by Kyra Davis
“He’s a major drug lord. People know this guy. And here, do you see this?” Again he taps his finger against the screen impatiently. “See the name of this bank? This Saudi bank?”
“Um . . .” I shake my head. He’s moving too fast and I certainly am not well versed on Saudi banks. For a moment I let my eyes wander to the rest of the desk as I wonder if I should find a pen and paper to write this all down with.
“We’re doing business with them, we’ve opened accounts for them. This bank has been tied to terrorism, a conduit for extremist financing. No one in the Western world is supposed to be working with these guys, but we are!”
My hand slowly rises to my mouth as I stare fixedly at the screen.
“And that subsidiary in the Cayman Islands, I told you I found a few highly irregular accounts that had been opened there.”
Highly irregular seems like a pretty big euphemism.
“One of the reasons I didn’t find more is that at least fifteen percent of customers there don’t even have a file. And the files that are opened there, Adoncia, almost half of them don’t have complete information. The whole Cayman Islands branch is a shell company that accommodates wealthy criminals. They take their dirty money to the bank and get US dollars back and no one in the US government or the Mexican government is aware of it at all!”
“Lander, this is . . . I don’t . . . I mean, it’s too big, isn’t it?” I whisper. “They can’t have gotten away with all this. There has to be something wrong. Or the accounts must be small . . . Are they small?”
“Adoncia, this branch holds over two billion in assets.”
I step back, leaning against the wall for support. “This kind of thing . . . I mean the kind of transactions you’re talking about should have triggered automatic alerts.”
“Yes,” Lander says. He looks up at me for the first time. There’s a vicious glint in his eyes and his jaw is tense, his smile small, contained, anticipatory. He’s the perfect predator and he’s zeroing in on his prey. “This is the fun part.”
He taps a few more keys and pulls up another file. “Alerts were generated. And they’ve been handled by our compliance department, in Delaware.”
“The one White just helped staff.”
“Mmm, yes. It was barely staffed at all before.”
Lander is practically bouncing out of his chair with excitement. I’ve never seen him like this . . . this giddy. The tools of destruction make him giddy.
He’s like me.
“As far as I can tell, the four or five people who were working there weren’t even trained on what money laundering is let alone how to handle these alerts,” he continues. “And here we have an email from my father asking Sean White to increase the staffing at the compliance center in order to appease the FDIC. Sean White was charged with hiring the people who would be handling these alerts, and here, here’s an email from White to the new supervisor of the Delaware department. Sean is explaining that this supervisor should consider awarding his employees for clearing seventy-two alerts a week.”
“Clearing?” I shake my head, again. “I don’t understand.”
“Clearing, giving them a stamp of approval so they don’t have to be reported to the FDIC or any other government agency. According to this email, if the parties whose transactions are being questioned have so much as a website, that’s good enough for HGVB. We don’t report it. They’ve rigged the whole system.”
“But . . . why? HGVB is a huge institution. They don’t need to do this, do they?” I ask. “Why would they risk this?”
“Adoncia, what we’re doing is providing these criminals and terrorists financiers’ specialty services. Services they literally can’t get anywhere else. We can charge anything we like for specialty services. The margin on money laundering is roughly twenty percent . . . and we’re talking about billions of dollars in money laundering.”
Billions of dollars. The figures don’t make sense to me. I had known there were secrets, I had even known that HGVB had to be doing things that were seriously against the law. After all, a man was killed to protect the secrets of HGVB, I understand that. Where I’m from, people will sometimes kill for a few hundred dollars, sometimes a few thousand. But oddly enough it doesn’t seem possible that someone could kill for a billion. It doesn’t seem possible that people could be rewarded with a billion dollars for breaking the law.
I look down at Lander, and even he seems amazed by the enormity of this. He turns in his seat and catches my eye. “There’s still more.”
I shake my head. How much more could there be?
“A few years ago, some of our special services customers, otherwise known as criminals, started pulling out of HGVB.”
“Why?” I ask, still somewhat dazed.
“From what I can gather they were concerned with the potential crackdown of the American government. It was right after the banking crisis and there was a lot of talk about greater oversight and more regulations. And of course the criminals have options now, Bitcoin and the like.”
I wave my hands in the air; this is getting too complicated.
“I think Sean has been feeling out some of our special clients. Once he’s sure they’re not informants or anything like that, he’s been setting them up with Travis for meetings so he can calm their nerves. Keep the money flowing in.”
“That’s why he met with Javier?” I ask, my back still firmly against the wall. I need its firm pressure just to remind me that this isn’t a dream. “And that . . . that Kliff guy? The arms dealer?”
“Yes . . . but now I’m speculating a bit. Nothing here spells that out. There’s just a memo written by my father sent to a handful of people, including Travis and Sean, suggesting that we reassure nervous Cayman Islands account holders. And then I have an email from Sean saying he was going to investigate and identify the key point men who would be willing to discuss the security of their accounts with HGVB executives.”
“What did Travis say to that?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t have a single email or memo from Travis here. I have things written to him, but that’s it.”
“Lander,” I say softly, “there’s something wrong here.”
He nods, and when he looks up at me again I can tell he knows what I’m thinking. “You want to know why Travis would keep all this information,” he says. “Not just keep it, but store it in one place.”
“Your brother is not a stupid man,” I say emphatically. “And if all this is true, how could he possibly think that keeping any evidence of this around would be a good idea?” I shake my head. “Could we be being set up? Is this whole thing a trap?”
“No,” Lander says definitively. “These files show me exactly where to look, and everything I’ve checked on so far has borne out. But you’re right, Travis keeping all this is odd.”
“I don’t understand it,” I say quietly.
“It’s possible that he simply wanted to keep track of what could actually be found. After all, if Travis has a copy of this stuff, someone else must have a copy too.”
“I guess that’s possible,” I say doubtfully. “But there’s got to be more to it than that.”
“There is more to it than that,” Lander says, pushing his chair back from the desk. “There’s the security that comes from blackmail.”
“What?”
“Like I said, nothing here is written by Travis. If he were to release any one of these documents the person who did write it could end up in prison. He could easily be using this to keep people in line. Or, if he’s caught, he could turn informant and cut a deal. If we didn’t find this in Travis’s home there’d be nothing here to fully implicate him as a willing participant.”
“But . . . we did find it in his home.” And now some of my shock fades away as a new sense of excitement kicks in. “He was hiding it and we found it and now we can prove that he knew about everything, everything, and at the very least he did nothing to stop it.”
I start pacing the
room, just like Lander did after the fundraiser dinner, fueled by a sudden buzz of delight. “I bet he thought he was safe! I bet the reason he was meeting these guys in person is because he didn’t want to leave any paper record! No emails, probably as few calls on his cell as possible. He thought he had covered his bases, but he didn’t!” I whirl around to face Lander. I’m literally jumping up and down right now, clapping my hands. “We got him! We found the flash drive! And when we hand it over to the Feds . . .”
“Adoncia,” Lander says, slowly rising to his feet. “You can’t be involved in that.”
I stop jumping, my hands hovering in the air midclap. “I . . . I don’t think I understand.”
“You can’t be involved in handing over the USB. You can’t be involved in reporting any of this to the authorities. You can’t take any part in this at all.”
“The hell I can’t! I’ve dedicated years of my life to this! All those years building to this one day! You wouldn’t even have these files if it wasn’t for me! I’m the one who got you into Travis’s place when he wasn’t there. I’m the one who found the hiding spot. This is my baby.”
“Your involvement isn’t an option.”
We stand there, facing off, his expression completely calm, confident, while I’m simply baffled.
“Not only is it an option,” I say slowly, my voice icy cold, “it’s the only option I’m giving you.”
Lander studies me a moment and then puts his thumb through the belt loop of his jeans and stares at the edge of the area rug. “The only way we get Travis is if we let the Feds know that this was found in Travis’s home. What do you think will happen if you tell the Feds that you found it? What happens when they find out that you’ve been working for Travis under a false name . . . and probably a false social security number, yes?”
“Oh, give me a break.” I hold my hand up to stop him. “So I’ve been using some dead chick’s social. That’s bad, I’ll admit it. But I haven’t used it to ring up debt or open credit cards. I only used it to fool Travis. On the flip side Travis has been funding fucking Al Qaeda! That’s worse, don’t you think?”
“We don’t know if it was officially Al Qaeda—”
“Billions of dollars, Lander! Billions of dollars in money laundering! Drug cartels, Russian gangsters, terrorists. The FBI isn’t going to care that I used a false social in order to get them this information!”
“And where did you get that social?” Lander asks, still staring at the carpet. “Did Micah give it to you?”
I don’t say anything. Micah hadn’t known I was going to seek employment with Travis. He just knew that I wanted a new start, a new social security card, a new life. He didn’t ask questions; he didn’t care. In Micah’s world the kind of favor I was asking was small.
“So,” Lander continues, finally meeting my eyes. “A woman gets a social security number from a member of the Russian mafia, gets a job with Travis under false circumstances using a pseudonym, and she now claims that she just happened to find this USB flash drive in Travis’s house. Oh, and did I mention that this mystery woman is the daughter of the woman who killed an executive at HGVB a little over ten years ago?”
“She didn’t kill Nick Foley.”
“I know that,” Lander says, raising his voice for the first time. “But she was convicted, Adoncia. You have no evidence to clear her. You are not a credible witness and if you say that you found this in Travis’s place, Travis will be able to make a convincing case that you found a way to plant it there. God knows you have motive and like you said, you’ve been working on finding ways to destroy him for years. You try to be involved in this phase of the game and you jeopardize everything. Sure, we’ll still be able to give HGVB a black eye, we might even get my father, and we definitely get Sean, but if you insert yourself into this process, Travis walks away completely unscathed. Is that what you want?”
I stand there, staring at him, trying to find a flaw in his logic.
“Is it?” Lander asks again.
“No,” I whisper, shrinking into myself.
I feel like Jessica.
“Good, then you will go to Travis this afternoon and you will quit. You will tell him that we broke up and that you want to move on. And then you will make yourself a ghost until this whole damn thing is locked down.”
“But . . . but why do I have to tell him we broke up?” I hear the way that comes out. I sound weak, like a child.
“We have to make him think that you’re just gone, out of the picture. If I go to the Feds right now with this information and I tell them I found it at Travis’s place, he will try to say that I’m setting him up for the benefit of my criminally minded girlfriend.”
I nod, slowly, taking it in. “So . . . we have to lie to Travis,” I say. There’s a tightness in my chest, but I try to ignore it, try to see things in a way I can be okay with. “Well, that’s not new.” I force a laugh. “And quitting my job, that won’t be suspicious either. Any sane person with half a brain would quit that job. If he didn’t pay five times the going rate he wouldn’t be able to get anyone to work for him at all.”
Lander’s posture relaxes and his mouth curves back into a small smile. “You’ll still get to see their downfall. I promise you that. And it will be big and it will be public. You will still know that you caused it. Your mother will still be avenged.”
“I . . . I want to prove that they killed her,” I say, still struggling to keep my composure. “I want them to go to prison for all of it.”
“One thing at a time,” Lander assures me. “It might be easier to get the police to reopen that case once we can prove what kind of illegal activity the other members of my family have been up to.”
He pauses a moment, his expression softening as he watches me. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh,” he adds. “But we’ve both worked too hard for this to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” I look around the room, at the desk, at the pictures on the wall, trying to collect myself. “I understand what you’re saying and I agree. I won’t interfere.”
“No, that’s not . . .” His voice fades off and he shakes his head as if trying to sort out his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry that your dreams were ripped away from you when you were young.”
“My . . . my dreams?”
“And I’m sorry that my family made the world ugly for you at an age when it still should have been beautiful,” he continues. “I’m sorry, so incredibly sorry that I had any part in that.”
“Lander, you didn’t know.”
“But I should have. I believed my family when they told me your mother was guilty. I didn’t ask questions, I just took their word for it. And as a result I helped them hurt you. I didn’t mean to but I did. And now you have to let me apologize, for all of us. We crashed into your fairy tale when it was still alive and real for you. We had no right.”
I wave my hand in the air as if waving away the apology. “It was my mother who was hurt, Lander.”
“And it was you,” he counters. “Maybe our tragedies make us stronger, but they’re still tragedies. We can still grieve.”
The comment startles me. We can grieve.
Have I ever grieved for my mother? I railed against her when I thought she was guilty and I railed against her accusers when I realized she wasn’t. I’ve been angry for her, I’ve sought vengeance for her.
But when did I grieve?
“No,” I say, stepping forward and putting my hand on his chest. “We just won. We won, Lander! Now is definitely not the time for grieving. We’ve come so far! To think that when I first met you, I thought I knew you.” I let my hands slide over to his arms as he moves to hold me. I run them over the slopes of his muscles, feeling them tense and release under my touch. “When I first met you, I thought you were someone else. I guess I thought you were your brother.”
> “I’m definitely not that.”
“No,” I say with a little laugh. “You’re not. You’ve been my partner, the perfect partner. You’ve helped me with so much . . . maybe even more than you know. And now, with your help, I’m going to finally have justice for my mother.” I look up into his eyes, suddenly overcome with the enormity of what that means. “I’ll let you handle this last part, but promise me we’ll get them. Promise me, Lander. Promise me that my promise to myself will be kept.” Tears are stinging my eyes now. God, I’ve become such a crybaby. And now I don’t even know if I’m crying for joy, anxiety, or relief. Is it possible to feel all of that at once? Because that’s almost what it’s like . . . Like I’m experiencing every human emotion at the exact same time. Frustration and triumph, pain and comfort. Hate and love.
And as he holds me close to him I can hear him whispering into my hair. “I promise you. I promise you, my love.”
My love. He said my love!
He pushes my hair from my face and now it’s me who puts my hands on his face, staring at him with awe and need. My love. I heard him say the word. If he could only say more! If he could just tell me that this term of endearment means as much to him as it means to me! I lean forward and kiss him hard, holding on to him like he’s a lifeline.
And in a way he is. He’s taking away my revenge, taking ownership of it while I sit on the sidelines.
So he must give me this. He must give me love. He must give me what I need to fill this new void.
I feel his hands on the small of my back and I realize that I need him in every way. And I need him Right. Now.
I take his hand and lead him out of the office and into his bedroom.
“You want to consummate our victory?” he says with a teasing smile. But there’s something else, something in his eyes. He looks wistful, maybe even a little sad.
But I must be wrong. There’s nothing to be sad about now. I flip my hair, mimic his smile. “You think you know me so well.”
“I do,” he says, and now he’s completely serious. “Perhaps better than I should.”
I look at him, a bit puzzled, but again I dismiss it. Slowly I take off my shirt, then my bra, and peel off my pants so that I’m wearing nothing but my black panties. I stand before my lover, naked and bold, letting him drink me in, feeling like a warrior once more.
