The mess takes a lot of work.
The result of this was that the suite was now 70% empty. David had apparently managed a deal with the owner and they were fully paid up in advance for another four months. However, the rent was high, and revenues weren’t going to justify it. As Al watched this procession of problems, his priority was to find the money. Tony seemed to have donated the whole three million to Sydney as a whole. Expense account? No, too obvious. Anyway, it’d be hard to pin anything on him for that, and would take years. Travel? No, he’d been to Melbourne once, and strangely come back the next day, no business and no comments provided.
Bill bullied the accountant Tony had used to produce his figures into a meeting on the Saturday. This interested Al, because Bill seemed to be a genuinely nice guy, but he heard him say to the accountant that it would “save some unpleasantness and a lot of time”. They arrived, with Carla tagging along ostensibly to take notes, at an office in one of the suburbs called Leichhardt, just a few minutes, despite traffic, from the city.
Al discovered that Bill being grim to someone really wasn’t much fun for the recipient. He didn’t crack a smile, called the guy Mr. Andretti, and stared the guy into the carpet. Andretti was a result of Tony’s “Italian” period, and the poor bastard didn’t know what hit him. Bill grilled him, item by item. He claimed that all he did was put the figures Tony gave him into something which resembled a balance sheet. He pointed out that he’d put disclaimers all over the sheets.
This didn’t wash with Bill. He informed Andretti that he could expect to be subpoenaed, and all documents would be required. Al decided the chill in the room wasn’t from the air conditioning when Bill mentioned “norms of accountancy”. As expected, Al was appealed to for some leniency. Andretti claimed, probably correctly, that he had no control over what his clients chose to withhold from him. He could’ve asked, although that obviously hadn’t occurred to him. Not that conversation with Tony was likely to be informative on any subject.
Al agreed that Tony’s own behavior had been erratic, to say the least, and Bill appeared to grudgingly agree. Andretti was now on their side in self defence, and that would do for now. They asked for, and got copies, of all the original material Tony had given Andretti, and they left a very relieved but onside accountant. This material included a lot of stuff which hadn’t found its way to Bill or Carla, which by now didn’t surprise them. Some of the missing money was there, for sure.
Carla informed them that the place and Andretti were as backward as they seemed. He also hadn’t bought any new Ferraris, from the look of the office since the last time she’d seen it. She’d been the main nexus for communications with Andretti by Tony. Everything he’d said stacked up against her memory of the frenzied bursts of activity which had preceded Tony’s sending the accounts to the States. There was nothing missing from the ream or so of stuff she’d sent to Andretti. Why he’d wanted an outside accountant was another mystery. Bill apparently hadn’t had Fazzina’s full confidence, which was another thing Al liked about him.
Al spent the Sunday wading into the messy collection of receipts, dockets, invoices, letters, useless as they were, and itemized lists of unfindable payments. “Photography; Sean Smith, $700,” no product, no receipt, no invoice, no cost center, no date, not even a beginning. “Post-production consultancy; Jean McIntyre, $1500.” Bull. Production of what? No way was anyone ever going to find these people.
Al had never heard of more inept business, or seen a worse attempt to cover it up. Bill had said that he’d found out about some of these transactions largely on an accidental basis. Apparently Tony got seasonal attacks of accountancy-consciousness, which had led to the righteous billing of the fertilizer firm. He would march in for a meeting with Bill and prove beyond any doubt that he had no idea what accounts were supposed to show.
Al rummaged through the apartment and Tony’s old office, now his, to discover that ironically there were some actual attempts to produce advertising material. This was a revelation. There was the fertilizer commercial, a truly Good Old Nigel-worthy piece of garbage, also with a family and Piranha Woman in a bikini, some quotes for production, a few brochures about products, several apparent tail-saving attempts in the form of receipts, which Tony had naturally managed not to include in his shipment to Andretti. They only amounted to about 90 grand, and seemed to have nothing to do with any identifiable business.
How could anyone spend so much for no result? Stone Gold and White were ruthlessly efficient on expenditure; you could go and see Jane Fischer and find out how much you spent on coffee ten years ago, if you wanted. Here, there was no product, Tony had only managed to produce eight finished jobs, all very small beer indeed. Al had run whole campaigns for half what Tony spent on whatever this mess was, and got more sales for the agency and the client.
Feedback from clients was informative:
“Dear Mr Fazzina; In view of the lengthy delays and difficulties in production of promotional material, our client Mad Irving’s Discounts wishes to advise that no further action will be taken regarding the proposed advertising campaign. You will be aware that such materials as provided, being at the mock-up stage, and with no arrangements made for broadcast, do not constitute fulfillment of contract.
Our client requests that you refrain from all further contact with his firm, and has instructed me to take legal action if necessary to ensure that this request is met. At present there is no instruction to seek restitution of advances made to your firm…”
Advances? Money? Can’t have been much, if they weren’t going to chase it.
“…..however it is noted that this may also be actionable.”
Meaning if he came anywhere near them again, they’d sue, and they were prepared to lose money rather than have anything further to do with him. So where was the contract? Al knew there was no mention of it in Tony’s “accounts”; this letter was obviously why. The firm he was dealing with was a franchise, probably as near to a good cash client as he’d got. Comes to that, why leave it lying around? It ought to be quite damaging to Fazzina, but even he didn’t seem to think so……. Bill hadn’t seen a contract, but knew the firm. David had found them when they set up, and had been negotiating when he left. Like the fertilizer guy, this damage could be undone but how bad was the damage?
A post-it was similar but more direct.
“Tony- You bastard. Don’t show your face here ever again. You nearly cost me my job. Janet.” This was attached to a proof of what appeared to be a classified ad for some broker. There were more typos than a Scrabble set thrown from a kamikaze plane.
“Dear Mr. Fazzina- your immediate advice is required regarding our production of our advertisement scheduled for publication on 25 June. No further delays will be accepted.”
Stone Gold and White would have a reputation you could only bury. Bill read the various forms of hate mail coolly.
“You know, you’d have to really put in a lot of effort to get people this angry. Most of the smaller firms are too busy to bother writing like this. A phone call would usually do. They’d just tell you where to go.”
Al simply could not believe that a self-worshipper like Tony could, or would, cut his own throat so thoroughly in eight months. A fraud artist wouldn’t, in fact couldn’t, be so incompetent. Andretti was almost certainly OK, because any halfway decent accountant could provide figures to cover real fraud. A private detective was required. Bill said they might be able to afford it if a new account worked out, and paid up front.
“New account? What, from beyond the grave?”
“Friend of mine, Dorothy Flinger. I was going to tell you; she runs a pet food business, and wants to start a sales drive for a new product range. She’s actually a vet, and inherited the business from her father. She’s redesigned the product, and wants to plug the nutrition angle because she says most pet food’s pretty lousy, as food.”
“What are the sales like now?”
“OK, she says. Tough competition, distribution problems, retailers to deal with, lots of work for the money, but making a profit.”
“Pet food is big in the States. Same here?”
“Yeah; you may not feed your granny, but you will definitely feed the cat to death.”
“Could be good.”
“She’s a real old friend. We grew up together as neighbors and I saw her for the first time in years yesterday.”
“How did you get to the point of doing business?”
“She brought it up. I mentioned what I was doing, and she took it from there.”
“Even better. When do we see her?”
“Thursday OK?”
“I’d prefer now, but yeah. Can we at least talk to this private detective before then? I want to get some idea of prices and results.”
Carla wandered in looking busy. That was a deceptive tactic, Al had learnt, which meant she had something to say. Conceptual hyperbole is more fun with people you know.