Steely popped up and, in a lightning quick gesture, swung the trash can and sprayed its contents on Cricket.
Cricket shimmied. Some of the liquid dripped off. “Oh! You’re disgusting!”
The elevator dinged. Security had arrived.
“You’re going to regret this!” Cricket took off for the stairs.
Steely lay back in her chair. “That almost shut her up.”
The situation was unraveling fast. She picked up a damp cloth from the kitchen, cleaned herself up, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and went back to her desk to figure out her next move.
Chapter fifty-four
Steely didn’t usually talk aloud to herself. She could no longer sit there and keep smelling floor cleaner in the utility closet. It was her turn to do something no right-thinking person would advise her to do. The moment had come to blow the lid off this place and ensure that Keaton or no one else could go after Nick Dichiara.
Cricket had blabbed to her cohorts by now. If $200 million was missing, it was probably in Nick’s hands. Who else would have guts enough to take that kind of money? She rubbed her neck, thinking of Bea’s assessment of Keaton. He was a liar and a petty thief. But he didn’t have the stupids to try a fraud of this magnitude. This thing had accelerated beyond his control. She was sure of that.
Steely thought about getting to the speaker system and rattling off what she knew. The emergency system was in a locked box a few steps away. Everyone in the building would hear. But maybe throwing out a wide net wasn’t the wisest move. Chaos and confusion could work for or against Nick. Public opinion was too risky. She settled for an inalienable weapon. The truth. And getting it to those who had denied it for years was about to be the easiest thing she had done in a long time.
The deer and Steely were about to have a serious talk. She positioned herself to get a perfect visual and good voice projection. Nick and whoever else was listening were about to get an earful.
“Nick, my dad was murdered when he found out about the fraud. The bar fight was a total setup.” She spoke perfectly, highlighting every word. “There was no other woman. David and Jack were murdered too. The accident was no accident. Sergeant Donovan will have arrest warrants issued. Who knows when—maybe today. Jacqueline Dupree worked in accounting here. The authorities found her and her husband, Warren. They rigged the truck. Nick, hold on to the two hundred million until we meet up. Then we’ll run hard and far. The money trail leads to Mr. Keaton and then traces back to Mr. Chevoski and various individuals. They were using the company to launder revenue from drug and human trafficking. It’s getting a good washing, so who will care if they never see it again?”
Steely pushed a flash drive into the computer and clicked. She ejected it and stuck it in her pocket. “It’s all right here on this flash drive. The drama will start when the so-called clients call for their assets. We’ll get some popcorn and enjoy the movie from our special spot. See you soon!”
Chapter fifty-five
Switzerland is warm in May. Nick vacationed there once. Skied too. But this trip was no vacation. He was here to conduct business. The kind of business that could land him with a roommate in a Swiss lockup half the size of the utility closet if things didn’t go as planned. But Nick didn’t focus on risks. If he did, he’d rightly have fear written on his face. There’s nothing more suspicious than a frightened guy trying to transfer $426 million into new accounts.
The bank wasn’t much bigger than a branch in some US grocery stores. The structure had probably been new when George Washington was in office. You didn’t see marble floors like these in twenty-first-century buildings.
Most of the bank’s account holders were faceless. The very reason the accounts were there to start with. An account holder’s ID number and pass code were like a debit card, allowing them to move assets in and out with ease. No questions asked. But the bank wasn’t as secretive as it once was. The war on terror ended total anonymity a few years back.
An elderly lady in a black wool dress and hair in a tight bun greeted Nick at the door. “This way, Mr. Dichiara,” she said. “Mr. Rohr will see you now.”
Rohr, the bank president, occupied the only private office on the floor. He was a stick figure with suit sleeves slightly longer than his arms. “Please have a seat, Mr. Dichiara.”
Nick relaxed in a single chair angled across the desk from Rohr. “Mr. Rohr, I need to move half the accounts to the US and transfer the remaining to new accounts here, since all of these accounts have been breached. This knucklehead thought he could outsmart us by wiring the assets here.”
“His miscalculation.”
Nick caught a glimpse of a photo of Rohr, a woman his age, and a large dog posed pleasantly. “Yeah. He poisoned his neighbor’s dog last week.”
Rohr shook his head. “A real sicko.”
“The neighbor’s kids are still crying.”
“Can’t they lock him up?”
“That’s my number-one goal when I get back to the States. Can you accommodate my request?”
“Most certainly, sir. We don’t want our accounts funded with illegal transfers.”
“I appreciate your cooperation. I have my paperwork in order. It shows that these funds were moved from a US corporation without authorization from Mr. Jack Hunter. He was the only one who could have authorized the transfer at the time. The wires came from our accounts in the U.S., then to Saint Stephen’s Island Bank, then here, during his tenure.”
“Very clear, sir. We’ve already reviewed this. Our auditor agrees with your findings. We moved the funds to a holding account yesterday.”
“Perfect.” Nick reached into his jacket. He opened four sheets of folded paper and passed them to Rohr. “Each account marked is to be wired to a US account or to a new account here. All corresponding pass codes are adjacent to the account numbers.”
“We have the new accounts set up for you and will take care of it immediately.”
“Here is the original affidavit, signed at the time, saying I was authorized to receive any and all funds on behalf of the company. No one else is to have access to the pass codes for these accounts except for me. Is that clear, Mr. Rohr?”
“Yes, Mr. Dichiara. Quite clear. You will be the only one with access. But please secure your pass codes. Anyone could access these accounts with them.”
“Very clear, sir.”
Rohr began to leave and then stopped beside Nick. “This won’t take long.”
“Mr. Rohr, one more question. Is there a waiting period to access a sum of that size?”
“No, sir. When the funds are wired, they are as good as cash.”
It’s like I’m robbing the bank. “Oh, and, Mr. Rohr, we’re not certain we have plugged the leak on our end. If any additional funds are deposited in any of the old accounts, please have them automatically transferred into one of the new accounts.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
“There is one very important thing you need to know, Mr. Dichiara.”
Nick moved around, facing Rohr. He envisioned the cantonal police swarming in with guns drawn, yelling, “Hit the floor!” He glanced at the back of the office. No door. Front was clear too. “Yes?”
“We have superb chocolate lattes. May we get you one?”
Nick eased back. “Absolutely. They’re my favorite.”
“My assistant will prepare it, sir,” Rohr said, leaving. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Nick nodded and relaxed a little. Lord, I’m going to make it out of here.
Chapter fifty-six
Chevoski rammed his car over the sidewalk to the driveway. There was no need to jump the curb. The driveways into the JHI garage were wide and easy to access. He braked long enough for Monte to open the door and let Keaton in. Then he peeled off into the street, cutting off all the traffic. Several drivers slammed on their brakes to avoid a collision. Chevoski thanked them with an obscene gesture. If they had been road ra
gers, somebody would be dead.
“Do you have to drive like a maniac?” complained Keaton.
“Why not?” Chevoski ran through a solid red light.
“Gee. Watch it. Would you?”
Chevoski turned sharply into an alley, stopped short, and killed the engine.
“Why are you jerking me around?” Keaton demanded, shaken.
Chevoski bent a leg up on the console between them. “I’m going to ask you this one time. Where’s my money?”
“In the bank,” Keaton snapped. “Are you still freaking out about the eight million missing from the Saint Stephen’s account? I told you I’d get to the bottom of it.”
Chevoski glared at Keaton. “The Swiss accounts are gone.”
“Gone? They can’t be gone. Jason took care of the transfer right before he left for vacation. I watched him do it myself. Just like I always do.”
“The Swiss accounts are empty, you imbecile. I’m missing four hundred twenty-six million. You’d better have it back in twenty-four hours.”
“Maybe the funds crossed each other in transit. When you’re dealing with over six hundred million dollars, you can’t expect everything to be perfect. I’m sure the assets are secure. It would be impossible for anyone to get to them. Nobody even knows they are there. Jason couldn’t even do it without me. The funds are there.”
“They better be. ’Cause I’ll take care of you and everyone you know if I don’t have them back by tomorrow.”
Keaton was breathing heavy, huffing like he was short of breath, holding his chest.
Chevoski wanted him scared but not dead. “I know you have sense enough not to lie to me.”
“You do?” Keaton muttered.
“Yes. Now tell me. Who had access to the account numbers and pass codes?”
“Nobody. I’m telling you. Nobody.”
Chevoski eased the tension, saying, “Think real hard. Did anyone have access?”
“Nobody.” Keaton’s pulse soared. “Jason put in the account numbers. I put in the pass codes.”
“I should have worked with a smarter idiot who could wire funds,” Chevoski grumbled. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He’s taking a few days off.”
“We’ll find him. Now tell me why David Hunter’s widow is working with Nick.”
“A Hunter?”
“Steely Paupher Hunter. Does Paupher sound familiar?”
“Did you tell Thomas?”
Chevoski slapped the console between them. “Are they still breathing?”
Keaton was afraid to ask.
“I should have let Qualls take care of them all when he had the chance. The Hunters traveled in that truck together. They could have all gone over that cliff. The Pauphers drove an old, beat-up car. Easy pickin’s. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Keaton listened, afraid even to move.
“If the funds are clearing overnight, they’ll be there by tomorrow.” Chevoski smirked. “The people who own these funds would kill you for taking five dollars. Do you get the picture?”
Keaton used a facial expression to indicate he did.
“Why are you ordering signs with your name on them?” Chevoski laughed cynically. “You’re nothing but a talking head. I put you in this position, and I’ll take you out when I’m ready.” Chevoski lowered his leg and turned the key. “And I still haven’t found that stupid agreement you signed. I didn’t authorize you to sign that. Dumbest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. You better hope it doesn’t appear. Two pieces of paper that you so stupidly signed could destroy us all. You’d better find Jason.”
“I’ll reach out to him.”
“And call Nick Dichiara.”
“Why?”
“If the funds don’t show up, he has them.”
“I don’t think so. He’s been wandering around in the dark.”
“That’s exactly what he is doing.” Chevoski shifted to drive and made a left turn, banging Keaton’s head on the window. “Call Nick Dichiara.”
Keaton struggled holding the phone.
“Call him!” Chevoski yelled.
“It’s going to voice mail.”
Chevoski snatched the phone. He spoke loudly into it. “Mr. Dichiara, you have something of mine. Now I’m taking something of yours. You better have my money back by tomorrow, or we both lose what we value the most.” Then he threw the phone at Keaton.
Keaton whined, “What if he doesn’t have it?”
“Covering my bases.”
“His dad is already half dead. His mother is his caretaker.”
“Oh no, I don’t want the half-dead parents. I’m going to rip his heart out and take that little girl.”
Chevoski turned into the garage. Keaton rolled out of the car.
“Stay close to your phone!” Chevoski yelled. “Or you’ll be the next thing that disappears.” Chevoski smoked his tires and took off.
Keaton’s knees buckled. He went down hard. The parking attendant ran over and helped him up.
Chapter fifty-seven
Steely teetered two boxes on one shoulder with one hand and used the other to carefully take the five steps down from the attic to the garage floor. Each foot safely touched a step, skipping none. She opened the door to the kitchen, placed the boxes beside the sofa, and began sorting through them. These were her things. She’d saved them since she had left for college. A fourteen-year-old doesn’t exactly know what’s relevant and what is not. That’s how long it had been since she had opened the boxes, containing every written report about her dad’s death.
The six-o’clock news had Bea’s attention. She was reclining in her normal spot, her feet propped up since she had been on them all day. During the next commercial break, Bea would surely be asking why Steely was digging through the old boxes. But Steely ended up being the one with the first question. “How was your date? Did he hold your hand? Did he kiss you?”
“Smarty-pants.” Bea poked the device that never left her possession and paused the TV.
Steely had one box emptied. “Did you like fixing hair today?”
Bea curled her mouth up enough to smile. “Gray hair is too coarse to work with. So I dyed them all blond.”
“All of them?” Steely laughed.
“Not a gray hair left in the place. They liked the chicken pot pie too.”
Steely flashed her eyes at Bea. “What chicken pot—”
“Same chicken as in the freezer.”
“You took them the tofu chicken?”
“Pepe drove out to the rancher and picked up fifty pounds of meat for the old folks’ home.”
“Miss Bea, that wasn’t chicken.”
“There’s one thing good about being raised in the country. You know the difference between chicken and possum.”
“Possum?” Steely flexed her head back. “I wish I didn’t know that.” She continued going through the box.
“Their stomachs are cast iron. A little possum won’t hurt them. They’ve been eating bacon and eggs every morning for the last eighty years. They didn’t get all put out about the smell, like you. You could make a poot, and they wouldn’t know. The possum even put them in a good mood.”
“You didn’t put any alcohol in it, did you?”
“I didn’t spike the possum. Sometimes you act like I don’t have any sense.”
“I’m just asking.” Steely went back to sorting.
“Most of them hadn’t worn a lick of makeup for years. Their skin was like burlap. I took a flap at a time, sanded and moisturized it. See, when you have a good disposition, like me, it rubs off on other people. Alice said the old folks did activities today that she hadn’t been able to get them to do. They exercised and enjoyed it. I showed them how to do those balates.”
“You mean Pilates?”
“Then I did their hair while Pepe cooked.”
“Good team.”
“Now I need some peace and quiet to catch up on the news. Why are you digging in those boxes anyway?�
��
“I have some unanswered questions.”
Bea clicked the remote. “What questions?”
Steely held a cutout of a wrinkled newspaper.
Bea glanced over it. “What you got here?”
“There is a company called Flash Away that did business with my dad and JHI. It’s a common denominator between the two.”
“Flash what?”
“Away. They store documents on a USB.”
“Isn’t that a Swiss bank?”
“A flash drive. Most companies use them. It’s an efficient way to store important documents.” Steely unraveled a newspaper clipping and pointed. “Do you know him?”
“Vince Dichiara?”
“Yes. Now whose shadow is next to him?”
“I think we both know. It’s Nick Dichiara,” said Bea. “Vince and Nick were there the night your dad died. Steely, I didn’t know. You want me to ask Nancy?”
“I’d rather ask them myself. I need some answers.” Steely picked up the car keys and went out the back door.
Chapter fifty-eight
Nick rolled over on his stomach and draped his arms off the sides of the lounger. The masseuse hovered over him, rubbing an oily mixture into his back. A man in a white uniform set a drink with a slim straw in a narrow glass on the table beside him. He was being treated like royalty on Saint Stephen’s Island.
“May I get you something else, sir?” asked the uniformed man.
“I’d like a few more lobster bites, please. I worked up an appetite out here in the sun.”
The waiter bowed. “Yes, sir.”
The masseuse picked up the frosted beverage and held the straw, allowing Nick to sip without moving anything but his lips. Then the masseuse set the glass down and went back to work. “Sir, your muscles are knotted up. Try to relax.”
Nick closed his eyes. “I’m doing all the relaxing I can until the hurricane hits.”
“Sir, there’s no need for concern. There are no tropical disturbances anywhere near us.”
No Offense Page 27
