Wine, Tarts & Sex

Thirty-five

While Janie’s party was enjoying a summer day at the lake, Liv was wine-tasting downtown, and Jake was busy with construction; Leo was strategizing with his personal accountant.

The custody papers were in the works. He’d given orders to his attorneys shortly after talking to Janie.

But Leo didn’t lose gracefully.

He planned on suing for custody just as soon as the flash drives were in his hands. If she said she’d give them all back, he was pretty sure she’d do it, because she wanted Matt and the money. Even if she held on to a copy for insurance, it wouldn’t matter, since she was going to be in jail so fast her head was gonna swim. This wire transfer deal Dan had figured out was his insurance against Janie. Stupid bitch. As if she thought she could put one over on him.

In fact, Leo and Dan were discussing the means by which to accomplish two objectives in regard to the money. First, Leo didn’t want Janie to actually get her hands on his fifty million. Second, she was going to be implicated in an illegal activity when the fifty million was wired to her account.

“Now, one of your black-box accounts will source the money,” the accountant explained once again. The discussion had been going over the same ground for some time, Leo’s manic state doing a number on his concentration. “The account is registered in the name of a Panamanian company. It’s perfectly clean.”

“You’re positive my name’s nowhere on this account?” Leo queried. Again.

“Each account is just designated by number, Leo,” Dan explained with the patience of a saint-or a man who would profit nicely from this deal. “The bank doesn’t divulge names. Not even to foreign governments who lean on them. We’re talking about offshore banking on some minuscule, unheard-of island in the Pacific. Offshore banking and anonymous corporations are all that sustain the economy on the island since bat guano ran out, if you can believe it. Look, if the Russian mafia likes it, it’s good enough for me.”

“So once more for the record. You’re telling me this scam is going to work, and not even a whiff of my name will be in the goddamn air-Pacific or otherwise.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for the past hour. Relax. This is a simple transaction.” And lucrative; Dan Wygren’s cut was a mil. “One more time, Leo. The money goes into Janie’s account in New York. As soon as it hits the account, we jerk out all but one mil-with Herbie Austen’s help.” Leo had an inside man at the bank. With all his offshore accounts requiring regular laundering, it was a necessity. “Then we call the feds. No names, a throwaway phone.” Dan shrugged. “They’re used to anonymous calls. The feds are told to look for some Colombian drug money sent via Moscow that’s been wired to Janie’s account. Then it’s up to her to deal with the blowback.”

Leo nodded. “Okay-okay. We’ll go with it. You’re good, Dan.”

“Thanks, Leo, but it’s all pretty routine. These wire transfers go on millions of times a day. The sheer number of transfers only adds to their anonymity.”

Leo leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and smiled for the first time that day. “It should work.”

“Guaranteed, Leo. With Herbie on the inside cleaning things up, it’s a sure thing.”

“The bitch actually thought I’d hand over fifty million to her,” Leo muttered. “Cold day in hell.”

“Two days from now, she’ll find out for herself.” Dan wasn’t a people person; he didn’t empathize. He lived with two cats on the Upper West Side. The cats didn’t care if he didn’t talk or feel what they were feeling and his neighbors in the co-op appreciated a quiet resident.

Leo lifted the lid on his humidor. “I like when things go smoothly like this,” Leo said, taking out a Cuban cigar.

“It’s the only way. When you’re dealing with money, you want everything to be a certainty.”

Leo smiled. “A certainty. Excellent.”