“We’ve been building our case against Padilla Financial for almost a year. They’re using an investment instrument called the Iberican Fund, which I assume you heard all about it when you accompanied the family on their yacht.”
“Right…a bunch of companies in Latin America on the verge of taking off.”
“The fund looks and sounds perfectly legitimate. In fact, most of the manufacturing and distribution companies listed in the prospectus are receiving investment funds from Padilla and doing very well. But one of them—a company that doesn’t appear in the formal filings with the SEC—exists in name only. It’s a shell company in the Caymans. Up until last week, that account was holding investor funds that were being used to augment payouts. Are you familiar with the term ‘Ponzi scheme’?”
Son of a Pharaoh. “It’s like a pyramid, right?”
“Exactly. As long as Padilla Financial keeps taking on more investors, they have plenty of cash to pay out earnings.”
I remembered Pepe describing the Iberican Fund in detail to Michael. Mari said she’d traveled to several of the businesses and confirmed their potential for growth. Why would she do that if the whole thing was bogus?
“Right now, the fund appears successful because investors are getting dividends. Somewhere down the road, however, that shell company is going to quote-unquote ‘fail,’ and the investors will take a loss. They’ll be upset…sure, but they’ll chalk it up to market forces, especially since they enjoyed such high earnings in the beginning. The beauty of this particular scheme—and I’ve got to hand it to them, it’s clever—is their clients probably won’t lose a dime in the long run. They may even make a little but not the margins they hoped for. All the real earnings on the investments to the legitimate companies go to Padilla Financial, and they aren’t being taxed at all because they’re going into accounts like yours that will never be withdrawn because you don’t even know they exist. We’re talking millions.”
Even I understood how clever that was, and deep down I felt better about knowing no one was actually losing money.
“Our securities investigator thinks the recent transfer of funds into your account and others means that so-called company is about to go under.”
“But why are they using me? That doesn’t make any sense, and neither does meddling in my mortgage.” I also wanted to ask if my write-down was still legal. After a personal blow like this, it would be really nice if I came out on the other side of this with a debt I could manage.
“My guess is they needed to hide their funds under names that can’t be easily traced back to Padilla Financial.”
“Except you traced it.”
Diaz nodded, but tipped her head as if barely conceding the point. “Only because we happened to be monitoring you after you took that dinner cruise aboard their yacht. According to our source, that’s where it appears they’re doing most of their business, away from telephones and places that can be bugged.”
So there was a source, someone on the inside of Padilla Financial leaking details to the IRS.
Now it was my turn to get up and stomp around. This wasn’t my mess but I was in it up to my eyeballs whether I liked it or not. Walking away from my mortgage—even at a lower rate and principal—and leaving town for good were looking better all the time.
“You still haven’t told me what you want me to do.”
“We haven’t finalized our plan at this point. We’re working another angle, but you might be the only chance we have to get exactly what we need for prosecution, which is an invitation to dinner on their yacht. That would involve you setting up a meeting with Mari and a friend of yours”—she pointed a finger to her chest—“who wants to invest. I’ll contact you when we’re ready.”
I wondered if Special Agent Diaz would feel special right now if I threw up on her shoes. I suddenly remembered the conversation with Rosa about my phone, which made me think of all the sexy texts Mari and I had sent each other in the past week. “You’ve been bugging my phone, haven’t you?”
She didn’t have to answer. At least she had the decency to look marginally ashamed of herself. They knew all along I wasn’t part of this, but went through the whole charade with the arrest warrant so they could blackmail me into working with them. While it pissed me off plenty to be manipulated like that, it didn’t hold a candle to how I felt about Mari.
I was glad for the chance to help bury her.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that everything we discussed tonight is confidential. If you reveal the contents of our discussion to anyone, you could be charged with obstruction of justice, which carries a possible prison term of five years.” Diaz buttoned her jacket as she stood, effectively hiding her gun.
“I’m not going to say anything.”
“I know, but I was still obligated to tell you that. I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now...used, betrayed. I know you’ll be tempted to confront Ms. Tirado about this, but you mustn’t do that. Trust me, we’ll handle this, and they’ll pay for it. You’re one of the victims here, and I’m truly sorry for what they’ve done to you. I’ll contact you soon about how and when we need to do this.”
When the agent left, I watched her through the peephole until she disappeared onto the elevator. She had seemed genuinely regretful, but I didn’t doubt for a minute she meant every word about me going to prison if I tipped Mari off.
Not that I would. The hardest part for me would be keeping up the pretense of being nice to her long enough to follow through with their plan of introducing her to Agent Diaz. I never dreamed anyone could treat me worse than Emily had, but boy, was I ever wrong. At least I knew Emily had loved me once, and that deep down she felt guilty for leaving the way she had. Only a month ago, I’d considered forgiving her, and writing all of it off to her being confused about infatuation and lust versus real love.
But Mari wasn’t confused about anything. She was just the best liar I’d ever met.
Greed was something I understood, at least conceptually. People who worked in finance did it because—news flash—they liked making money. The more, the better. These days, it wasn’t good enough to make a few hundred thousand a year through intelligent, honest work. Not when your peers were making millions by bilking their clients and betting against their own investments.
What I couldn’t fathom was how Mari could give lip service to her oh-so-lofty principles when it came to things like doing business with her friends, but she had no qualms about leading me to believe she had genuine feelings for me, especially after sharing something as intimate as sex. I just couldn’t wrap my brain around that. I had to think at least some of it was real. No one could be that diabolical, but I’d seen with Emily how someone could twist things around in their head in order to justify their behavior. Mari had probably convinced herself she liked me well enough to have casual sex, but there was no way she was “in love” with me.
And, as of right now, the feeling was mutual.
Chapter Eighteen
Some days the Miami River smells like dead fish. It’s even worse when hot, sticky air hangs over Allapattah like a cellophane blanket. Welcome to November in Miami.
Bo’s future son-in-law, a patrol officer with the Miami-Dade Police Department, spearheaded our volunteer crew of cops today. All eight of them were nailing shingles on the roof like old pros, each trying to out-macho the others with his construction prowess. They hardly needed supervision, which left Bo and me free to caulk around the doors, windows and tiles inside.
Despite the heat, humidity and fishy odor, I needed a day of mindless, physical work. No way could I have handled a job where I had to think, not with the IRS agent’s words still playing in my head. A whole night of tossing and turning had left me drained. None of the scenarios I’d imagined could legitimately explain how this had happened. I wanted to believe Mari was innocent. I just couldn’t, not with that mysterious bank account out there.
I’d drawn the last bead of caulk around the bath
room door when my cell phone chimed to announce a text message. It had to be Mari because that’s how we communicated when we knew the other one was working. I still hadn’t decided how to handle her, or even if I should try. As angry as I was, it made more sense to avoid her altogether until it was time to introduce her to my supposed friend.
Except the text wasn’t from Mari. It was from Agent Diaz, who said she was out front and needed to talk.
“I’m calling a break, Bo. I’ll let the guys up on the roof know.”
The black SUV that had been following me for days was parked across the street and two doors down beneath a Poinciana tree that littered the curb with leaves, pods and red, feathery flowers. If they were trying to be inconspicuous, it wasn’t working, particularly since all of our volunteers were police officers and knew exactly which vehicles belonged to federal law enforcement. I yelled up at them to take a break and strolled down the street as casually as I could.
Diaz was behind the wheel wearing aviator shades and a tight black polo shirt, her elbow resting casually out the window. If anyone saw her—and by anyone, I mean all eight of our police volunteers—they’d make her as a dyke first and a cop second. At least that would partially satisfy their curiosity about why I was going to see her, because they’d think we had something going on.
She gestured for me to get in on the passenger side. It was only then I realized there was a man in the backseat, twenty-something and kind of goofy-looking, with a dark tan and shaggy blond hair. Obviously one of my Nordic cousins. I wondered if he felt as out of place in Miami as I did.
“Daphne, this is Henry Smith, my colleague. He’ll be my partner in the field.”
I could only manage a nod in his direction. What was I supposed to say? Pleased to meet you? I wasn’t. I wish I’d never met any of them, Mari included.
“Our other angle didn’t play out so we’ve decided to go ahead with our plan to set up a business meeting with Ms. Tirado.”
I wasn’t particularly interested in their plan. “How did you know I’d be here? Let me guess. You’re still tracking my phone.”
A grunt was her only reply but it spoke volumes. I wanted this over with. The idea of federal agents following me everywhere I went was infuriating, especially since they knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d probably doubled down on their surveillance since last night in case I tried to get in touch with Mari.
“What if Mari isn’t involved? This could all be her uncle’s doing. She may not know anything about it.” That was the only explanation that gave me any comfort at all, especially if Pepe was doing all this behind her back.
“She has access to all the books, Daphne. I know you don’t want to believe she’d do it, but looking at companies’ financial records is our specialty. One person can’t hide something this big. It can only happen with her knowledge and consent.”
No, I didn’t want to believe it, but it was pretty hard to make sense of how Mari could manage all her accounts and not know where the money was going. Besides, she’d said herself that she’d done all the research on those companies, so she had to know one of them was bogus. Still…the fact she’d been confused about a couple of her clients’ portfolios and traded angry words with Pepe gave me the faintest glimmer of hope he was keeping her in the dark.
“Daphne, the only piece we’re missing in our investigation is a detailed description of the Iberican Fund from the horse’s mouth. We have to record their sales pitch so we can show they’re misleading investors on where their money goes. All I need is for you to introduce her to me as a friend of yours who wants to invest. Can you set up a lunch meeting?”
“Mari and I never meet for lunch. We’re in different parts of town, and she usually hooks up with clients for lunch.” To say nothing of the fact that Mari knew one meal in a Miami restaurant would tank my lunch budget for the week.
“Restaurants aren’t so good anyway,” Blondie said, tapping Diaz on the shoulder. “Too much white noise.”
“It won’t matter. The goal is to get a private meeting on the yacht because that’s where the real business gets done. That’s the one we have to record.”
“But only if I can get close enough,” he added. “Anything outside of three hundred feet just isn’t reliable.”
“I got it, Henry!” Diaz snapped.
“Just sayin’.”
Touchy. Sounded like they’d had a few glitches in the past.
“Can you just call her and say you have a friend who’s not happy with her broker?”
That probably wouldn’t work, not as long as Mari had a policy of not doing business with friends. I understood that now, since her friends would go ballistic watching her drive around in a Porsche she bought with their commissions while they ended up with zilch.
“If I tell her you’re my friend, she probably won’t give you the time of day, at least not as far as money is concerned.”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t hit her friends up for business. She says it makes things messy if they lose money. And friends always expect her to give them discounts and insider tips.”
“Would she do it as a favor to you?”
That was hard to answer, since the Mari I knew was rigid about her principles. That said, the Mari I knew wasn’t even the real Mari. She and Pepe had put on a big show of turning down Michael’s business only to chase it later. “If she could use me to hide millions of dollars in a secret account, she might use one of my friends if it was to her advantage. But we just talked about this a few days ago. Won’t it make her suspicious if I suddenly bring somebody around?”
The two agents exchanged grim looks, and Diaz sighed with frustration.
“Maybe we should just go with the straight-up business approach instead of bringing Ms. Maddox into the picture,” Blondie said. “The fewer people involved, the less risk of something going wrong.”
Diaz banged a fist on the steering wheel, and then ran a hand through her short brown hair. “Then we’re going to need another opening. I can’t just call her out of the Yellow Pages.”
I had no clue what they meant by a straight-up business approach, but I liked the idea of leaving me out of it. Getting revenge on Mari didn’t matter as much as getting out of this mess completely.
“How does she usually pick up clients?”
“Referrals, I think.” Michael had come to Pepe through his friend Juan. “The best way to get to Mari is probably through someone who already has an account with her. That’s what they usually do…get their clients to bring in friends to invest.”
Diaz shook her head. “It’s too risky to reach out to one of her investors. Once they find out their money’s tied up in a racket, they’ll get spooked and try to pull it all out. We won’t be able to stop them if they do. You have to be the one who makes the referral. What if I pretended to be somebody you met through work? Think she’d go for that?”
“What, you want me to call her out of the blue and say I ran into someone with five million dollars who wants to invest?” As if there were lots of millionaires in a place like Allapattah.
“Five million?”
“Yeah, that’s the minimum to buy into the Iberican Fund.” It occurred to me it didn’t look good for me to know so much about Mari’s business dealings, but I wasn’t interested in sticking my neck out for something that wasn’t going to work. “Wait a minute. I know how you can get to her. There’s a Chamber of Commerce cocktail party Monday night. That’s just two days from now.”
“Will both of you be there?”
“Yeah, but why would you even need me? Mari goes to those things to network. You could just walk up and talk to her.”
“I need you because you give me an entrée, and she’ll pay attention because she thinks it matters to you. The last thing I’d want would be for her to get distracted by someone else and walk away. We’d never get our foot back in the door.”
“Going to be tough to get good sound with that many people around,” B
londie said. “Get her off to the side if you can.”
“We really need your help to do this, Daphne.” It was the same apologetic tone Diaz had used the night before. “Our chances of pulling it off are a whole lot better if you’re there to lend us credibility. It’ll be a piece of cake. You and I can just act like we’re talking about something else and when she walks over, that’s it. You make the introduction, let us talk for a couple of minutes, and when she takes the bait, you excuse yourself and step away.”
“And what if she doesn’t take your bait?”
“Let us worry about that. We’re pretty good at what we do.”
I could believe that of Diaz, but Blondie looked like he’d be better at surfing than investigating.
She patted my arm awkwardly, as if she wasn’t comfortable with touchy-feely stuff but wanted to give off at least a hint of compassion. “We’ll make all the arrangements to be there. Just go to the cocktail party on Monday like usual, and I’ll find you. I promise it’ll all be over for you as soon as we get our meeting.We might even get it all on tape at the party. Oh, and one other thing…”
“I know, I can’t say anything to Mari or you’ll lock me up for five years.” I whirled my finger around in a whoop-de-doo gesture that was even more satisfying than flipping a bird. “What if this is all a mistake? Did you ever stop to think how many lives you’d be ruining if you were wrong?”
“There’s no mistake. I wasn’t going to tell you this…but we found another Caymans account like yours—in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Mordecai Osterhoff. Mari used you to get to them too.”
She might as well have hit me upside the head with a two-by-four. It was bad enough they’d involved me in their scam, but dragging Edith and Mordy into it was so far over the line I couldn’t wait to help put them in jail. And now I knew it had to be Mari because Pepe didn’t even know the Osterhoffs.
Playing With Fuego Page 17
