“What do you mean you detected a fraud at the hotel?” the senior partner of Collins Barrow, Chartered Accountants of Calgary, Canada exclaimed incredulously. “We’ve never found a whiff in 20 years.”
Twitching, I let loose a dry cough.
“Z-tapes, sir. As part of our audit procedures, we examined random samples of the front desk till rolls. Each transaction had a specific sequential number. There were gaps between the end of one day and the beginning of the next, where the last part of the till roll was torn off and missing. This occurred enough times to warrant further test checks.”
“How many did you find? Over what period?” I had piqued his interest.
“64 instances over the year. The missing transactions were always on weekend nights. The only person working those shifts was Barney Baratelli.”
Barney, the ever-smiling, over-accommodating high chamberlain of the Westwinds started as a busboy when the 60-room hotel opened twenty years ago. Through unstinting loyalty and an unquenchable desire to take on the least desirable duties in the hotel, the “Barracuda” had risen to chief adviser and confidant to the new inexperienced owner. There was nothing Barney couldn’t do for him. The staff adored Barney for the personal interest he took in each of them.
Even we, the auditors, loved him… at first. When the parking lot was full, Barney reserved a spot for us. He commandeered a suite for us to operate in. “Our office is too small. You deserve better.” Barney brought us mid-morning snacks, our favourite newspapers and magazines along with afternoon teas.
Barney showed the same diligence towards guests attending high society weddings or business functions. Late at night, too drunk to venture home, they turned to their friend Barney to find them a room in the jam-packed hotel. They paid cash to save them embarrassment.
One day he asked us “How come the audit is taking so long this year?”
“Oh, new audit procedures.”
“You’re taking all your files away daily. Why not leave them in your suite? Saves the lugging. I’ll keep the key and make sure no one enters while you’re away.” A shiver ran down our spines. How long could this masquerade go on for?
It turned out the Barracuda pocketed at least $20,000 in the year, ripped off the last segments of the Z-tapes, went home at dawn smiling to himself and, over the years, made hundreds of guests ever grateful to him… until the auditors smelled something fishy.
A month later, matters came to a head. The senior partner accompanied us to a meeting with the owner.
“What do you mean it’s Barney? Impossible!” The owner gesticulated with shock and horror. “What am I going to do without him?” There was a moment of silence as he pondered the full significance of their report. The owner then rose up defiantly from his chair. “Who told you to spend all this time on the audit? Who’s going to pay for it?”
Our boss rose to defend us. “Our engagement letter stipulates we are required to pursue any and every test to verify any suspicion of fraud we find and ascertain the extent of it. We must establish there really was fraud, not just a gross error. And we need to establish irrefutable proof of the culprit. We estimate over his career, Mr. Baratelli embezzled over $200,000 from Westwinds.
He paused to take a deep breath. “Our initial samples were small and random, which explains why we didn’t come across this in previous years. You should be grateful to our team.”
The owner stared back at him as if he was crazy. In a quivering voice he asked, “What’s going to happen now? How do I explain all this to our partner? Think of the publicity? Can’t this be hushed up? Where am I going to find another Barney?”
