one that had appeared virtually out of nowhere and then spread like a virus. The American government banned the sites outright, forcing any U.S.-based operations to move offshore.
Ronald Francis watched all this happening from Cooper Island and saw an opportunity. If it was legal for the Mohneida to build a casino on their land, then it had to be legal for them to host online gambling sites. He brought in some consultants, former senior executives of the Nevada Gaming Commission, with the initial idea of running his own site, but they pointed out a potentially more secure and profitable route for him to take. They recommended that he provide a home for the websites that had been forced offshore and were struggling to establish credibility. So Francis set up the Cooper Island Gaming Commission, which registered, licensed, and regulated online sites.
Initially the Gaming Commission had issued more than twenty permits, and now it was estimated that sixty percent of the world’s online gaming was run on the Cooper Island servers. Ava was impressed with Francis’s business acumen. Turning a tiny island in the middle of the St. Lawrence River into what was in reality a global business leader had been a definite feat.
She found the Cooper Island Gaming Commission’s website and read the list of gambling sites they administered. As expected, The River was one of them. Then she read their self-proclaimed mandate. The commission was dedicated, it said, to ensuring that online gambling was secure and fair and that all participants would be fully paid.
Ava turned back to some of the newspaper articles she’d been reading; in one of them she found a recent photo of Ronald Francis. He was standing outside, his right hand pointing at the Cooper Island Gaming Commission’s offices. His face was large and round, with thin lips and small, dark eyes. His most striking characteristic was his long black hair, which hung in a braid halfway down his back, secured with a clasp decorated with a feather. He was wearing jeans and a plaid cowboy shirt.
It was now late afternoon, and just after 7 a.m. in Hong Kong. Uncle would be up now, drinking tea and working his way through the two or three Chinese newspapers he read every morning. She knew she should call him and confirm the fact and the details of Philip Chew’s theft. But the matter of The River was still hanging in the air. It was one thing to tell Uncle she had found out how and why Philip Chew had stolen more than fifty million dollars, but it was another to state with any certainty that Chew had been cheated and that it was still possible to recover all or part of the money. She decided to hold off calling until she had reviewed Jack Maynard’s data and, if it held up, until she had a chance to formulate a plan for approaching the Mohneida or The River.
As if on cue, her computer signalled an incoming email from Jack Maynard. All it said was, Here’s what you need. There were two attachments. She opened the first, which was from Maynard himself: six pages of data along with a covering letter summarizing his analysis. Felix Hunter’s work was as thorough as Maynard’s, bare-bones and to the point. Across the top Hunter had written in capital letters: these numbers are statistically anomalous. Words that would strike fear in the heart of any mathematician, Ava thought with a small smile.
She read through the summaries, making notes as she went. Anyone with even the most basic math skills could see the pattern. She transferred the data from both attachments to a memory stick, with the intention of printing them later. She believed the printed word still made a bigger impact than any electronic version.
It was mid-evening in Ontario, and the Cooper Island Gaming Commission’s offices would be closed. She logged on to a website that cost her twenty-five dollars a year in exchange for access to personal information on about ninety percent of the North American population. Ava had no idea how they acquired the data, but all she had to do was type in a name and part of an address and the site would spit out a full address, phone numbers, family members, employer, and estimated annual income. She typed in ronald francis, cooper island, ontario, and out it came.
Francis’s wife’s name was Monica and they had no children or siblings. He made approximately $300,000 a year. She believed everything except the income. The website didn’t provide a cellphone number but it did list his home number. Ava debated calling it. She tried thinking of an approach that would excuse her disturbing him at home, and she came up with one that might work. Francis’s phone rang four times. Ava was ready to give up when a woman answered.
“Mrs. Francis?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for calling so late. My name is Ava Lee,” she said. Conscious of what Monica Francis might think about a woman calling her home, she quickly added, “I work for a Hong Kong investment firm that has an interest in doing business with the Mohneida band. I’ve just arrived in Vancouver and I wanted to get in touch with Mr. Francis as soon as I could.”
“Chief Francis isn’t here.”
Ava noted the title, and the fact that Mrs. Francis didn’t seem annoyed by her call.
“Do you know when he’ll be home?”
“In four days,” she said. “Did you say you were in Vancouver?”
“Yes.”
“The Chief is in Victoria attending a First Nations conference.”
“Do you know where it’s being held?”
“The Empress Hotel. He’s staying there as well.”
“That’s wonderful — so near.”
“Was he expecting your call?”
“No, not specifically. I wasn’t sure when I was going to make it over.”
“Well, call him at the hotel. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear from you.”
I’m not so sure about that, Ava thought as she hung up.
(17)
Victoria was only half an hour away by air from Vancouver. Ava emailed her travel agent and told her to book an early-morning flight into British Columbia’s capital city. Then she sat back in her chair and thought again about calling Uncle. Now that Maynard’s and Hunter’s data was in hand and looked solid, she knew he needed to be briefed. She reached for her cellphone. As she did, it rang. He must be reading my mind, she thought as she picked up the phone.
“My father…” a voice sobbed.
“Maggie?”
“My father — ”
“What is it?”
“He tried to kill himself.” The sob turned into a wail.
Ava closed her eyes. “Is he okay?”
“He jumped from the roof of the house. My mother saw him as he went past the living-room window.”
“Maggie, is he okay?”
“They don’t know yet. They just took him to the hospital.”
Ava didn’t want to know any more. “Maggie, go and look after your family. I’ll be in touch when I have something to tell you.”
“My uncle did this!”
“Go and look after your mother,” Ava said.
“I’ll never have anything to do with that son of a bitch again, and neither will my mother. And if my father lives I’ll make sure he doesn’t — ”
“Maggie, if I can get some of the money back, maybe that will help make things right. Your father had to be racked with guilt about this.”
“I don’t care about the money anymore. It’s my uncle’s money. It can stay lost, for all I care.”
“Okay, I understand how you feel, but please, Maggie, go and tend to your family.”
“I will… and if you talk to Tommy Ordonez, tell him never to contact any of us again.”
Ava sat at the desk for several minutes, still in shock. What could Tommy Ordonez have said to his brother? Surely Maggie had told her father about Ava’s involvement and the information Jack Maynard had passed on to her.
