Vvvvrrrrooommmm… Vvvrrrooommmm.
“What the hell!”
She flew out of bed and stood in the middle of the room trying to get her bearings. The rowdy laughter of men and motorcycles echoed outside her window. Now she understood why this room was still available. She rang the operator again.
“Yes, dear?”
“What time is it now?” she asked.
“Noon.”
Holy hell, half the day was gone. Not wanting any opportunity to fall back asleep, she forced herself off the bed and stumbled her way into the bathroom. She turned on the shower to super-hot and then stripped off her clothes. Cassie stepped into the shower and waited for the rush of the beating water. No rush, just a nice soft drizzle of a water-saver showerhead. Something they were supposed to have done, but Sergei had refused. He felt special, and special people did not comply.
Showered, dressed, and ready to face the world, Cassie took an inventory of the room. Last night she’d been too tired to really care what the room offered, but now she did. Her body craved a strong cup of coffee and at this point, instant would even do. She smiled. Tucked in the corner sat a coffee pot on top of a little refrigerator with a basket of assorted items. Maybe the shower sucked, but the coffee choices didn’t. A note in the basket indicated creamers and cups were in the refrigerator.
How delightful. She had her choice of French Vanilla, Hazelnut, or Irish Crème, along with a green, pink, or blue coffee mug with artistic designs. It seemed like a green kind of day with a lot of Irish Crème.
While the coffee brewed, Cassie decided it was time to take an inventory of her life. She placed all the clothes in a line, starting with underwear and ending with the running shoes. Next, she dumped out the duffle bag next to the shoes and sorted everything out. The gurgling of the coffee pot indicated the last drops had dripped. Cassie poured a cup, sipped and stared at the bed. Everything she owned fit on top of a king-sized bed. Not much for thirty-six years of life.
The white envelope José had given her from Alexa remained unopened, sitting amongst the things from the duffel. Cassie refilled her coffee cup, picked up the envelope, and settled into a chair by the window, next to the heating and air conditioner unit. The sunlight beamed through the slightly opened curtain, casting an eerie shadow across her reflection in the mirror. She stared at her reflection.
“Who are you?”
Silence answered, but if she dug deep, she knew what some answers could be, and none of them were pretty.
Her brother, Mike, thought of her as a murderer. Well, maybe not quite a murderer, but pretty darn close. “Why did you let Dad drive drunk! You should have taken the keys. You were the one sitting next to them at the wedding reception, not me. It’s your fault they’re dead,” he’d yelled. Mike had apologized later, but the words never left her.
The director of the daytime television series she’d been in had plenty to say about her. “You’re absent again and drugged up. One more time, Ryan, and we’re writing you off the show. I don’t need people who won’t show up. I need actresses who want to work. You’ve been forewarned.” It was true; she had been drugged up from pain killers. A bruise she could handle, but not a broken rib.
But the person who mattered the most wasn’t even alive anymore. “You are my beautiful princess. You can be anything you want.” Her mother’s words had always brought a smile to her face, but not now.
“So I’m a murdering, drunk, homeless princess,” she whispered. “Ah, Mom.”
The tears rolled down her cheeks. The dead feeling inside exploded, spreading an intense ache throughout her body. Finally, Cassie let go and the sobs erupted from deep within—all the sadness and disappointments she’d felt since her parent’s death eight years ago.
Drained, she sat mutely. Even though her mother wasn’t in the room, she knew what she would say. “You have fallen from grace, Cassandra Marie. You got yourself into this mess, so get yourself out. It won’t be easy, but you are a Ryan, through and through. Well, you had better get going!”
Her coffee was cold. The envelope had tear stains and nose slime all over it. She wiped it off with a towel and settled back in the chair with a fresh cup of coffee. Alexa’s envelope was thick. When she unfolded the pages to read, several hundred dollars fell out. She did not expect this. Nor did she expect a letter dated over a month ago. Cassie scanned through the pages and noted a more recent date on the last two pages. Obviously, Alexa had plenty to say.
Dear Cassie, It is time to accept responsibility for your choices because only you are in charge of your life… She started reading, and when she finished, Cassie was thankful she was alone. Her face flushed and burned. In essence, the letter told her to grow up and quit using everyone and everything as an excuse for her behavior. It was true that Alexa and her husband had warned her about Sergei early on, but she didn’t want to hear it, nor did she want to give up her comfortable lifestyle.
For a moment, her temper flared. The blame game reared its ugly head, but she checked it. The letter hurt, but her friend had been truthful.
Since she didn’t have her own plan of action, she might as well follow Alexa’s.
Review your assets. Not much, she thought. Still bunched up were the ugly white socks of yesterday. She straightened them out and pulled out the wad of bills she’d taken from Sergei. Now she could review her assets.
She had just over seven hundred dollars left from her secret stash, plus Alexa’s six. One by one, Cassie counted out the money she’d taken from Sergei and his secret compartment. Her total cash amount was just over thirty-one hundred dollars. Additionally, on the tenth of the month, her brother deposited her share from the two homes in the trust they co-inherited from their parents. One rental fee went into the upkeep fund and taxes, and the other was distributed between the two. She’d learned over the years never to expect more than nine hundred, which didn’t go far in the Hollywood scene.
Cover your tracks. Pay cash. Get a phone card. Since there were no other options, this was very doable.
Get out of California. Go home to Seattle.
Cassie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
She hadn’t been back to Seattle since her parent’s death the night of her cousin’s wedding at Snoqualmie Falls Lodge. On top of her brother accusing her, her cousin thanked her for ruining her future wedding anniversary. They were divorced now, so the point was moot.
“Think, Cass,” she murmured. “Get out of California…” A slow smile formed on Cassie’s lips. “Where no one would expect.”
Yes, she could go home, but not to Seattle. She would go to Hartz Island, to the beach house she and her brother jointly owned. Cassie had asked Mike once to buy her out, but he refused. He’d told her, “You never know when you might want to come back home.” Since Mike and his wife were living in Japan working for the computer company, the house was empty. It was her turn by at least eight years. No one in L.A. knew the place had been part of her life, not even Alexa.
“Yes,” she exclaimed, finally feeling good.
Now the big question was what to do with her thirty-one hundred dollars. She didn’t feel comfortable carrying it around in her purse or hiding it in the motel room. Leaving it in the truck was out of the question. Her room phone rang. Startled, she jumped, spilling the majority of the cash to the floor. Her heart pounded fast and hard. Who knew she was here? It kept ringing. Finally, she answered.
“Front desk here. Housekeeping wants to clean your room. You’re the last one.”
“Oh. What time is it now?”
“Two o’clock.”
No wonder her stomach growled. She’d missed breakfast and lunch. “I’m fine. They don’t need to clean it, but thanks anyway.”
She gathered up the spilled money, but noticed someone had written in ink a series of numbers on several of the bills. Cassie was
pretty certain that someone was Sergei. This was the money that had come out of the hidden drawer. She might be a grade nothing actress in Hollywood, but one thing she had was an excellent memory and an uncanny ability with number sequences. Those numbers represented some sort of code, Cassie was sure of it. Why else would they have been hidden? She needed to get to a computer and a phone but just as importantly, food. If she didn’t eat something soon, she would have a complete meltdown.
Back to her original problem of where to put the money. Problem solved—two boobs and a purse. She tucked the coded numbered bills in her purse and lined her bra with the rest. Checking her profile in the mirror; both boobs were evenly distributed with a nice round look. Amazing what a bit of money would do for a boob job.
With detailed directions from the office, Cassie made her first stop—a quick mart where she purchased a phone card along with an overcooked hotdog and a large diet Pepsi.
“I need a pay phone. Do you know where one is?” she asked the clerk.
“Well, sure. Just outside on the wall.”
“Thanks.” She dialed Alexa’s cell phone and prayed she would answer the unknown caller ID. On the fifth ring, she did.
“It’s me. Can you talk?” Cassie asked.
“Yes, but Eduardo is home, I only have a minute. He’s showering at the moment. Are you okay?”
“More than okay. I’ll make it quick. What do you know about banks?”
“Other than Eduardo’s family owns the biggest bank in Argentina, not much.”
“What is your account number at his bank? The one we set up?”
“Funny you should ask. I’m looking at the account right now.”
“Give me all the numbers you can.” Cassie listened and jotted everything down.
A feeling of satisfaction flooded her. She had been right. That was why the one number seemed familiar; it had the same sequencing as the Argentine bank. Sergei had an account at Eduardo’s bank, she was sure of it. What about the other nine set of numbers?
“Are you going to tell me why?” Alexa asked.
“No. The less you know the better off you are.”
“Hmm, it sounds like the old Cassie is back. I need to go. Watch your back and be careful, promise me?”
“Yep. Hey, thanks for the money.”
Hidden accounts, pirated DVD’s, stolen Mercedes Benz and other high end vehicles, what other interesting business was Sergei involved in? Her breath caught in her throat; she was lucky to be out.
Chapter Four
During the quick walk to the library, Cassie thought of those numbers and what they could mean. She needed access to phone books and computers. Libraries had both.
The front desk pointed her to the resource section where various phone books could be found. She pulled out the Yellow Pages for Morro Bay and thumbed through banking. The bank that the trust used had a branch here in town. It seemed like a good place to start.
“How far is this bank from here?” Cassie asked the library clerk.
“Not far. That’s my bank.” She pointed. “It’s just three blocks that way. The lobby closes at five, but the window stays open until six.”
“Thanks.” Cassie glanced at her watch. She still had plenty of time.
When she entered the bank, a woman about her age greeted her. Cassie explained she wanted to open a new account but needed to use the bathroom facilities first. She removed the money from her bra and then adjusted her top. Satisfied with her appearance, she headed back out to the lobby with no qualms about a purse full of money.
They bantered with light talk while deciding what sort of an account Cassie wanted. The banker asked for identification and started pulling out the appropriate paperwork. Cassie took a deep breath. She saw a gentleness and understanding in the bank woman’s face and made a decision. “I’m leaving a volatile live-in situation and going home to Seattle. I don’t have a current address, but we have a trust account at the Seattle branch if that helps.”
“I see.”
Cassie felt pretty certain she did, but still. “Is there a way that I don’t have to put my name on the account, but a pseudonym…maybe?”
Then the banker smiled and said, “Let me speak with my manager and see what I can do. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
She concentrated on staying calm by looking at the bank clerk’s pictures. Somehow she’d missed her name but spotted it on a plaque next to the pictures of her family—Sandy. A happy appearing family with three boys and a good looking husband. A pang of sadness registered. Something she always wished she had but didn’t.
Sandy came back smiling. “We’re in luck. The woman who handles your account in Seattle was in. We have everything verified using your brother’s address on the trust. When you get to Seattle, stop by and make the necessary changes, put your computer identifying tags on the account. For now we can use initials.”
“Thank you so much for your help.” She gathered up her paperwork and started to leave but stopped. “Real quick question. If I wanted to send money overseas, how does that work?”
“Everyone has numbers designated, so you need to get their routing numbers. Depending on where they are, for instance, Mexico is different from Canada, which is different from a European country. I used to do international banking before I was married. It’s very interesting,” Sandy explained. “Now it’s all on the Internet.”
“So if I just go and do a couple of searches, everything is there?” Cassie asked.
“Pretty much. That’s what we do if someone comes in and wants to transfer money to a country we haven’t worked with. We just go on the Internet and get their numbers, and of course we have the account number. Uniform and mundane.” She laughed. “There are no mysteries in banking, other than the Swiss banks.”
“Amazing. Thanks.” She would give anything to have a laptop at her fingertips, but the library would have to do.
The quietness of the library was noticeable when Cassie entered. People were home eating dinner, which gave her a choice of computers. She picked the one with optimal privacy with no one nearby. The banker had been correct. Everything she needed to know was just a keystroke away.
She matched the sequence number from the hundred dollar bill against the Argentine bank’s routing number, confirming Sergei had an account at Eduardo’s bank. Cassie exited out of that site and keyed in for Internet banking, taking her to the four digit PIN code. All she needed was a four digit number. First, she tried his birthday, then his birth year. Nothing. Stay calm and think like Sergei. It was four simple uncomplicated numbers, something he didn’t have to think about. She tried the last four digits of his cell number. Access!
“Holy sh…” she gasped, covering her mouth. Her eyes almost popped out of her head. Sergei had nine thousand five hundred dollars in this account. After the initial shock, her first reaction was that money was hers. That asshole owed her. Besides the lost wages, her reputation had taken a beating. She could kick herself for not keeping an actual tab of missed days because of bruised eyes and cheekbones and broken ribs.
“Finders keepers, losers weepers,” she whispered.
Cassie keyed in the transaction to have that money transferred to her new account. She grinned and raised her finger to strike the enter key but stopped in mid-air. The reality of what she was about to do hit her full force. Cassie pushed away from the computer and stood. Her heart pounded.
She had become a common criminal, just like Sergei, stealing—she guessed—already stolen money. Taking a couple of deep breaths, her heart calmed to a normal beat. Cassie sat down and logged out. She needed to rethink this. In her anger and defiance, she’d almost screwed herself with that transfer.
Wrestling with her conscious, she finally made the decision only to transfer the amount of money she felt she lost in actual, true wages.
This she could live with. The next question was how to do it without a money trail.
People hid money all the time. Legally and not. Even Sandy at the bank had made a reference to Switzerland. Swiss banking was considered offshore banking, so Cassie did an Internet search using various key words. According to the numerous websites, offshore banking could be done in several places besides Switzerland. The Caribbean seemed to be the next hot spot for setting up accounts that couldn’t be easily traced or accessed by the government. If she read everything correctly, she wasn’t breaking any banking laws as long as she paid her taxes. She had until April 15th to solve that problem.
Studying all the Internet sites, the island of Nevis by St. Kitts in the Caribbean had a good thing going for privacy, so she searched to see what banks were located there. Two seemed a little shady, but one stood out, also having a branch in the Caymans. She remembered reading about the Caymans and their banking policies, which were similar to Switzerland. Cassie wished now she had listened more to Eduardo when he droned on about banking. The problem was, she never believed he knew anything about it. He was rich, gorgeous, and looked more like a playboy than a banker.
“Unbelievable,” Cassie muttered, studying the website.
If she wanted the money from Sergei’s accounts, which she did, Cassie needed to set up an offshore account, preferably in the Cayman Islands, one that wasn’t traceable. How fast could it be done? Everything she read said with the correct documentation, fairly quickly—hopefully by tomorrow. She needed to locate a fax machine.
Cassie almost jumped out of her chair when someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned to see the librarian.
“The library is going to close in fifteen minutes.”
“Already? I just need to download a document.”
“You have enough time. Just send it to the main printer and pay for it up at the front desk when you leave.” The clerk smiled and went on to the next patron.
Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series) Page 3
