Before beginning her examination, she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and enjoyed a few minutes of checking her cellphone for text messages. The one that got her immediate attention was from Sean at his office asking her what she felt like for dinner. After they texted back and forth for a while, he suggested a new Thai restaurant; she agreed and went back to work.
She put the keyboard on her lap, feet up on the desk, and opened up the first document. It was an email string between St. Nik and Tank, and it started with a question from St. Nik, “When do you intend to plant the corn?” followed by an answer from Tank, “Seeds just arrived. Will plant next week.” The final line in the string was a reply from St. Nik, “Don’t forget to pay for the fertilizer.”
The entire file of email was written in the same simplistic language, an efficient code where only the sender and the receiver knew the meaning of the substitute words.
After reading all of the email strings, she called Max on the chance that the screen names of the parties might have some relationship to BMI. Max hit a home run when he recognized Tank as Gartenberg’s nickname from back when he played football at BMI. He was less certain about St. Nik, but suggested to Beth that it might refer to Nikko Benetez, since he was reputed to operate a big drug cartel.
Nothing she saw or read indicated any involvement by the Pendayans in the management of the BMI subdivision project. As long as they did not participate in management, they were protected as limited partners from personal liability to the Smythe estate. Only the general partners, Gartenberg and LaVerne, were liable, and LaVerne was dead, leaving Gartenberg alone—plus Chord Masters, who was being sued for malpractice.
When she started to review the photographs she had taken, the ones shot through drainage pipes turned out to be pretty much of a disaster. Most were totally white or black, probably a testimonial to her lack of camera skills. Others failed to disclose much of anything except the cobblestone walls in the tunnels.
There were three sets of photographs, however, that were particularly interesting. The shots of the mislabeled subdivision site were one, and of course her shots of the drug factory were another. Those would form part of the file she would turn over to the New Jersey State Police to aid their criminal investigation. The last set was the underground cemetery, interesting enough from a historical viewpoint, but more so because some of the graves showed signs of recent attention.
Above all, she had a personal agenda, and that was to find Gartenberg and the missing $35 million. She needed to see if the documents had any leads in that direction. Gartenberg had attacked Max and the firm in an effort to destroy both. He had to pay the price for that.
Payback was a subject she intended to discuss with Sean. She’d cooperate with the FBI on their money-laundering case, but she expected their assistance in return. With that in mind, she dialed Sean and invited him over to her apartment for some chips, dip, and wine before going out to dinner, a little business before pleasure. She was anxious to brief him on what she had discovered in Bordentown.
Chapter 45
Sean rang up from the lobby, and Beth asked the doorman to let him in. She turned on her laptop in the middle of the cocktail table, poured the wine, and took the salsa out of the refrigerator. Then, just as Sean knocked, she checked herself one last time in the hall mirror and let him in. She greeted him with an extended kiss that threatened to accelerate from “Hello, I opened a bottle of wine” to “Let’s get more comfortable right now,” but instead she steered him into the living room.
Their first glass of wine and most of their first bowl of salsa were dedicated to relaxation, affection, and chitchat. Then, as if by mutual agreement, Beth opened up the Gartenberg/Benetez folder on her laptop and began to show Sean the photos and documents she had obtained from the BMI tunnels.
By the time they finished, Sean was pumped by the part this new source of evidence might play in the FBI’s investigation of Benetez. He asked Beth to email him a copy of everything. Beth was concerned about violating her attorney-client responsibility and so asked Sean to serve her with a subpoena to compel production. When he agreed to get one out on Monday, Beth turned off her laptop to signal the end of the business portion of the meeting.
Several glasses of wine later, neither of them felt like going out for a Thai dinner anymore, or, for that matter, going out for anything. They phoned in for Chinese food instead.
After dinner, they made themselves comfortable on the couch, lying in each other’s arms, watching The Maltese Falcon on TV. They moved into the bedroom long before the movie ended.
* * *
—
Beth wanted to speak to Pam Gartenberg. She could be a good source of information about Herb and just might be willing to talk about him with Beth, but Beth had no idea where she was since her husband’s disappearance.
Before trying to reach out to Pam directly, Beth checked up on her marital status by accessing the New York court system and entering the Gartenberg name. This quickly gave her the index number of the divorce case and its history. While most of the matrimonial information was restricted, she was able to determine that the case had been postponed while the parties worked out a settlement agreement, so the Gartenbergs must have reached some kind of handshake deal, and apparently were still married.
At that point, Beth was ready to initiate direct contact with Pam. She started with an email and a text message directed to the last addresses she had for her. The email was returned unopened a few minutes later with an error message, but the text remained out in space, hopefully looking for its intended recipient.
Pam texted Beth back in a few minutes, asking her “Is Herb your client?” followed by “Do you know where he is?” After Beth answered both questions with a “No,” Pam agreed to meet her for drinks the following day at their unstated “same place as before.”
Chapter 46
Beth arrived at the Plaza Hotel and walked into the Palm Court, one of the few places in New York that still qualified for everyone’s short list of “final bastions of civility”. It was so totally inappropriate that it was perfect for a meeting about a world-class miscreant like Herb Gartenberg.
She had already been seated when Pam waved and was shown to the table. They exchanged hugs and air kisses, and then ordered drinks.
“You look great. How have you been?” offered Pam, taking a sip of her dirty martini.
“I feel great. How about you?” replied Beth with a sip of hers.
“I feel great also. I start flying again for El Al in two weeks. As a matter of fact, I’m moving back to Tel Aviv on Monday.”
“What about Herb?”
“Screw the bastard!” Pam emphasized it with a gulp of her martini.
“Could you be a little more specific?”
“He got me to settle my divorce case by promising me two million dollars. All I had to do was fly him down to Caracas.”
“And you still haven’t been paid, right?”
“How’d you guess?”
“When did you fly him down there?”
“The Thursday before the Presidents’ Day holiday. I flew him and Lance to Caracas with enough luggage to sink a ship.”
“What was in Caracas?”
“His sailboat. He calls it Tanks Banks.”
“My, what a cute name.” Sip, snicker, sip.
“We were supposed to cruise around the Caribbean for a month after the BMI closing.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I hung out for a few days while he met with Nikko Benetez. Herb brought me along for a few meals with him.”
“At least he fed you well.”
“He had me sign papers in every bank down there, and I only did it because he promised me I’d have my money before we set sail.”
“More lies, right?”
“I never intended to let him get me on that b
oat anyway, but I did want to get that money he owed me.”
“So did you get your divorce when he didn’t pay you?”
“Sure, I phoned my lawyer from Caracas and told her to file the consent that Herb signed. Then I flew his plane back to New York and left him down there with his sailboat and Lance.”
“Can you sell the plane for the two million he owes you?”
“No, turns out he only leased it and hasn’t paid the rent in two months.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“My lawyer attached the five-million-dollar insurance policy that Herb took out on Al Laverne.”
“But I thought his death was ruled suspicious.”
“They held up on payment while they investigated it, but I heard they should be paying off on it soon, I hope.”
“Pam, do you know that Herb stole thirty-five million dollars from the BMI deal?”
“I figured something like that happened when I overheard Herb and Nikko fighting about it. I think Herb was supposed to share the money with him.”
“Have any idea where the money is?”
“No, but if it’s any help, I know the names of the banks where Herb had me sign papers.”
“You remember?”
“I took a business card from every bank. Thought they might be of some use.” Pam reached into her purse and handed them to Beth.
“I don’t suppose you happened to write down the names of the accounts or the access codes?” Beth asked with a sip and a held breath.
“No, but I didn’t have to. Even though he formed different offshore companies for each account, he used the same access name and security code at every bank so he could remember them.”
“What was that?” Beth asked casually. Oh, be still my heart.
“ ‘Tank Investment Company’ followed by part of his Social Security number, and don’t ask me that. I don’t know it.”
“Pam, do you have any idea where Herb might be? He stole that money from my client and I’d like to get it back for them. The FBI is also interested in him and Benetez for money laundering.”
“I haven’t spoken to Herb in over a month.”
“Did you know that he’s been put on the no-fly list by the FBI? He can’t get on a commercial flight.”
“He’s planning to lose himself down there on his sailboat. He hired a captain who knows a million hiding places.”
“If you hear anything, will you let me know?”
“Sure. Beth, can you help me get the money that he owes me?”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, I absolutely will. What’s your contact info in Tel Aviv?”
“I’ll text it all to you right now.”
“That’s great, thanks.”
Chapter 47
Beth knew that the easiest part of the search would be learning Gartenberg’s Social Security number. She googled “Gartenberg” just to warm up, then went directly into the New York secretary of state’s web page, downloaded a copy of the prospectus Gartenberg and LaVerne had filed for the BMI deal, and had Gartenberg’s social by the fifth page.
Then came the part about getting into his Caracas bank accounts without having the actual account names and numbers. She shuffled the cards that Pam had given her and arbitrarily picked the Banco Plaza Caracas for starters. She accessed their web page, hit the log-in icon, and began the process. Thoughts that she might be doing something illegal were overruled in her mind by the moral indignation she felt toward Gartenberg and the righteousness of recovering stolen funds from offshore banks.
After she tried three possible permutations for Herb’s social, all rejected, the site shut her out for twenty minutes, so she went to bank number two, Banco Caroní. She went through the same process and attained the same result, nada, and so forth and so on with the third and fourth banks.
On the fifth and final bank, ABN AMRO, however, she entered the social backwards and hit. She was in! The account had generated only one statement in its history, and that was in February. There was a wire deposit of $8 million one day and a withdrawal by wire the next day for the same amount, less a deduction of $50,000 marked as a transaction fee, their obvious terminology for “money laundering charge.” The account statement didn’t show what bank the money came from or where it went. The account was then closed.
Now that she had the correct security code, she quickly gained access to Gartenberg’s other four Caracas bank accounts, and when she was finished, she had accounted for $70 million in total deposits and corresponding withdrawals, less deductions for transaction fees in each bank that totaled several hundred thousand dollars. Just like with ABN-AMRO, none of the other bank statements indicated where the money had been wired to when the account was closed, but all of the transactions took place during the same two-day period prior to the Presidents’ Day weekend.
While Beth had located one set of banks involved with switching the money around, she still needed to track the money before and after it hit the Caracas banks. Figuring out the before part of the money trail would enable her to identify it as the Pendayans’ money. The after part had to end somewhere, and at that point, she would find it and Gartenberg.
Beth decided to take another crack at tracking the money after it left the Caracas banks. She picked the ABN-AMRO web page and accessed Gartenberg’s account again. She went in and out, back door and front door, trying every research option the bank offered online customers, but nothing gave her the ability to trace funds once they left the bank. This was something she’d have to talk to Sean about. It was a crucial step in finding the money.
It was getting late, but she wanted to check the U.S. Coast Guard Certificate of Documentation for Gartenberg’s sailboat before leaving the office. If he was using Tanks Banks for international transportation, he couldn’t enter a foreign port without permission—or “pratique”—from the local authorities, and that required presenting a copy of his COD.
Getting a copy of it might prove useful to Beth in following Gartenberg from island to island, or even from country to country. She had obtained the name of the boat from Pam and remembered Gartenberg bragging that it was a fifty-two-foot Hinkley. With that information, she accessed the U.S. Coast Guard site and then the NOAA site. In nothing flat, she had a copy of the COD and registration number for the yacht with that just-too-clever name of Tanks Banks. She left her office by repeating one of her mother’s favorite expressions: “Small victories are a good way to end the day.”
Chapter 48
It was miserable outside, cold and rainy, so Beth called an Uber to take her to the office. She started texting Sean before she buckled her seatbelt, and was in a dialogue with him before the first traffic light.
“We need to talk about a meeting I had with Pam Gartenberg yesterday.”
“ ‘Talk,’ as in over dinner when I get back from D.C. tomorrow night, or ‘talk’ as in an actual conference?”
“Let’s get together this afternoon at your office before you go to D.C. Maybe Laura can join us, too.”
“Can you give me a hint?”
“I have some good stuff for your investigation, but I also need help from you on mine.”
“Sounds good. I’ll check with Laura and have her get back to you with the time.”
* * *
—
Sean was late for the meeting, giving Beth and Laura an opportunity to commiserate with each other about how badly their basketball teams were doing in the Metropolitan Lawyers Basketball League. Both women were intense competitors, and agreed that a big part of the league problem was the difficulty in finding women attorneys able and willing to play coed ball.
Beth’s firm was stuck in fifth place in their division, and she felt bad that she was not playing because of her promotion to managing partner. Laura was enjoying her time at home caring for her twins, but felt
guilty that her FBI team was seventh in their division and she wasn’t contributing. Their mutual pity party ended when Sean came in and the conversation shifted to the Gartenberg and Benetez investigations.
“We turned my Bordentown tunnel info over to the New Jersey State Police,” Beth began. “They’re going to investigate the drug lab and the cemetery, but they may reach out to you first to verify my creds.”
“Not a problem,” Sean said. “Now, can you bring me and Laura up to date on what you learned from Pam Gartenberg?”
“Okay. So I met Pam yesterday. You know she was Herb’s wife, but her divorce is final now and she’s going back to Israel permanently next week.”
“So hopefully she’s ready to screw her ex,” commented Laura.
“I’d say. He defaulted on two million dollars he owed her under their divorce agreement, so she stole his leased Gulfstream and flew it back to New York where the owner repossessed it,” Beth replied.
“She’s a pilot?” asked Laura.
“She flew for El Al before they married and she’s starting with them again in two weeks.”
“She must be good if they’re rehiring her,” said Sean.
“Must be. Anyhow,” Beth continued, “on the Thursday before the Presidents’ Day holiday, Gartenberg got Pam to fly him down to Caracas in the Gulfstream by promising to pay her the two million he owed her.”
“I guess Gartenberg’s attorney handled the closing by himself?”
“Yup. And on day of the closing, Gartenberg used Pam to open accounts in five different banks down in Caracas, and wired a total of $70 million into those accounts. The next day, he wired all the money out of those accounts, minus several hundred thousand dollars that the banks charged him for transfer fees. I don’t know where the money came from, and I don’t know where it went.”
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