He lies on the Jester's cart - 29
Ventriglia enters the guardhouse, accompanied by a gust of wind that flips the umbrella in his hand. He closes the door and greets the others.
The commissioner is bent over the reception counter. He stops chatting with the guard and turns to the technician, who is trying to fix his umbrella.
- Ventrì, took you long enough. – he says mockingly.
The technician glances at him sideways, trying to shoot him a dirty look, but gives up once he manages to close the umbrella.
- I made it, didn’t I? – he points to the door – Shall we go?
The commissioner moves away from the counter as the guard calls out to Ventriglia.
- Doctor, your badge. – he reminds him.
Ventriglia steps back and walks past the commissioner.
- You’re right – he says, pulling the badge out of his coat pocket and passing it over the magnetic reader, which beeps. – Now we can go. – He says to the commissioner.
They make a run for the car. The rain is pouring, and the commissioner can’t help but get soaked. He left his broken umbrella with the guard, but by now, a few more drops don’t make much difference.
- You’re drenched, Commissioner. – Ventriglia says as he starts the car.
Cardona runs a hand through his wet hair and shakes it.
- What can you do? – he mutters.
- Where are we headed?
- Let’s go to your place. – he points forward to indicate the direction.
- Research and Development offices?
The policeman nods.
The gate lifts, and the car enters the plant.
- We’ll park right by the door, right? So we don’t get even more soaked.
- How long do we need to stay?
- An hour, two at most.
Ventriglia grimaces, then checks his watch. He keeps driving.
- Is someone here? – he gestures toward the commissioner’s Alfa.
No, no. That’s my car. They let me in earlier, then made me leave. They’re a bit strange around here.
- Just a little – the man at the wheel replies. – Let’s do this, Commissioner. I’ll park next to yours so no one complains about yours.
- As you wish.
Ventriglia parks the car as he said he would.
- I’ll get the umbrella for you.
- Don’t worry, I’ll run for it.
Cardona opens the door, stands up, and dashes toward the office entrance. He’s careful not to slip, watching where he steps. The rainwater flowing down the sides of the road has become a torrent. He reaches the entrance and stops. He pulls his coat over his head. He’s completely drenched and feels the need to dry off.
Ventriglia arrives with his umbrella, which is still struggling against the wind. He approaches the magnetic reader and offers it his badge. The doors open, and they enter.
The commissioner eyes his Alfa; the trunk is closed. She must have gotten out. Everything should have gone well. He exhales, a smile spreading across his lips. He glances upward. Across the street, he sees a man in jeans and a sweater, holding a large blue umbrella. But the man is completely drenched, as if he had rolled in the mud. Blonde, with long, soaked hair hanging down his neck. In his hand, he’s holding a pair of pliers. The man realizes he’s being watched and quickly walks away.
- Who's that? – the commissioner asks Ventriglia.
- The technician turns and squints, watching the figure disappear into the rain.
- I don’t know, maybe someone from maintenance? – he replies.
- In jeans and a sweater?
- Maybe they called him in for an emergency?
- Does that happen often?
- Commissioner, let’s go inside and talk about it. Out here, we’re getting soaked.
Ventriglia sets the umbrella down on the floor, and the commissioner does the same with his coat.
- Commissioner, wait. Bring your coat, and I’ll take it to the office. We’ll put it over a convector to dry.
Cardona nods, picks it up, and follows the technician to his office. They walk down the corridor, looking around. It’s empty. No wet footprints on the floor. Cardona whistles as if to call someone. No response.
- You whistle, Commissioner? – Ventriglia asks curiously.
- Sometimes. Is no one here on Saturdays?
- Rarely. And it’s a quiet period. There’s no reason for these offices to stay open on Saturdays.
- How many people are usually in the plant on Saturdays?
- It depends on the production lines. Right now, we’re only producing five days a week. The market is slow. So there’s just some maintenance staff and the emergency crew, but the personnel is kept to a minimum. It’s different when we’re running three shifts, seven days a week. Then the plant is alive day and night. It never stops. But it’s always pretty calm here.
They reach his office door. He opens it, and they enter. Ventriglia approaches a white plastic convector to the left of the door and turns it on. Then he brings the coat rack closer to the warm air.
- Put your coat here. – he says, fiddling with the controls – Some warm air will come out now.
The commissioner does as instructed, then walks over to the desk and sits down. Ventriglia follows suit, sitting on the opposite side of the desk.
- So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?
The commissioner coughs, pulls a cigarette pack from his pants pocket, and puts a cigarette to his mouth.
- Can I smoke?
- You’re the boss.
He lights it.
- I came to check something out. I’m close.
- Close? Close to solving it?
Cardona nods. He takes a long drag, and the cigarette’s tip glows brightly.
- Where’s the bathroom?
- Go out of here, right down the hall, just before the stairs.
The policeman gets up and leaves the office. He walks down the corridor, reaches the stairs, but instead of going to the bathroom, he climbs the steps. He arrives on the first floor. There are still no wet footprints on the floor. He whistles again, but once more, there’s no response. He sighs.
- It’s me, where are you? – he says softly, but no one answers. – Are you here? It’s Cardona! – he says, raising his voice.
The only sound in the hallway is the rain hitting the roof and walls. All the doors are closed. No one is here.
He walks briskly toward Marzio’s office. When he reaches the door, he knocks three times.
- It’s Cardona. The commissioner. I’m alone. Open up.
But no one opens. A look of disappointment crosses his face.
- Where the hell are you? – he asks the door.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at the display.
- What do you want, Cesarano? – he snaps.
- Commissioner, where are you?
- Minding my own business, why?
- Commissioner, I’m at the station. Prisco’s here looking for you. He’s going nuts.
- What do you mean he’s going nuts?
- Commissioner… he’s going nuts, shouting about you, saying all sorts of things. You’d better come here. You’d better hurry, trust me.
- As far as I’m concerned, he can go to hell. That guy’s an idiot.
- Commissioner, come. Before we have more drama on top of what’s already brewing. He’s really serious about this.
Cardona sighs. He scratches his chin and rests his hand on his hip.
- Commissioner? – Cesarano sounds genuinely worried.
- I’m coming. I’ll get in the car and head over. I’ll be there in half an hour.
He hangs up and heads back downstairs to Ventriglia’s office. The technician is sitting at his computer, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the monitor. The policeman grabs his coat from the rack.
- Don’t say anything, I need to step out for a bit. Can you wait for me here?
- Where are you going, Commissioner? – Ventriglia asks, surprised.
- I’ll be back soon, meeting someone quickly and then I’ll return.
- What can I say? Go ahead, I’ll be here. I had some things to finish on the computer anyway.
- I need to tell you something before I leave.
- Go ahead, Commissioner.
- I didn’t come here alone today.
- What?
- A colleague came with me. Young, small, in her twenties. She was in the car, but I sent her ahead while I waited for you in the guardhouse. No one knows she’s here.
- But why, Commissioner?
- We’re looking for some important documents that could shed light on Marzio’s death. It’s important that she works undercover. I’ve been trying to find her around here, but I don’t see her. Maybe she couldn’t get in without a badge. While I’m gone, I’d like you to look for her, or at least leave the doors open so she can enter if she comes back.
- Alright, I’ll leave the doors open and take a walk through the accessible areas.
The commissioner nods in thanks, grabs his coat, and leaves quickly. The commissioner gives a quick salute, takes his coat, and leaves in a hurry.
He reaches the door, opens it, and steps back into the rain.
He runs to avoid getting soaked, but it’s useless. He’s drenched within a few meters. He turns the corner and heads toward his Alfa. He unlocks it with the remote and jumps inside.
On the seat, he struggles out of his coat and throws it onto the seat beside him. He starts the car, turns on the wipers, and reverses onto the main road of the industrial complex.
His phone vibrates again.
It’s a message from Olivieri.
Something’s wrong: Concrete Works closed its last two balance sheets with a loss of €15 million. Guess who CW’s client is? CHEMIT!
Cardona glances at the road, finding himself in the middle of the lane. He steers back to the right, passing by the burned engineering building.
Ventriglia’s words come back to him:
“Ground floor, Engineering. First floor, Administration.”
He stops at the guardhouse, gets out of the car, and walks inside.
- Here’s your badge. – he hands it to the guard over the counter.
You need to check out.
The commissioner leans over the magnetic sensor, which emits its sound, then returns to the counter.
- Thanks, goodbye. – the guard collects the badge without looking at the commissioner, who turns to leave.
First-floor administration. Marzio moved there. Invoices and various documents.
He stops. He turns back to the counter and pulls a photo from the inside pocket of his coat. He folds it in half and shows it to the guard.
- Excuse me, just curious, do you know this girl?
The guard is surprised. He looks at the commissioner blankly. Then the commissioner waves the photo in front of his face.
Do you know her? – he asks brusquely.
The guard looks at the commissioner’s hands. He squints, opens his mouth, then closes it again.
- Yes, I know her, she’s Camille, the intern from the finance and administration department. But I haven’t seen her for a while. Maybe she’s sick. Why?
- Thanks.
- Is she connected to the investigation? – the guard asks.
The commissioner is already outside the guardhouse and back in his car. The gate is open, and he pulls out onto the highway.
He accelerates, phone in hand, selects the number, and calls.
- Hello, Commissioner.
- Explain this to me clearly.
Olivieri laughs heartily.
- Well, it’s not entirely clear to me either, but I managed to get my hands on the financial statements of the two companies Ligresti controls. And there’s something really off. Listen, Concrete Works buys additives from Prosud, they buy a ton. Like, a lot. They should be using them to mix into their cement, right?
- Yes.
- Except that Concrete Works doesn’t make cement. They’re supposed to do civil engineering works. I say “supposed to” because they haven’t done any civil works in the past two years. They barely have any contracts.
- So what are they buying additives for?
- The commissioner reaches the highway ramp, accelerating toward the city. The rain pounds down, and he sets the wipers to maximum speed. The noise is so loud that he tries to raise the volume on his phone call, but it’s already maxed out.
- And here’s where it gets interesting. One of the company’s biggest clients in the past two years, guess who it is?
- ChemIt?
- ChemIt! From what I’m reading, they’re selling them excess additives as waste material.
- What the hell are you saying?
- And then ChemIt sells raw materials to Prosud.
- It’s a feedback loop! – Cardona growls, a mix of surprise, excitement, and anger.
- I haven’t quite figured it all out yet, but I think it’s a system to hide profits.
- To inflate the company’s apparent value.
- That too, but I need to think about it for a bit. – The journalist pauses for a moment, then continues – Commissioner, listen to this. You really need to hear this.
- Go on.
Olivieri laughs again.
- So, Concrete Works, based in Germany, with German clients, German workers, etc., etc., was working up until two years ago, doing good work too. Then something changed, they switched direction. Listen: they laid off eighty percent of the staff. And do you know what happened two years ago?
- No.
- Don’t you want to guess? – Olivieri’s voice has a mischievous smile.
- I want you to tell me.
- Two years ago, Lunar Finance acquired majority control of Concrete Works!
- There it is.
- There we have it!
They both fall silent. The car races along the wet road. The asphalt is empty. He’s the only one on the road. Everyone else is at home, getting ready for lunch.
I understand it all now. Thanks. I’ll get back to you later for updates.
- Come on, Commissioner, this stuff needs to be published immediately. Tomorrow we’ll release a small article.
- No way. I said Monday, and it’ll be Monday.
- Come on, Commissioner, do the right thing!
- We’ll talk later.
He ends the call and throws the phone onto the passenger seat.
The way is clear now. The flood has broken the banks.
- It’s done – he slams his fist against the steering wheel.
He searches for his pen and notebook, they’re in his coat, but it’s too hard to grab them and write while driving, so he changes his mind, grabs his phone again, finds the voice memo function, and starts speaking into the microphone.
- It’s clear. There was a struggle, a power struggle. Something that’s been brewing for years. The brothers didn’t get along? Doesn’t matter. One of them started it, probably… – he reflects for a moment – the older brother, took control, managed things. The younger one grew up with Cardia backing him. The father must have known or suspected something, that’s why he gave him veto power. And so, the younger brother grows under Cardia’s wing. He distances himself from the family. The mother adores the older brother. How long has the younger one been out of the house? He meets a girl, settles down. But something doesn’t add up. He talks to Cardia. There are strange financial movements. Papers he doesn’t have access to, and the explanations he gets don’t satisfy him. There’s the 2008 financial crisis, everything stops. The company doesn’t go into emergency mode? Is it a safe haven? – the commissioner speaks quickly, never pausing – The revenue streams keep flowing because they’re playing the game of selling to Concrete Works, which resells to ChemIt, which resells to ProSud. He senses something is wrong. I don’t know, but the idea holds, and he’s in too deep. Things get darker. His doubts grow, and he doesn’t know what to do. His brother. The brother isn’t trustworthy. He doesn’t believe him. He feels like he’s being cut out. The power is shifting against him. The mother sides with the brother. He needs to understand. He needs to study, to dig deeper. So, in agreement with Cardia, they infiltrate someone into the administrative office. It’s his illegitimate daughter. The one in the photo. She lives in Paris but comes here out of love for her father. He gets her hired as an intern in the finance and administration department, so she can get inside and find what he needs. He moves to engineering, which puts him closer to her, giving them more freedom to move. She does it, she gets the documents and hands them to him. Meanwhile, Cardia dies. – he coughs, the car fixed in the passing lane. – Big problem. Things are moving below the surface. He continues his investigations: ChemIt and Concrete Works. That’s how he gets to the name Ligresti. Somewhere around this time, something happens… how does Ligresti fit in? Here it is: there’s proof that Ligresti personally knows Solimena, the elder. Because their secretaries knew each other well. And then… Ah! – he jolts in his seat – I almost forgot the capital increase. He’s faced with a choice. Invest in the company and drain his own assets, or refuse and dilute his share. This is the spark of doubt. His doubt. He has to figure out how the money is moving. He knows there’s a trap. He knows, and he finds it. He studies the system, understands it. Profits are siphoned out of the company? To prevent him from receiving the profits due to him for his shares? He’s cornered. On one side, his brother is artificially inflating the company’s value with false revenue, and on the other, he’s siphoning money off to tax havens. A pincer move to push him out. I’m just missing the details, and I’ll figure them out as soon as I get out of this damn car. And in this twisted game, he has to defend himself. – The dashboard lights up, but he doesn’t notice. He’s caught up in his story. – And then the mother! The mother! Another line of attack. Rumors say she would give her share to just one son, obviously the eldest, or distribute the shares to ensure an absolute majority in the company. That’s where the waters get muddy. She wants to give him the majority, but then, out of nowhere, Cardia’s will reveals the Golden Share. He can veto anything. Can he stop the capital increase? Doesn’t matter, the will is contested. Endless arguments. They can’t let him have that power. He feels hunted, that’s where the fear sets in. He goes to Rome, Ligresti is in Italy on the same day. Then he disappears – he pauses to think – Marzio must have tried to reach out. Maybe he tried to bring him over to his side, maybe he blackmailed him with what he knew. Ligresti disappears, the meeting is a failure? It’s unclear. But Ligresti’s disappearance is notable. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Maybe Marzio got a signal from outside, something that scared him? Maybe someone was following him? I don’t know. They would have found the girl if that were the case. Either way, he gets scared. He sends Cardia’s daughter away. Maybe he slipped up at the company. Either way, the board meeting is on the seventh. Maybe he’s planning a final showdown, fireworks, yes, it must be. Then suddenly, he returns to the office on the night of the sixth. Why? Someone calls him? Maybe a last attempt at mediation with his brother? I need those damned badges. He goes to his office, and bang. It’s over. He’s on the floor. The office goes up in flames. Someone takes the car keys. Maybe they even opened it. Maybe the documents explaining the dirty dealings between ChemIt, Concrete Works, and ProSud were in the car. Maybe they took them and felt safe. So safe they forgot the keys outside the office. But by then, it’s too late. The office is on fire, and the keys aren’t there. They’re not inside. The rest of the story is written in my notebook. Simple, easy, smooth as oil, right?
He clicks the stop button, and the recording stops. Satisfied, he tosses the phone onto the passenger seat.
The speedometer reads 160 kilometers per hour. He sinks into his seat and smiles.
Ah, Prisco, Prisco. And you? Do you have a role in all this, or are you just the regular bastard your mother made you? Ah! Believe me, now we’re going to have some fun. Real fun. I can already picture you, all fired up like a bull, on a thousand. But I’ll sort you out, you piece of shit. I swear on whatever you like, I’ll let you talk. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I will. But if I see even a sliver of bad faith in your pressure, I swear on everything I hold dear, I’ll skin you alive.
He laughs, laughs heartily, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The sign for his exit flashes by—he didn’t see it, but his exit is near. He lets off the accelerator and veers right to merge into his lane. The rain seems to be easing up now. Maybe this storm is coming to an end. Maybe we’ll see some sun this afternoon. He looks up, leaning toward the windshield, but there are only clouds.
He straightens up and presses the brake.
His heart leaps into his throat.
His hands grip the steering wheel in a tight vise.
His foot presses down, all the way, all the way to the floor. The car doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, it keeps speeding straight ahead. He tries again, lifting his leg and stomping down once more. He feels nothing, nothing. The brakes, the brake system—someone tampered with my brakes. He grits his teeth, biting down so hard it cuts into the roots of his flesh. The exit looms closer, so close. The blond man. The blond man with the pliers. The guardrail is wet, so close. He grips the wheel, braces against the seat. The seatbelt. He doesn’t have his seatbelt on. He never wears it. He didn’t put it on. The guardrail is so close. The exit is narrow. Seconds stretch into hours. He could swerve. He could swerve. Turn. The car veers right, skidding. The wet asphalt. The rain. The screech of the tires, the guardrail is so close. The car spins. He sees the concrete barrier in the middle of the road. The car lifts. Spins. Flies, then the sound, the crash, the noise. Everything is gray, a single moment, everything condenses, the senses merge into one—him, the car, the rain, the metal, the world. Everything is one.
Copyright © The MaDMan, 2013. All rights reserved.
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