Reversal of Redemption

By Jeff E. Gregory

How far would you go to undo a financial mess created by your bank? Imagine that bank is the nation's federal reserve!

Jason Gregg found something amiss when he received an unexpected windfall from an unknown philanthropist. He did his research, held his breath, and cashed in his chips, only to have it all taken back. Enter an ambulance chaser, a wealthy financier and a sinister force out to steal and sell to the highest bidder! The Opposition smells a rat and signals the end is nigh for the government in power. Back-room deals are brokered based on the fact that no one can ever discover the truth.

Reversal of Redemption is based on an actual event and delivers a solid punch to the reader with every chapter.

ISBN: 978-0-9869492-0-3

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff E. Gregory
• Release date: Apr 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986949203

Jeff E. Gregory

At 48, my first novel, Reversal of Redemption, based on an actual event, was published here at Smashwords. I have enjoyed a 24+ year career with the Canadian government and I am looking forward to my final 10+ years in government. I am married, with one daughter, and I have discovered writing is just as enjoyable as reading.

Book preview

Prologue

September 1998

There, it’s done!

He’d been working on the project since July, ever since the announcement. It didn’t happen often that Lawrence Nelson was caught off-guard, but this was certainly one of those times. But that was all in the past now. Having moved the final files from acceptance onto the production server, Lawrence was signalling a fait-accompli and nailing his deadline with just minutes to spare. He signed off on the project testing phase and logged off from his computer.

He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair and let out a long, satisfying sigh. His medium-length black hair was a frightful sight. Having not showered that morning, he was as eager today, as he had once been, when his career as a programmer in the Department of Financial Affairs began to take root in the late 70’s. At 48, he still had the agility of an athlete.

Awaking well before the alarm, putting on yesterday’s clothes and dashing across the two blocks it took to get to work, was a recipe for success. He would finish the project today, the Friday before the Labour Day long weekend. He had to; his deadline was today. He was well on his way and was quite proud he had snuck out so fast…undetected.

Maureen was as insecure as anyone Lawrence had ever known. He thought he could change her, by providing her with a stable environment from which to escape the awful upbringing she had endured. She had endured one foster family after another, ever since the accident that took her parents and only brother away from her far too soon. Lawrence was determined that Maureen would eventually become independent and develop a large circle of friends that had eluded her all miserable life. But no, Lawrence had failed. She was beautiful, so beautiful when he first laid eyes on her. Even though seven years had past, she hadn’t aged a day.

As Lawrence raced up the steps of his office building that morning, he knew the first thing he had to do was put on his special leave me alone message. Everyone would hear Lawrence say he was on a special project for the day and would get back to everyone after the holiday.

Ah, the long weekend, Lawrence mused. Lawrence had rented a suite at the Chateau Castille in Old Montreal. They’d have it all: the chocolate-covered strawberries; the extra-thick house coats; the personal message from the hotel manager; the massage; a day at the spa for Maureen; and, of course, the vibrating bed.

It was ten to five when his phone rang. It was Maureen, of course. Twenty seven calls today. He decided to take this one.

"Maureen, I…"

"Something’s wrong," she screamed in his ear. I can’t reach her!

"Maureen, please. You’re overreacting," as usual he added under his breath.

"No, I’ve been trying all day and she’s not answering. Something’s really wrong, Lawrence!"

Maureen was in high panic mode, going over the edge. She still has maturing to do, he thought.

He remembered instantly. In his rush to finish before the weekend, he hadn’t remembered to run that test he’d been meaning to run since Monday. But Maureen had an edge Lawrence had never heard before. She truly was scared something was wrong with her aunt.

"Lawrence, I have to get over there."

He mulled over the missed test. He had been so thorough this week, but he just didn’t have the time now. He knew it was required to check everything before signing off. Maureen needed him now. Right now! There was no time for debate. The test would have to be run Tuesday, early. Besides, it was mostly being overly cautious to run it. The odds of that particular combination of events occurring were as remote as it could be. Everything had already been tested, but some things do slip through, as he well knew from past experience.

"Okay, I’m coming now," he exclaimed, cutting her off.

Lawrence threw the project folder through the air, and it landed on his manager’s desk. He took the stairs, two at a time. The sooner he could be with Maureen, the sooner he’d be able to calm her down. He burst through the fire escape door and tore through the lobby, waving wildly at the two security guards.

See ya Tuesday!, he yelled, his voice trailing, as he bolted through the lobby doors, looking at his watch and was amazed only 7 seconds had passed. With all he had on his mind, he was stymied how he could have done it that fast. He noticed suddenly that the second hand was flicking back and forth. As he sprinted off the sidewalk between a taxi and a city bus, he realized the watch battery he had replaced just last month was faulty and the life was draining from it far too soon…

* * * * *

The driver of the delivery van was going into shock. The passers-by had been there about three minutes, keeping the mantra the same, "It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault…

The paramedics knew as soon as they arrived. They did their preliminaries and pronounced him dead at the scene. They carefully scooped up the innards that had been sprayed from under the heavy middle set of wheels of the slow-moving articulated bus and loaded the remnants of the body onto the stretcher, covering the remains with a cloth and proceeding to the morgue. The police constables were interviewing witnesses, including the two security guards. The delivery van’s initial strike sent him careening under the front section of the bus, which was already in motion. The middle wheels squeezed the innards out of every orifice of the victim, like sausage in a grinder. The victim’s intestines coming out the mouth were a macabre reminder of the senselessness of crossing between intersections.

* * * * *

When Maureen got the call just after 5:15, she was sobbing before the constable finished confirming her relation. She already knew. Her aunt hadn’t returned any of her calls. Maureen’s life was her mother’s only sister whom Maureen considered a second mother.

The caller informed her that there had been a single vehicle accident. There were no survivors. She dropped the phone and started screaming; her hands were shaking violently in front of her face. She needed Lawrence’s comforting words to soothe her. At least she could still share her newly discovered secret with him.

One of her neighbours knocked on the door. The corridor was filling with neighbours who had heard the screams, when one of the upstairs neighbours came rushing in to spread the initial word.

Is … is she on the pho…phone? Dave Dexter inquired, panting and sweating profusely from sprinting from the scene on one of the hottest, most humid days of the summer.

Yeah, she’s just taking the call now, answered another neighbour.

Oh, the poor dear, commented Mrs. Miller.

Mrs. Miller had been a wonderful neighbour to Maureen. She looked after their apartment by picking up the newspaper, feeding the fish and generally keeping an eye on things, whenever Maureen and Lawrence had to make a quick trip out-of-town the odd weekend. She never said no. She had already been recruited by Lawrence for this surprise weekend and had wished him a wonderful time earlier that afternoon.

Maureen found the resolve to open the door and melt into the arms of the person on the other side. She opened her eyes to the sight of most of her neighbours with red eyes and tears streaming down their faces.

I’m so sorry, Maureen was Dave Dexter’s immediate reaction. At least Lawrence didn’t suffer.

Part I

Chapter 1

December 1, 1998

Mathilda Gregg was determined to get to the bank today. This was the only day she could spare the time to make that special purchase. Mattie, as she was known, was a spry, agile 76 year old widow of 14 years, who lived alone in Ottawa’s west end in her 6th floor, two-bedroom condominium. She didn’t look a day over 50. Her soft delicate skin was virtually wrinkle-free, suggesting a life devoid of serious illness and relatively stress-free. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Her five sons had done very well for themselves. Christopher, the eldest and 48, was Deputy Director at a downtown homeless shelter for men and happily married to Mary-Ellen. They lived close by near the expressway, about two miles from her condo. Christopher was on his second marriage. His first marriage to Diane Els in 1985 had ended in divorce in 1988. But for Diane, her time away from Christopher had been ill-timed.

Diane had met up with the soon-to-be-notorious 47-year old Daniel Blackwood, a convicted 1st degree murderer. They had corresponded during his incarceration and had started a short-lived courtship upon his release. Diane was my lifeline, Dan would say in court at his second 1st degree murder trial in 1997; a lifeline that was a financial drain on Diane’s savings account. Diane had announced the end of their relationship and Dan had responded by murdering her and dumping her body in federal parkland across the river. Dan was convicted and would spend several years in federal prison on a 25-year mandatory sentence without any eligibility for parole. Dan would eventually succumb to Hep-C, a result of a life spent on the wrong side of the law.

Mattie never missed a day of that trial and was glad to see justice properly served. Just before the jury returned their verdict, Blackwood had asked the bailiff, Do I go out the back way when I’m set free? The bailiff just rolled his eyes.

Jonathan, 46, was a farmer, with a loving wife Jacqueline and six adopted children, ranging in age from 4 to 18; five girls and a boy. They had an orchard on small commercial farm with several other cash crops outside Westport, Ontario.

Jonathan was born on Leap Year Day and was in the local Ottawa paper the next day. A clone of his father, Walter, and an avid outdoorsman, Jonathan had worked the summers during university at provincial parks throughout Ontario, as a naturalist. Evenings were spent with the campers, providing slide shows of his photography, or of some of the sillier family portraits of his zany siblings. His famous slide that always brought the house down was of Tricky Ricky, clad in his swimsuit and covered from head-to-toe in soap suds, with his knees together and his elbows out with his two hands curled downwards. His head was nodded down and away from the lens, showing his soapy smile. Every time Jonathan saw that slide, he would weep with laughter. It truly was the encapsulation of Tricky Ricky.

Jonathan had succumbed to pancreatic cancer, less that a year after the diagnosis. Mattie was beseeched with anguish, but she managed to find the strength to carry on, thanks to her faith, and her boys.

Tricky Ricky was 44 and Chief Engineer on the world’s tallest hotel project in Dubai, UAE. Rick was always scheming in his younger years to get out of doing chores around the house. His favourite tactic was rock, paper, scissors, and if he didn’t get a win the first time, it was always the best out of 3. He was undefeated in the Gregg household. Instead of helping out around his own household, whenever his wife Johanna needed help, Rick was all too eager to try his luck with his two sons or two daughters, ranging in age from 7 to 13. Rick would never have to worry about dishpan hands.

Phil Gregg, 40, was the oil baron in Calgary and had two daughters and a son ranging in age from newborn to 7, as well as a loving wife, Jann. Phil was three-and-a-half years older than Jason and the two of them played off each other. They actually grew closer as time went on, despite their sibling rivalry that spilled into their 20’s. Whenever Jason had a problem, Phil was his first contact. Phil would drop whatever he was doing and provide whatever advice Jason needed.

Mattie’s youngest, Jason, 36, was also a family man. His wife, Tori and 5 year old daughter Sherry, who was the apple of her mother’s eye, completed the Gregg family tree. Jason was the government nerd, following in his father’s footsteps and had a blossoming career at Civil Aviation Canada. He had twelve years under his belt and was responsible for the Registration Document Information System he had built from the ground up. His system spat out every document issued when registering an aircraft in Canada. Together with Lisa Knobbs, the system administrator of the National Aircraft Registration System, they had turned the CAC inside out with their forward thinking and innovative ways of handling dwindling budgets, hiring freezes and automation. Jason was determined to stick it out for the full thirty-five years for full pension. He would enjoy his retirement well into his nineties; that was the plan.

Jason had started out thin as a rail until he reached his late teens. Trading in his trusty bicycle for his first set of wheels had added just the right number of fat cells to his long, gaunt features. By age 20, Jason was finally starting to look normal. He took after his paternal grandfather and started turning grey at sixteen. It had started with a patch at the front on the left and had spread from there. Jason had sported a moustache ever since he was able to grow one. Many a morning were spent with Mattie’s eyebrow pencil to give it just the right tint. It was more stubble than ‘stache Walter used to say. Walter had instilled good posture on Jason. Every morning when Jason set out for school, Walter would say, Jay, look up and Jason would and respond, Where? He had gotten used to looking at the clouds that he rarely looked anywhere near his legs or feet. He had subconsciously trained himself to look as far ahead as possible, a trait that came in handy after he got his licence. People would comment to Mattie and especially to Walter as to how tall and straight Jason was. At five foot ten, he wasn’t any taller than average.

Jason had Walter’s striking facial features: the Roman nose; the cheery mouth; and the deep, blue eyes. Everyone knew Jason was Walter’s boy, ever since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, another familiar expression of Walter’s.

When Jason hit twenty-five in 1987, he thought he’d end up being the eternal bachelor. Phil’s wedding was approaching on Boxing Day, in Montreal. Jason had already asked a co-worker and good friend to the wedding.

A week before Halloween, Jason was heading out of his apartment fifteen minutes earlier than usual. At the bus stop, he met up with Jennifer O’Grady, whom he had known since Grade One. Jason and Jennifer had spent many weekends together going to movies, the local fair and other friend activities. Bowling was their favourite activity. Jennifer had gotten to know Jason’s circle of friends quite well and, on this particular day, invited everyone to her Halloween Bash on the Saturday. Jason promised to spread the word.

That same morning, as Jennifer transferred to another bus, she ran into another old friend, Tori Stapleton. Immediately, Jennifer was struck by what a great couple Tori and Jason would make. Sure enough, Jason and Tori sat alone as the first dance hit was filling the party room. Tori looked over her left shoulder at 8:45, and Jason took the hint. They talked, and talked and talked all evening long. Both were avid baseball fans but followed different Canadian teams: Tori, the eternal Montreal fan; and Jason the everlasting Toronto fan. They chatted about the games to which each of them had been and were surprised they had attended the same games, in Montreal, on Saturdays when the two teams played each other during the last two regular seasons.

That night, or rather in the early hours of Sunday morning, Jason called his best buddy and announced he had just met his future wife.

Thirteen months after meeting up, Tori and Jason were married in the Catholic Church in November 1988, the day before the Canadian Football Fall Classic. The day before their wedding, there had been the largest earthquake Ottawa had ever experienced. The Chicoutimi Quake as it became known, was a magnitude 6.0 and allowed the soon-to-be wedded couple to move the earth a day early.

The happy couple lived in the east end. The transition had been easy for Jason; he’d had spent a great deal of time as a sales representative in the mid-eighties. It was during that period that Jason got to know the east end. He felt perfectly at home moving into a neighbourhood he already knew well.

Jason and Tori had purchased their matrimonial home in September 1989, a two-storey, three-bedroom condominium in Chartres, the French suburb of Ottawa. Four years later, their long awaited bundle of joy, Sherry Lynn Gregg was born. The family decided the time and the market were right during the Christmas holidays of 1998 to make the move to a single family home; nine-and-a-half years in a small condo with paper-thin walls had been long enough.

The family of four, which included their trusty feline, Shaddoe, moved into a two-storey, three-bedroom, single-family home, also in Chartres and within walking distance of their condominium. Sherry was able to stay at the same school and Tori and Jason managed to stay on the same downtown express bus route they so enjoyed. Although Jason got along with all his family, he always looked up to his oldest brother, Christopher. In later years he and Christopher would become involved in a medical study. The surviving Gregg boys had a dark cloud hanging over them.

Walter Gregg, the patriarch, was a WWII fighter pilot and had capped off a thirty-seven year public service career that took him from WWII to the Post Office. During the post-war years, Walter became renown in the artistic world in Ottawa. Walter had an eye for painting watercolour landscapes, especially of rural Ottawa and showcased his work once a month at an art lending venue. After retirement in January 1979, Walter devoted most of his time to painting. Sadly, Walter contracted pancreatic cancer at age 58, just 3 years into retirement. While he was still able to travel, he arranged with five other local artists to take a trip to Newfoundland. They called themselves The Gang of Six and were featured on the national news at their art show shortly after they returned. Walter succumbed to his illness less than two years after being diagnosed. That was back in October 1984.

Jonathan would survive his father by only fourteen years. After Jonathan’s death, Jason and Christopher would search out and find a pancreatic cancer medical study. They would both enrol and have yearly check-ups in Toronto. The study would pay for their trip from Ottawa, and the tests would be non-invasive. But that was yet to come.

Ironically, Mattie and her daughters-in-law were all older that their husbands; a fact she was always too keen to interject to those outside the family. Mattie had forged ahead on her own with her sewing and knitting, always keeping Walter within eyesight with the many photographs that were strategically placed throughout her condo. She showcased her wares at various bazaars and craft fairs during the Christmas season as well as the summer months. The boys always looked forward to those crazy-coloured knitted socks. Two pairs each were guaranteed, and now, the grandchildren also eagerly looked forward to getting theirs.

* * * * *

Mattie had had a bad bout of the flu for the first time ever. Tori had been persistent in trying to get Mattie to get a flu shot, but Mattie had refused, having never suffered from the flu up until that time. She vowed upon her recovery that next year she would get the shot.

The weather that December day was as typical as it could be; cold, wet and windy. Still, it was her last chance to get those bonds she desperately wanted. Ever since she was 18, she had bought savings bonds. This was ingrained from those stories her mother had told her all those years ago, Mathilda, you’ll never go wrong with savings bonds. Her mother, Tessie, had set a good example during the WWI years, supporting the war effort the only way she could, by buying war bonds. Mattie had begun back in 1940 and wasn’t about to stop now. She employed various strategies to secure her financial well-being, but Walter had made sure she would want for nothing.

Walter had scrimped and saved just in case he predeceased his beloved Mattie. He would be fine if the reverse was to occur; Walter had a sold federal government pension and some of the public pension that had come on-board in 1966. There was also Old Age Security at age sixty-five, but Walter figured he would not have any need for it and neither would Mattie.

Mattie had fun with her savings. Sending the grandchildren special surprises, like a trip to Montreal for a festival weekend that Mattie thought would be beneficial to that grandchild’s keen special interests, was a regular occurrence with all her grandchildren. It wasn’t always a trip, and it wasn’t always a grandchild that would benefit. Sometimes, Mattie would arrange a weekend away somewhere for the parents to unwind, while she, Mattie minded the children at their home.

It was eight-thirty when Mattie ventured out of the building to the bus stop across the street. She gripped her umbrella with all her might and kept herself hunched over so that the wind would not lift the umbrella out of her hands. She always got to the bus stop with ten minutes to spare, just in case it was early. Jason was the only other family member who took punctuality seriously. Neither Mattie nor Jason was ever late for anything.

The trusty 183 local bus slumbered along around the corner and made the familiar stop outside Garden Way III, the third tower in the Garden Way complex. The two twin towers of Ottawa’s west end, Towers I and II were fixtures since the early seventies. Tower III came along at the height of the local building boom, 1982.

Mattie boarded the bus, flashed her senior’s pass and took her seat, the first front-facing seat on the left. Unknowingly to both Jason and Mattie, Jason practiced the exact same habit.

The ride to Carlington Mall was uneventful and Mattie looked forward to getting there.

* * * * *

Mattie shook her umbrella having stepped quickly from the bus shelter to the nearest entrance of Carlington Mall, the mall of choice for the Greggs ever since it opened its doors back in 1956. She strutted down the corridor to the bank, Crown Bank of Canada. No one would have guessed she was 76. She had kept her slim figure all these years with a disciplined walking regimen. Her silver hair was the only indicative feature that she was the age she was. At 5’7, she was considered tall. She had been 5’9 in her younger years, but as she entered her 70’s, her height began to give way. Not that it worried her. Her stern approach was, Ah, it happens to everyone. I’m just getting old.

Few people considered Mattie to be old, or that other word she so detested…elderly! She didn’t mind senior since that word had a more authoritative meaning. Mattie was anything but old, and as independent as one could imagine. She kept her condo spic and span, did her own grocery shopping by walking to nearby Lincoln Park and taking the bus home. When Wahlberg’s arrived in Ottawa, she said it was a godsend and practically lived there most days. A day wasn’t complete without a stop-in at Wahlberg’s.

Wahlberg’s would have to wait today. Mattie had her eye sharply focussed on the task at hand.

She got in line for the tellers and began to think of what to get. It was a busy time for the mall, but a great time for the bank. If anyone knew how to beat the line-ups, it was Mattie. She didn’t have to wait long for the next teller. The teller saw the familiar face of Mattie Gregg and smiled pleasantly, greeting her client warmly.

Is it Bond Day, Mrs. Gregg? Kate Smythe queried.

I do believe it is, yes, Mattie responded. What have we this year? she added with a wink.

Ah yes, the wink. Mattie and Kate both knew each other well. Mattie had winked as if to say, I already know, which Kate already knew. Each knew the other knew, but Kate, ever the professional, never took advantage of it. Mattie was always right but it just wasn’t right to talk back to Mattie or give any kind of bad service. Mattie was well-liked by just about everyone in the service industry. Mattie treated everyone the same way she expected to be treated, and that is exactly what she received in return. Not many people could say that, but Mattie Gregg certainly could.

Having banked at Crown since the mall opened in 1956, Mattie was one of the few customers that had steadfastly refused to change banks, for any reason. Mattie was a loyal customer, no matter what the service. She had thumbed her nose at anyone or any service that tried to lure her away. With a solid credit rating and excellent service, there was never any reason to change. Loyalty brought perks and Mattie cherished those perks