Stuart Woods - Unnatural acts

“You should have been a nurse,” Dino said.

Stone spread a blanket over him, and Dino closed his eyes.

“Don’t get up until dinnertime,” Stone said.

Dino made a gruff noise and let out a deep breath.

Stone bent over and kissed him on the forehead, then closed the bedroom door behind him. He got out his cell phone and called a number.

“DeCarlo,” she said.

“Viv, it’s Stone. I got him home, and he went right to sleep. I’m leaving his door unlocked for you, so bring him some dinner about seven. He’ll be a lot better by tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Stone,” she said. “I’m on it.”

“There are some things Dino won’t tell you, so I will.”

“Okay.”

“You’re going to get the Police Combat Cross.”

“Wow.”

“Is it your first commendation?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll look good on your record. You made detective second, too.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“That’s great!”

“And you’re getting transferred to the One Seven.”

She was quiet. “He did that?” she said, finally.

“He did. And you know why.”

“I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“You’ll like it. You’ll walk in there with a new rank and that nice, green ribbon, so you’ll get some respect.”

“That would make a nice change,” she said. “Did he transfer Rosie, too?”

“He doesn’t have the hots for Rosie. My guess is, if she requests it, Dino will get it done, but it might be a good thing to start in the One Seven with a new partner.”

“Because she didn’t get the medal and the promotion?”

“Let her get somewhere on her own-maybe you two can work together later.”

“I guess that makes some sense. Does Dino know I’m coming over tonight?”

“No, but don’t worry, he’s not going to mind. Take his Oxycontin away from him and ration it. Don’t tell Dino I told you so, but he’s scared to death of being in pain.”

She giggled. “I won’t tell him.”

“Congratulations on all counts, Viv, and have a good evening.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know that.” Stone hung up and told the doorman to expect Viv, then went home.

Marshall Brennan was working at his computer when his secretary buzzed. “Dink is here to see you. Do you want me to reschedule him? I know you’re busy.”

“No, send him in.” Marshall turned away from his computer and rose to meet his son. “Hello, Dink.” They shook hands.

“Good morning, Dad,” Dink said. He was dressed in a tweed jacket, khakis, and a necktie. “I got your message, and here I am.”

“Thanks for coming,” Marshall said. He leafed through some papers on his desk and came up with a copy of Dink’s brokerage account. “The computer flagged your account yesterday because of a large cash withdrawal, wired to your checking account. Mind telling me why you suddenly need half a million dollars?”

“Oh, this and that,” Dink said, looking evasive. “I’m looking at apartments downtown.”

“Find something you like?”

“Not yet, but…” Dink’s voice trailed off, and he began to look irritated. “Mind telling me why you’ve flagged my account for withdrawals?”

“Just about every client’s account is flagged for withdrawals over a predetermined amount,” Marshall said. “It’s a security precaution, designed to thwart someone who might have gained unauthorized access to an account.”

“So I’m just like everyone else here?”

“As an account, yes. I just wanted to know if you made the withdrawal, and if so, why?”

“I think I just explained that,” Dink said.

“I think you just avoided explaining it,” Marshall replied. “Try again.”

“I’m of age, Dad, and I don’t have to explain things to you anymore.”

“You do if you want my investment skills to remain at your disposal.”

“What is it that so annoys you about my withdrawing half a million dollars?”

“It occurs to me that a sum that size might just be for a big drug buy.” Marshall watched as beads of sweat appeared on his son’s forehead.

“Nothing like that,” Dink said.

Marshall swung back to his computer and brought up a new screen. “And I see that as soon as the funds were received in your checking account, they were wired to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Mind explaining that?”

“I just happen to be doing business with someone who has an offshore account.”

“Well, you’d better be ready to explain that to the Internal Revenue Service, because you’ve flagged more than your account with me, you’ve flagged an automatic disclosure from your bank to the IRS about the transfer. That pretty much guarantees you an audit.”

“An audit?” Dink asked weakly.

“Welcome to adulthood, son. It’s a place where you are held responsible for your actions.”

“Even private financial transactions?”

“ Especially private financial transactions. Tell me, do you have an offshore bank account?”

“Well, ah…”

“I was afraid of that,” Marshall said, rubbing his forehead. “You should have discussed all this with me before proceeding.”

“You’d have just told me not to do it,” Dink said.

“And in so doing, saved you tens of thousands of dollars in accounting bills. Who is your accountant?”

“I, ah, don’t have one yet,” Dink admitted.

“Would you like me to recommend one?”

“No, Dad.”

“Then you should ask your private banker to recommend a good firm and schedule a meeting with them immediately. If they take swift action, they might be able to head off this thing at the pass, before you have IRS agents knocking on your door.”

“It doesn’t seem like all that big a problem. Anyway, how could an accountant help?”

“An accountant, having dealt with the IRS for his whole career, will know to call someone there quickly and explain that he has a young and inexperienced person for a client, and that he has done something foolish, but wants to clean up his mess.”

“Oh. And that can happen?”

“Possibly. What won’t happen is to get your name off a watch list for every sort of transaction you can dream of. You will now be known personally and permanently to agents of the Internal Revenue Service whose only task in life is to catch American citizens avoiding taxes by money laundering and hiding funds in offshore accounts. Even Swiss banks are now cooperating, in an attempt to save themselves millions of dollars in fines and accounting fees, and they are happy to throw a client overboard if that’s what they have to do to please the IRS.”

“I had no idea,” Dink said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief and loosening his tie.

“By the simple act of turning twenty-one and gaining access to your trust, you have entered a whole new world, son, one with a complex set of rules and regulations that govern the way you will earn, spend, and pay taxes. You had better accustom yourself to playing by those rules, and an accountant, along with your private banker, can help you understand how to do that.”

“I see.”

“Moreover, any profit on the sale of the securities that was necessary to raise your half-million-dollar withdrawal will be subject to ordinary income tax at the full rate, whereas if you had sold something you’d owned for more than a year, you’d have paid the much lower capital gains tax, so you cost yourself some more money there.”

Dink was sweating profusely now.

“Something else, Dink. If that money ended up in a drug dealer’s account in the offshore bank, it is very likely that either the IRS or the FBI, perhaps both, has an informant in that bank who will, you should excuse the expression, rat you out. So there is another federal agency you’ll be scrutinized by in the coming weeks and months. I strongly suggest that, in addition to an accountant, you call Herb Fisher and ask him to recommend a criminal lawyer.”