Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“Can we make it?” Charlie asks.

“If you want, we can hand the original letter to Mary right now,” Shep offers. “My Duckworth accounts are already set up, since they belonged to the real Duckworth-”

“Not a chance,” I interrupt. “Like you said – we pick the places where the money goes.”

Shep’s tempted to argue, but quickly realizes he can’t win. If the first transfer goes to him, he’s got his duffel bag of cash, and we risk getting nothing. Even Charlie’s not willing to take that risk.

“Fine,” Shep says. “But if you’re not going to use the already existing Duckworth account, I’d go offshore as soon as possible. That’ll get it out of the United States and away from the reporting requirements. You know the law – anything that looks suspicious gets reported to the IRS, which means they’ll track it anywhere.”

Nodding, Charlie pulls a thin stack of red paper from my briefcase. The Red Sheet – the partners’ master list of favorite foreign banks, including the ones that’re open twenty-four hours. It’s on red paper so no one can photocopy it.

“I vote for Switzerland,” Charlie adds. “One of those bad-ass numbered accounts with an unguessable password.”

“I hate to break it to you, shortie, but Swiss bank accounts aren’t what they used to be,” Shep says. “Contrary to what Hollywood wants you to think, anonymous Swiss accounts have been abolished since 1977.”

“What about the Cayman Islands?”

“Too Grisham,” Shep shoots back. “Besides, even those are opening up. People got so many ideas after reading The Firm , the U.S. had to step in. Since then, they’ve been working with law enforcement for years.”

“So what’s the best-”

“Don’t focus so much on one place,” Shep says. “A quick transfer from New York to the Caymans is suspicious no matter who it’s from, and if the bank clerk raises an eyebrow – it’s hello IRS. It’s the first principle for laundering money: You want to send it to the foreign banks because they’re the ones who’re least likely to cooperate with law enforcement. But if you transfer it there too fast, the reputable banks over here will tag it as suspicious, and quickly put the IRS on your tail. So whattya do? Focus on short jumps – logical jumps – that way you won’t get a double take.” Pulling a bagel from the breakfast spread, Shep slaps it on the table. “Here we are in the U.S. – now what’s the number one location where we bank abroad?”

“England,” I say.

“England it is,” Shep replies, slapping another bagel down a few inches from the first. “The epicenter of international banking – Mary does almost thirty transfers there a day. She won’t think twice. Now once you’re in London, what’s close by?” He slaps another bagel down. “France is the easiest – nothing suspicious about that, right? And once your money’s there – their regulations are softer, which means the world opens up a little.” Another bagel hits. “Personally, I like Latvia – nearby… slightly smarmy… the government hasn’t decided if it likes us yet. And for international investigations, they only help us about half the time, which means it’s a perfect place to waste an investigator’s day.” Rapid-fire, two more bagels hit. “From there you slam the Marshall Islands, and from there, you bounce it close to home in Antigua. By the time it gets there, what started out as dirty cash is now so untraceable, it’s clean.”

“And that’s it?” Charlie asks, looking from Shep to me.

“Do you even realize how long it takes to investigate in a foreign territory?” Shep points to the first bagel, then the second, then the third. “Bing, bing, bing, bing, bing. That’s why they call it the Rule of Five. Five well-chosen countries and you’re gone. In the Service, it’d take us six months to a year to investigate with no guarantees.”

“Ohhh, baby, pass me the cream cheese,” Charlie sings.

Even I grin. I try to bury it down, but Charlie spots it in my eyes. That alone makes him happy.

Leaning on the desk, I skim through the Red Sheet and pick out a bank for each territory. Five banks in an hour. It’s going to be close.

“Listen, I should go check in with Lapidus,” Shep says, pulling his coat from the chair. “How ’bout we meet back in my office at eleven-thirty?”

I nod, Charlie says thanks , and Shep hightails it out of the office.

The moment the door shuts, I once again dive for the speakerphone, rehump the table, and punch in the phone number for the Antigua bank.

“I have a calling card in case it doesn’t go through,” Charlie offers.

I shake my head. There’s a reason I picked the law firm. “Hi, I’d like to speak to Rupa Missakian,” I read from the sheet.

Within five minutes, I’ve relayed the tax ID number and all the other vital stats for Sunshine Distributors’s first bank account. To really sell it, I throw in Duckworth’s birthday and a personally selected password. They never once give us a hard time. Thank you, Red Sheet.

As I shut off the speakerphone, Charlie points to his Wonder Woman watch with the magic lasso second-hand. Twenty minutes, start to finish. Forty minutes left and four more accounts to open. Not good enough.

“C’mon, coach, I got my skates on,” Charlie says. “Get me in the game.”

Without a word, I rip two pages from the Red Sheet and slide them across the table. One says France , the other Marshall Islands . Charlie darts to the phone on his far right; I race to the one on mine. Opposite corners. Our fingers flick across the keypads.

“Do you speak English?” I ask a stranger from Latvia. “Yes… I’m looking for Feodor Svantanich or whoever’s handling his accounts.”

“Hi, I’m trying to reach Lucinda Llanos,” Charlie says. “Or whoever has her accounts.”

There’s a short pause.

“Hi,” we both say simultaneously. “I’d like to open a corporate account.”

“Okay, and can you read me the number one more time?” Charlie asks a French man who he keeps calling Inspector Clouseau. He scribbles down the number and calls it out to me. “Tell your English bloke it’s HB7272250.”

“Here we go – HB7272250,” I say to the rep from London. “Once it comes in, we want it transferred there as soon as possible.”

“Thanks again for the help, Clouseau,” Charlie adds. “I’m gonna tell all my rich friends about you.”

“Wonderful,” I say. “I’ll look for it tomorrow – and then hopefully we can start talking about some of our other overseas business.”

Translation: Do me this solid and I’ll throw you so much business, it’ll make this three million look like gum money. It’s the third time we’ve played this game – relaying the account number of one bank to the bank that precedes it.

“Yeah… yeah… that’d be great,” Charlie says, switching to his I-really-gotta-run voice. “Have a croissant on me.”

Charlie hops out of his seat as I lower the receiver. “Aaaaaaannnnnnnd… we’re done,” he says as soon as the phone hits the cradle.

My eyes go straight to the clock. Eleven thirty-five. “Damn,” I whisper under my breath. In a blur, I rake the loose pages of the Red Sheet back into one pile and stuff them in my briefcase. “C’mon, let’s go,” Charlie demands, flying toward the door. As I run, I shove the chairs back under the table. Charlie sweeps the bagels back on their tray. Neat and perfect. Just like we found it.

“I got the coats,” I say, grabbing them from the chair.

He doesn’t care. He just keeps running. And before the receptionist notices the blur in front of her desk, we’re gone.

“Where the hell were you guys – braiding each other’s hair?” Shep asks as we plow into his office. Ten minutes and counting. I throw the coats on the leather sofa; Shep leaps out of his seat and jams a sheet of paper in front of my face.