Point of Contact

19

Mind if I ask you a question?” Jack asked.

“Sure.”

“What made you want to become a fraud examiner?”

Paul stabbed another glistening shrimp. “Well, I was always pretty good at numbers and my mother said that accountants could always find work, so I decided to go that route in college. In my junior year I had a professor who was a JD and a CPA and he had retired from the FBI before going into teaching. He told us all kinds of great stories from his time in the Bureau — he described it like being a detective or a spy hunter, but instead of using guns, he used numbers. So what’s a fat kid from Iowa gonna do? He’s going to become a forensic accountant.”

“And you were in government service?”

“Briefly.”

Paul’s clipped answer told Jack to not probe further — at least right now. He changed subjects.

“And you enjoy fraud examination?”

“It’s really interesting. Never a dull moment.”

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. Was he kidding? The thought of drilling down into accounts-receivable ledgers and hunting for misplaced decimal points made him want to shove his chili-stained chopstick in his eye. “Interesting… how?”

Paul’s drink finally arrived. He said, “Chili’s pretty hot, isn’t it?” as if that was the reason he was about to take a sip from his third vodka tonic.

“Hot but good. I’m glad we came here.”

“Me too. What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Why the job is interesting. Well, for me it’s interesting because in the end it’s never about the numbers, it’s always about the people. People are creatures of habit and pattern. Turns out numbers are pretty good at revealing habits and patterns, and the kinds of fraud people commit generate habitual patterns of numbers and data sets, too.”

“Is there a certain kind of person more likely to commit fraud?”

“From what I’ve read, there’s no one exact trait or indicator that the psychologists can agree on — maybe they’ll find a gene for it someday, but I doubt it. But when people do commit fraud, they’re generally one of four types.” Paul paused and took another bite of rice.

Jack picked up another shrimp and plopped it into his mouth.

“A fraud expert named Allan characterized them as the bully, the egoist, the control freak, and the mouse. People who commit fraud either crave approval, demand control, are territorial, or want to keep things the way they’ve always been.”

“Where’s the mouse in that lineup?”

“The mouse is interesting. That’s the gal or guy who is quiet, doesn’t make any waves, and doesn’t draw any attention to themselves — except that they stand out as the perfect employee.”

“Perfect — as in too perfect?”

“Yeah. Extra-long hours, taking on extra projects, never complaining, never asking for a raise. Of course, all that means is that they’re trying to hide the bad stuff they’re doing.”

You never know about people. Ding’s words on the deck of the fast-attack boat rang in Jack’s head.

“So those are the kinds of people that commit fraud. I suppose their motivation is just greed?”

“Not necessarily. There’s an acronym — MICE. Have you heard of it?”

Only about a million times, Jack said to himself. “Remind me.”

“Money, ideology, coercion, and ego. So, yeah, sometimes it’s about money, but as often as not it’s those other motivating factors, and usually a combination of them.”

“I think I read somewhere that terrorists and traitors fall under the MICE paradigm.”

“That’s right.”

Jack shrugged. “Makes sense. If you’re committing fraud, it’s kind of like an act of terror or treason against the company’s management and stockholders.”

“I never thought of it that way. I suppose you’re right.”

“So how do you go about finding these fraudsters? I’d think if they were smart enough and motivated enough to cook the books, they’d be smart enough to cover their tracks.”

Paul offered a rare smile, then took another sip. The ice tinkled in his glass. “Oh, believe me, they try.”

“So what’s your secret weapon?”

“I have a bunch of them, but data analytics is my best one. In the old days I’d break open some dusty old ledger book and run my fingers down the columns. Now I let the software do all the work. I’ll give you one example — it’s really interesting.”

Paul pulled a mechanical pencil out of his pocket and snagged a napkin.

“Hey, wait a second, I have one of those.” Jack reached down and pulled up a pen he kept clipped to the inside of his pants pocket. “That’s a Zebra F-701.”

Paul grinned. “I didn’t know you had one, too.”

Jack clicked his. “Mine’s ink, not lead like yours.”

Paul held his Zebra between his two hands, admiring the iconic shape of the solid stainless-steel barrel. “I’ve been using Zebras for decades.”

“I started using these the day I graduated from college — my dad gave me a set of them. Told me my Zebra would never let me down.”

“Small world,” Paul said. He pulled the napkin closer. “Have you ever heard of Benford’s law?”

“No.”

“This is pretty cool stuff.” Paul stopped. “Wait, am I boring you?”

“No, it’s interesting. Really.”

Paul smiled, grateful for Jack’s white lie. “Benford was a physicist who began noticing a pattern in numbers. So one day he took a bunch of random figures — numbers he found in a magazine, the surface area of bodies of water, molecular weights — a whole series of uncorrelated data sets, and then he analyzed the numbers, and what he discovered is fascinating and, frankly, hard to explain.”

Paul sketched out a two-by-two graph, with percentages listed on the y-axis and numerical digits 1 through 9 on the x-axis. He plotted his graph out as he spoke.

“Turns out, no matter where you look in nature, there’s a uniform pattern in numbers. What Benford discovered was that the first digit of any number is going to be the number one about thirty percent of the time.” Paul marked an X at the intersection of thirty percent and 1.

“The number two will occur in the first position almost eighteen percent of the time, the number three about twelve-point-five percent, and so forth.” Paul filled in the rest of the graph. “The number nine will be the first number less than five percent of the time.”

“So… if you find patterns of numbers that don’t correspond to Benford’s law, you think you’ve found fraud?”

“If I find a break in the Benford’s law pattern, then I know it’s something worth looking into. But then again, there are lots of reasons why it can be broken. For example, if a company has a regular purchase of an item that costs $97.86, and if that’s the most purchased item on their books, well, that’s not going to conform to Benford, is it? There are many other patterns and incongruences my software can check for besides Benford, but you get the idea.”

“So I take it your Benford template hasn’t pulled up anything?”

“I haven’t run it yet. It would take several weeks to do a decent audit of Dalfan’s books, so all I’ll be able to do is a few random spot checks.”

“I still think we need to keep at it.”

“I get paid either way.” Paul swallowed his disappointment as he drained his glass. He fought back a monstrous yawn. “Mind if we grab a cup of coffee before we head back? I’m beat.”

“Sure.” Jack waved at the pretty server. She smiled and came over.

“A coffee for my friend here.”

“Of course. Cream and sugar, sir?”

Paul nodded. “Please.”

Jack nodded over at Park again. “And be sure to give me his check. I think the two of us got off on the wrong foot.”

After lunch, everyone got back to work, including Jack and Feng. Feng pulled information about the two small manufacturing plants they operated in the city not far from where Jack was sitting, the only other buildings that Dalfan owned on the island. Jack quizzed him about working conditions in those places, security protocols, and production schedules. Anything Feng couldn’t answer he made notes about and promised to get back to Jack with the answers as soon as possible.

Jack’s analytical brain absorbed all of the information, but he also took copious notes on his laptop. He enjoyed this kind of work, pulling all of the puzzle pieces out of the box and trying to fit them back together. But he still hated being here. Less than two weeks ago he was fighting for his life on an oil rig in the North Sea in the middle of a blizzard.

His biggest risk right now was a paper cut.

While the rest of The Campus was on a training mission in the Colorado Rockies, he was sitting at a desk, sifting through leasing contracts, employee benefits plans, and production reports.

“I need to stretch my legs, Feng. How about you show me the outside of this place?” Jack figured the old smoker was craving a cigarette pretty badly by now. Feng brightened at the prospect. “Glad to.”

Feng’s first chance to light up was on the roof, where Jack checked out the palm trees and sun deck and spectacular views of the city. A half-dozen butts later, Jack had seen everything else the Dalfan building had to offer, all the way down to the loading dock and parking lot, with a quick run through the garage where the company vehicles were parked and even the boiler room for good measure. Jack had a good eye for architectural details — especially the kind that came in handy during an emergency.

By the time they were done and back at his office, it was quitting time. Jack shook Feng’s hand again and thanked him for the tour, then tapped on Paul’s door.

“You ready to roll?”

Paul turned around in his swivel chair, yawning. Bai looked pretty frazzled, too.

“Is it already that time?”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Lian knocked on the door frame. “Gentlemen, how was your first day?”

“Productive,” Paul said.

Lian glanced at Bai. The young accountant nodded. “Very.”

“You can go home now,” she said to Bai.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Bai stood and grabbed his jacket. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Brown.” He nodded toward Jack and said, “Mr. Ryan,” as he stepped past him and out of the door.

Lian watched him leave. When Bai was out of earshot, she asked, “I’d like to take the two of you out for dinner and drinks. Show you some of the city.”

“What’s the occasion?” Jack asked. He was hoping she was actually becoming human.

“It’s my responsibility to show you my city as well as my company.”

Paul fought another monstrous yawn. “I’m sorry, I need to take a rain check.”

“I understand,” Lian said. She looked at Jack. “You’re probably exhausted as well. Perhaps another time.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I’m good. Let’s go.”

Paul yawned again as he stood.

Jack jerked a thumb at him. “After we drop him off.”