The Pleasure Set

by Lisa Girolami

  Sandrine was more of a woman than anyone she had ever met. Laney felt warm tenderness and longing when she was with her. And everything seemed perfect when they were together.

  Sandrine. Yes, I could fall in love with her.

  Laney was glad she was the only one in the bank because her extreme happiness was obvious. She couldn’t concentrate on any work for at least a half an hour because her body vibrated with the memory of being so close to Sandrine. She understood the importance of such an opportunity to explore a relationship with an amazing, brilliant, confident, and beautiful woman.

  She sipped her coffee. The java had grown lukewarm but it tasted great. She wrapped her hands around her mug, feeling its cool ceramic smoothness.

  Okay, DeGraff, get your mind on your work.

  As president, she was responsible for overseeing asset and liability management, strategic planning, budgets, and investment strategies, as well as deposit operations, and security and facilities management. She was a day late in running the internal SAR for the last week, so she called it up on her computer. The Suspicious Activities Report would flush out any problems or dubious transactions that occurred during regular banking hours.

  As she reviewed the computer-generated list, she languidly tapped her pen on the desk. Kay’s name was on the list, as she had deposited nine thousand dollars when Laney opened the account for her. Because her bank, like any other, would have to report any deposited amounts of ten thousand dollars or more, the list was designed to spit out any amount just under that in order to expose potentially illicit activities. Kay had said she wanted to be careful about her deposit, so when that amount had signaled the computer to kick out Kay’s name, Laney wasn’t surprised.

  What did surprise Laney was that Theresa must have been in the bank the day before, because there was a deposit for nine thousand dollars into her account. Why hadn’t Theresa stopped in to say hello? Laney had been there all day. Kelly had brought lunch in, so Theresa couldn’t have missed her.

  Laney scanned the list and suddenly sat upright. Not only Theresa and Kay, but Morgan Donnelly and three other women from the Pleasure Set had all made deposits into different accounts. And the amounts were all the same. Nine thousand dollars. They were all depositing identical sums just under the government’s red-flag amount.

  A frightening realization reverberated inside Laney’s head. Like all bank presidents, Laney was more than aware that the Bank Secrecy Act of 1970, which required that all transactions in excess of ten thousand dollars be reported, was intended to curtail one very out-of-control crime. Money laundering.

  Laney felt so faint that she dropped the paper. “Oh, shit.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Laney spent the weekend in a state of shock. She wouldn’t answer her phone. She threw her mail across the room. She pounded her fist on the kitchen counter. She swore out loud, screaming at Theresa and the whole fucking mess. As she paced around her house, she grew even angrier.

  How could they do that to my bank? Who the hell do they think they are?

  She wanted to call her father, but the bank was her responsibility now. How could she explain to him that she had somehow allowed this to occur? He had built the bank with such care and conscientiousness that all his trust and confidence in her might dissolve if he discovered her connection with the women involved in this scheme.

  She had to take care of this situation herself. And she definitely could. She had dealt with many bank crimes—fraud, kiting, and more illegal wire transfers and check deposits than she could count. And for almost every case, she had worked with Sandrine to flush out the criminals and bring them to justice.

  Sandrine. Shit! She would have to include Sandrine.

  Or would she?

  *

  Though Laney hadn’t slept much the entire weekend, she finally gave up all hope of rest and was in her office at five Monday morning.

  When Kelly arrived three hours later, she surveyed the mounds of paperwork and empty coffee cups on Laney’s desk. “What the hell?”

  Laney looked up. “Just a lot of work to do.” And while that was true, what she was doing was much more serious than business development and strategic planning.

  She had spent hours going over recent wire-transfer records, trying to identify any unusual activity in the accounts of the women in the Pleasure Set. She had also checked the monetary instrument records for possible currency structuring that would isolate any illegal fund activity. Finally, she pored over the velocity-of-funds report that highlighted total debits and credits flowing through the women’s accounts. She needed to see if a pattern of laundering emerged.

  She had to find out what the entire scheme looked like. Hours of printouts and cross-referencing made her eyes blur, but terror hammered in her heart as the conspiracy began to materialize before her.

  The Pleasure Set had wasted no time setting up operations at her bank. While they had been at it for just shy of three weeks, the money laundering was careening through her bank at full tilt.

  And what she uncovered just before the bank opened for business that day made her sit back in astonishment. Goddamn them, she spat, anger seething in every pore. The trail of money led into and out of the Morgan Art Gallery—the same place many people had seen her just a few nights before.

  *

  All day Tuesday and Wednesday, Laney avoided everyone and everything but work. Theresa had left quite a few messages that went unreturned. The Pleasure Set had gone to Equinox on Saturday night and had met at the Tire Store on Sunday. Theresa had called about wanting to get together Monday, as well, but she hadn’t mentioned where. Laney worried continually that Theresa would come by the bank to see her. And she was also fuming. She didn’t know what to say or do yet, and she needed time to come up with a plan. She had spoken with Sandrine a few times, and while their conversations were terrific, she was holding most of herself back. The truth of what was happening at the bank clawed at her stomach and tainted everything she did.

  Every time she thought of telling Sandrine, she concluded that she needed to try to solve this problem without involving anyone else. She needed to confront Theresa and tell her to clear all the accounts out of her goddamn bank. She had no idea how Theresa would react and, quite frankly, she was a little afraid. Theresa was powerful, backed not only by many influential people but a lot of money.

  But to avoid having the bank be the victim of this crime and to rectify what she had unintentionally caused, Laney had to deal with Theresa. How dare she come in and fuck with my business?

  Laney had girded herself for the phone call to Theresa, and as her heart pounded in her ears and her hands shook as she held the receiver, the phone went to voice mail.

  She left a message telling Theresa to meet her that evening at the bar in the Bonaventure Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. She was fairly certain that the paparazzi wouldn’t be hanging out there. She couldn’t risk any more photos of them together.

  *

  Theresa walked into the Bonaventure bar wearing expensive black slacks and a lavender top that made her tanned skin glow. She found Laney immediately at the booth Laney had picked in the farthest corner.

  “You look gorgeous, Laney.” Theresa kissed Laney’s cheek before she took a seat.

  Under the table, Laney balled her hands into fists. She needed to stay focused.

  As soon as drinks were served, Theresa said, “What’s wrong, Laney?”

  “A lot of things. Your bank account, for one.”

  “My account? What’s the trouble?”

  “I don’t think I need to talk out loud about it in a public place. It’s the same thing that’s wrong with Kay Kitterman’s and Morgan Donnelly’s. Not to mention at least three others I’ve found.”

  Theresa stared at her a moment, then sighed. “Laney. I’ve explained this to you before. Those women are in the same predicament I’m in. We need to have money that’s ours, separate from our husbands’. They can, and usually do, leave us a
t any moment, without a cent. No one needs to know about the accounts. They’re not hurting anyone.”

  Laney took a deep breath. “It’s not about hiding money from your husbands. It’s about hiding it from the government.”

  “The government? What do you mean?” Theresa looked confused.

  Had Laney gotten this all wrong? Was it just a matter of stashing money from spouses? She shook her head. No, it wasn’t. The paperwork told an irrefutable story. “You have money going in and out of the Morgan Art Gallery and then in and out of your accounts. I don’t have access to the records of the gallery, but I can tell you that there will be sales recorded of illegal means and gains.”

  “Means and gains? You sound like a statistician.”

  “I sound like a bank president who has found a,” she lowered her voice, “money-laundering scheme. In my bank, goddamn it.”

  “Laney, we’re all part owners in Morgan’s business. We sell artwork, mostly on consignment. And we also buy artwork. Money in, money out. It’s a sort of hobby for us.”

  It was possible, Laney thought. Theresa did sound convincing. And this was the woman she had let get close enough recently to have sex with. More than once. And in wild ways. Her original objective began to waver a bit. Granted, her new friend and this exciting group of women were certainly in a different league. Though Laney wasn’t the type to buy and sell expensive art, that’s exactly what some people did. Maybe it was just a rich woman’s version of baseball card trading.

  But no, damn it. She smelled the stench of money laundering. She was a goddamned trained professional and knew a crime when it reared its illicit head.

  She took a deep breath. “If that’s all it is, you shouldn’t care that I need to report the deposits and transfers to the government.”

  Theresa stared at her in silence. And then her next words were measured and remote. “Why would you do that?” Theresa’s entire demeanor was suddenly dead calm. Too calm, actually, which frightened Laney.

  “First of all, I’m bound by law to report any deposits or transfers over ten thousand dollars.”

  Theresa jumped in quickly, “None of our deposits…none of my deposits, I mean, are over ten thousand. You’re not bound by law to do anything.”

  “You’re right. However, second of all, I’m bound by my position as the president of the bank to report suspicious activity. And I consider multiple deposits and transfers just under the reportable amount suspicious.”

  Theresa placed her hand over Laney’s. “Please don’t do that, Laney. We’re just trying to fuck those who would fuck us first. Do you know what I mean?”

  Laney slowly pulled her hand away. “It’s more than that, Theresa.”

  “It’s a way to make income without our husbands getting control of the money. Don’t you understand?”

  “What I understand is that the paper trail tells another story.”

  Theresa’s cell phone rang and she held up a wait-a-minute finger as she answered it. She spoke a few words, then covered the phone with her hand. “I’ve got to take this,” she said as she stood up. “Please don’t do anything until we can discuss this more. I’ve got to run. Thank you for the drink. We need to talk soon.” She kissed Laney’s cheek and was gone.

  Laney sat in the booth until her heartbeat slowed. The issue was not the least bit resolved, as she had wanted it to be. But no matter what else Theresa planned to say to her, Laney wouldn’t back down.

  *

  “Laney.” Kelly was standing right in front of her desk, which she usually didn’t do. Normally, she called out from her desk or stood at her door. And her apprehensive expression surprised Laney.

  “Yes?”

  “The police are here to see you.”

  “Detective Girard?”

  “No,” Kelly said quickly, then lowered her voice. “Homicide.”

  “What?” Bad news of a death of a loved one raced swiftly through her mind. Who is it? A family member? A bank employee? “Let them in.”

  “Ms. DeGraff, I’m Detective Bruce MacRae and this is Detective Jack Townsend from Beverly Hills PD.” The taller of the two men opened the lapel of his jacket to flash his Beverly Hills detective badge, its oval shape bearing a sunburst behind the city hall building and the black cloisonné ribbon that read Beverly Hills Police. She knew the badge well, having seen it on Sandrine many times.

  “Please sit down.”

  Detective MacRae handed her his business card and she took it without looking at it.

  MacRae continued. “We’re here investigating the murder of Candace Dooring.”

  It took a minute for the words to register. “Candace? Oh, my God.” Her mind spun in confusion. Candace is dead? Laney had just been with her at the art gallery Thursday night. What happened to her?

  “Ms. DeGraff?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I can tell you. I hardly know her. Knew her.”

  From a folder he had been carrying, Detective MacRae pulled out a magazine and placed it on her desk. “This might suggest otherwise.”

  The latest copy of People magazine was open to a double-page photographic spread of celebrities at various functions. There, in the middle of them, was a photo of Candace clutching Laney’s arm as they left the art gallery. The caption read: CYBER HIGH’S CANDACE DOORING LEAVES THE MORGAN ART GALLERY. Any excitement at seeing herself in People magazine never materialized because of the shock of looking at Candace’s image and knowing she was dead.

  “I’ve only spoken with her a few times. I got to know her a little bit for the first time that night. What happened?”

  Detective Townsend said, “She was shot to death in her home the morning after that gallery event.”

  “Oh, my God,” Laney said again. “I’ll do everything I can to help you, but I’m not sure I’ll be of much use.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have had a motive to kill her?” Detective Townsend continued.

  “Like I said, we didn’t know each other well. We have mutual friends and were both at the gallery function. We talked a while. We left at the same time, so when the paparazzi started crowding around to take pictures of her, she took my arm to help her get through.”

  “What can you tell me about the Pleasure Set?”

  Laney was taken aback. “What?”

  Townsend pointed to the text under the photo’s caption. It read, “Candace and a fellow Pleasure Set friend enjoyed the fete for almost an hour while other Set members partied inside.”

  She hadn’t realized that the name was known in much wider circles. Now that she was in it, what did people really know about it?

  “Ms DeGraff?”

  “The Pleasure Set is just a silly name given to a group of friends.”

  “And you and Candace are part of this group?”

  “Were.”

  “You or Candace?”

  “Both of us.”

  Detective MacRae took over the questioning. “And where did you two go afterward?”

  “Nowhere. She got in her car and left and I walked back to mine.”

  “So that’s the last you saw of her?”

  “Yes.” Laney couldn’t imagine anyone killing her. “What happened?”

  “We’re investigating everything, Ms. DeGraff. What do you know about her?”

  Laney shrugged nervously. “Just that she’s an actress.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “Like I said, through that group of friends.”

  “We’ll need a list of names, please.”

  “Certainly.” The photo identified her only as a friend. “How did you get my name?”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about Candace?”

  Laney thought a moment. She wasn’t about to reveal the times she saw Candace making out with women at the Tire Store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know her that well.”

  Detective MacRae picked up the magazine, then reached into his pocket and handed her a business card. “I’ll call you to
morrow for the list of names. Please phone if you think of anything else that might help. We’ll be in touch if something comes up on our side.”

  Kelly came barreling in as soon as the detectives left. “What the hell is going on?”

  “An acquaintance of mine was murdered.”

  “Murdered? How terrible!”

  “I hardly knew her.”

  “Are you okay, Laney?”

  “Just a little shocked.”

  “Let me get you some coffee,” Kelly said as she turned to leave the office.

  Alone with her thoughts, Laney recalled Candace grabbing her arm and asking her to help get them out of the throng of paparazzi. But she remembered Candace’s reticence about the group before that. She had deliberately stopped attending the private parties and started to tell Laney about it, but was cut off when Morgan Donnelly approached them.

  Laney had wondered if Candace meant to warn her about the late-night walk back to her car alone, but now she knew it was more than that. And Laney had been swept up into the mess.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Laney squeezed her eyes shut. This was unbelievable. She couldn’t comprehend the horror that Candace must experienced. An image flashed before her eyes and she shuddered as a wave of nausea roiled in her gut.

  Strangely, it wasn’t an image of a frightened Candace but of a steely-eyed Theresa.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What the hell am I doing?” Laney was so nervous her hands shook as she clutched the steering wheel.

  Theresa had called earlier in the evening and left a message telling her of a party in the Hollywood Hills. Laney wanted nothing to do with Theresa or anyone else from the Pleasure Set. In fact, she wanted to hide in her house with the lights off until she could figure out how to get out of the mess that now threatened her bank, her family’s name, and her career.

  As soon as she could get her wits about her, and as soon as she could get more information about the money laundering, she would go to the police. But at present, she didn’t have enough evidence to separate her from Theresa and the crime.