand dollars a month on a ten-year lease with two ten-year options. Quintex usually got its money back in eighteen months. Ten of the deals have paid back the initial investment and just over half a million dollars in profit in the last year.”

Mason finished his sandwich and his root beer and jotted some figures on a legal pad.

“At an average of sixty thousand dollars per year per lease, Quintex will make twelve million dollars over ten years on an initial investment of around a million and a quarter. Who did Quintex buy the fixtures from?”

“I can tell you the names of the companies, but they won’t mean anything. They’re just shells. A parent corporation owns each one. Each parent owned five of the seller corporations. Two holding companies owned these four and a final holding company owned these two. All the companies were set up in Nevada.”

“So what?”

“I forgot you don’t do corporate work. Nevada doesn’t require shareholders and directors to be identified in state records. It lets the companies keep their ownership secret. Kind of like a Swiss bank account.”

“Somebody must have signed the papers?”

“Lawyers in Chicago had power of attorney. The firm is Caravello and Landusky. They represented the companies that sold the fixtures and the companies that leased them.”

Mason tore off the page of figures, wadded it into a ball, and fired it at his wastebasket.

“Somebody has gone to a lot of trouble to hide the ownership. If the Chicago lawyers are representing the sellers and the lessees, they could be one and the same. Otherwise, the lawyers would have a conflict of interest.” Mason glanced at his watch and realized he was late for the partners’ meeting. “Gotta go, but thanks for the information and the sandwich.”