We looked at each other in the shining surface of the mirror, and I nodded. “I won’t talk about it with anyone.” Not even Mrs. Taki, who would have dearly wanted to know the details about the woman in the picture.
“Now, getting back to what we were talking about: Ravi Shah.” Michael’s voice was brisk.
“Yes,” I said, collecting myself. “Obviously, he’s got a lot he can tell us.”
“Instead of recruiting him, I’d say, wear a wire and record him, but I don’t see room for electronic equipment inside that dress.”
“So you are interested in what’s going on at Winston Brothers,” I said.
“Yes, I admit I’d like to know more—although I doubt it has any bearing on the situation at Mitsutan. You may continue your contact with Ravi. You did say he was born in India, right?”
“It’s what he told me. What’s the significance?”
“If he’s still an Indian citizen, that gives you a legal basis to collect information without revealing yourself. Try to find that out, will you? And by the way, did you get his cell number yet?”
“Yes, but—”
“If you give me the exchange, I’m pretty sure we can tie his calls into the listening station.”
I hesitated, then said, “I don’t want to do anything to hurt him. It’s not like he’s one of the bad guys.”
“Or so it appears. Be careful tonight.”
“And in this case, careful means?” I was tired of finding out too late that I’d screwed up on OCI procedure.
“Don’t ask any questions of the big two, Kravitz and DeLone. Try to maintain your cover. And above all, don’t bring anyone home. If you have a problem, I won’t be lurking around the dishwasher to save you.”
The party was at the American Club, the longest-running, highest-class gaijin hangout in Tokyo. I’d been here years ago, wearing the same dress. I remembered how excited I’d been, that young girl in borrowed clothes on the arm of a much older man—someone who eventually became a good friend. Tonight, I was again with a platonic male acquaintance, someone who’d brought me, I understood, only because Archie was bringing Miyo. Ravi knew that I was older and American and full of lies; I imagined he’d tell Archie sooner or later when they were having their guy talk. At the moment, Archie was treating me normally, greeting me with a bear hug at the entrance.
Things looked very good between Miyo and Archie—I was quite pleased with the success of my matchmaking. Archie was straight-shooting and happy-go-lucky, the opposite of Ravi. Miyo, absolutely stunning in a Behnaz Serafpour floor-length turquoise silk crepe gown, was starting to gain confidence with her English; she even made a little joke to Archie about his appearance in the tuxedo, something about blond penguins. Miyo’s grammar was almost perfect, I realized; all she needed was a bit of vocabulary expansion and some coaching on pronunciation.
While Ravi and Archie and Miyo stood in a long line at the bar that was serving mojitos, I sipped a glass of club soda and walked around the fourth-floor ballroom, which was decorated in an all-white theme. The crowd was made up almost entirely of American expats, with a swirl of wealthy Japanese thrown in; fortunately, I’d never run with this crowd, so I doubted that I’d be recognized.
One of the people who might recognize me—Melanie Kravitz—didn’t seem to be around, though I expected her to appear soon, since she was chairwoman. The format was standard: cocktails, a seated dinner, and then the dancing. I couldn’t imagine how it would go, because there was actually a shortage of women. The crowd was almost all middle-aged couples, about half of them white-white, the others white-Japanese. These Japanese wives and I exchanged nods, and I could imagine the calculations going on: Japanese girl, nobody’s wife, who is she with?
I realized that I was attracting more notice because I was alone, so I returned to my small posse, who had merged with more men. Miyo was nodding to everyone, beaming with her joy at being there, surrounded by so many objects of her desire.
“Don’t you want a cocktail, glass of wine, something?” Archie asked me. He was looking almost worried, as if his beautiful butterfly might flit off.
“Oh, I’m still reeling from last night.” The fact was that starting a long night of supposed fun with a date who was glowering at me made my comfort level pretty low. I never drank anywhere that I didn’t feel safe.
“Let me introduce you around, Rei,” Ravi said. “Meet Bill and Andy and Carter and Nick. And their dates are—where?”
“Only about half of us could get dates,” the one called Bill said. “The girls who are here are in the ladies’ room planning their escape.”
Miyo looked alarmed, and I had to quickly explain to her in Japanese that this was a joke. She laughed, and Archie beamed, putting his arm around her slim shoulders.
“I just love this girl. Just met her last night, but can you believe, she’s a snowboarder? We’re trying to get a plan together for Hokkaido. Are you in, Rei?”
“Impossible. We can never both get the weekend off. In fact, Miyo-chan, I’ll work an extra Saturday so you can have the whole of next weekend off.”
“But don’t you want to go sometime, Rei?” Andy asked.
“I doubt she does,” Ravi said curtly. “Rei is about as poor at sports as I am.”
“Really? But you look like you work out.” Andy was appraising my arms, which I’d pumped up with a few sets of push-ups before getting dressed. I always did, if I was going sleeveless.
“My muscles come from carrying lots of clothes,” I said.
“Come on, Rei, I want to get another drink.” Ravi practically yanked me out of the circle of beaming young men.
“I didn’t say a word, so why are you so upset?” I said under my breath as we went out toward the hallway.
“Archie’s all right, but most of those bastards are—are totally amoral,” Ravi said.
“You picked a fine field to work in if you have so many problems with morals. Why didn’t you go into something nice and neutral like medicine?” I asked. “You could have joined the public health service and gone to Appalachia.”
“Not allowed,” Ravi said tightly. “My father’s an ear-nose-throat doctor, and he says there isn’t enough money in any subspecialty to make medicine worthwhile anymore.”
“You do sound like you need a drink.” I swiped one off a tray being walked around by a waitress, all the while thinking that although I’d done all right fixing up Miyo, I’d done miserably for myself.
“I don’t know where we can go to talk without being overwhelmed by buffoons,” Ravi said, practically inhaling the glass of white wine.
“How about the hallway? There’s some bench seating there. Let’s just take a little while to talk while we’re waiting for dinner to be served.”
As we were seating ourselves, a group swept into the hallway. A portly Caucasian man in his fifties with a hawkish profile, wearing a perfectly tailored black business suit, was walking with another gaijin, a tall man who was actually wearing a cowboy hat with his suit, an off-the-rack polyester blend. A tiny woman in a familiar red gown trailed them, talking at the top of her lungs on a cell phone. It was Melanie Kravitz, at last; and I deduced that the men with her were the ones Michael had called the big two: her husband, Warren; and Jimmy DeLone.
Melanie was practically spitting into the phone. “We’re here, and I’ve already heard about the problems people are having getting a drink. You need to get more waiters on the floor immediately—yes, I know about the total we ordered, but I happen to see dozens of employees standing around this club, doing nothing—”
I was trying to make myself small behind Ravi, but that was a challenge, because he was small himself. In any case, Melanie caught sight of me. She didn’t stop talking on the phone, but she beamed and fluttered her free hand hello.
I fluttered my hand back weakly. Warren didn’t seem to notice me at all. He was holding Jimmy DeLone by the elbow and speaking to him in a low voice.
As they passed by, Ravi jumpe
d to his feet. “Hello, sir, I’m Ravi Shah from fixed income. I left a few messages in your voice mail last week.”
I cringed, first because it was bad form to talk business at a party, and second, because I remembered Michael’s warning to stay away from Kravitz and DeLone.
“Shah. Well, are you having a good time?” Warren Kravitz’s cold gaze slid over me, and I shivered. How could Michael have thought this man gave a good up-front interview?
“Yes, but—”
“If I don’t get inside there, my wife’ll kill me. We can catch up on business in the office.”
The group blazed along into the ballroom, and I turned to Ravi. “They seem to be in a bit of a rush.”
“It’s always that way,” Ravi said. “If that fool in the cowboy hat is joining our company, I’m ready to jump out a window.”
“He’s probably a client, someone to whom Mr. Kravitz needs to give his utmost attention.” I paused. “What did you want to tell him that was so pressing you would bring it up at a social gathering?”
“I didn’t mean to say anything in front of the client,” Ravi said tightly. “I was hoping to introduce myself, just so he knew who I was. I’d sent him e-mail which he hasn’t responded to, and I thought it might be because he didn’t know who I was.”
“What kind of e-mail?” I asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because—“ I hesitated, then remembered how much Ravi had on me. The only way I could gain his trust was through honesty. “Because, from what I know about that guy, he seems a bit—tough.”
Ravi looked at me for a long moment, then finally spoke. “It’s about these bonds we’re selling to people over here who want to make investments in the American market. Do you know much about bonds?”
“What I understand is that the Japanese have always bought many American treasury bonds. Japan has been financing our deficit for years.”
“Yeah, but I’m talking about different kinds of bonds, ones that are pure profit for us.”
I’d been thinking on too large a scale, and not about the immediate business at hand. I tried again. “I didn’t know you had the responsibility to sell directly to Japanese clients—do you speak to them in Japanese?”
“No, we have Japanese employees who do that—some of them are inside that room. They handle the Japanese clients, and also other Asians—guys from Korea, China, and even India. A lot of them buy using cash.” Ravi looked disapproving.
“Well, isn’t that normal, to some extent? Doesn’t financing a bond purchase require a credit line? And it’s really hard for people to get credit in Japan, especially foreigners.”
“Yes, but to buy things like bonds, it’s supposed to be done with a bank transfer from a normal, recognized financial institution. Or, if it’s not a wire transfer, there should be a personal check drawing from the account of a known bank. But I see messengers coming in with these big envelopes full of old bills. And they don’t even bother to wait for a receipt from anyone, just drop it off.”
I nodded, remembering the envelope I’d seen in Melanie Kravitz’s bag. “What do they look like—the envelopes?”
“They’re big, I don’t know, the standard kind of envelopes used for business. And they’re always sealed with wax. No name on the envelope, just that wax seal.”
“I don’t suppose it looks like this?” From an old beaded Judith Lieber evening purse that once belonged to my mother, I withdrew the two halves of the red seal that had been on the envelope Melanie had broken. I’d transferred the seal from my Mitsutan uniform pocket to the makeup case inside my Coach backpack earlier in the day for safekeeping, and the makeup case had naturally been packed in my evening bag for quick touch-ups.
Ravi looked at me suspiciously and said, “Yes, this might be the same. How did you get it?”
“Melanie dropped it when she was opening an envelope in the store.” I paused, letting the significance sink in. “Now, the question I have is what the emblem on the wax means.”
“I don’t know,” Ravi said, his forehead furrowed in concentration. We examined the seal together; it looked like a tree, with some strong lines emanating from it. Suddenly I remembered all the yakuza reference books in my apartment; one of them had a section on gang symbols. I would look at it later on.
“I know that to accept an envelope like this, without any kind of deposit slip, let alone identification, is wrong. I’ve reminded the Japanese guys I work with of our policy, and they just keep smiling and saying yes, yes, yes! The deliveries, I think, are now coming whenever I take my lunch; I’m not supposed to know it’s still going on.”
“So you want to talk to Warren Kravitz about this?”
“Yes! As I told you, I sent him an e-mail to which he never responded, though I know he at least opened the message. We have a way of checking that—”
“I see. Did you try again?”
He shrugged. “I called him on the phone. My computer crashed last week, and the idiots from the tech department are taking their time fixing it. I’m pretty powerless without that computer. That’s part of the reason I was out with Archie last night; I had nothing to do.”
I studied Ravi for a minute and asked, “Does your bank have anything to do with Mitsutan?”
“You mean, are they our client? No. They have their own bank and credit division, I understand.”
“So there’s no relationship whatsoever?” I paused. “I heard that a guy who was modeling at Mitsutan wanted a job with your bank.”
“You knew Tyler Farraday?” Ravi’s voice was low and urgent.
“No, I just heard some scuttlebutt. What happened at the bank?”
“Well, from what I heard, he used to take some of the bankers’ wives around—which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, given the age gap.”
I smiled, thinking how very traditional Ravi was when it came to certain things.
“Some of the guys were, like, trying to impress him, so they shot some salary talk around. I gather after that he showed up at personnel with a résumé, but it never went anywhere, and then, a few weeks later, he died. I feel pretty bad about it,” Ravi said.
“It wasn’t your fault. Sounded like he had a lot of drugs in his system, and he drowned.”
“I could have stepped in, not let the others make him so crazy with jealousy over money. Maybe he had a sense of failure, and that’s why he died.”
“Maybe,” I said, wishing I could reassure Ravi, but that would be saying too much. “Getting back to your own work problem, I wonder if perhaps you should stop trying to talk to Warren Kravitz. What you know could be a matter for that new Japanese government agency that is trying to wipe out money laundering.”
“So you think it sounds like money laundering, too.” Ravi’s voice had sunk to a whisper. “Surely the proper thing is to tell my boss first. Don’t you think?”
The sealed dirty-money envelope had Warren’s name on it. I shook my head vehemently at Ravi. I said, “No! You should be careful. Why do you suppose your computer’s still out of order?”
“I have no idea, because the guys from tech support don’t speak much English at all.”
“Maybe someone wanted to make all the evidence of your outgoing e-mail disappear. And there could be an interest in other messages you’ve sent and received, too.”
Ravi blinked. “You mean—someone’s spying on me?”
“I don’t know.” I paused. “Did you keep a printout of that e-mail?”
Ravi shook his head. “Too much clutter. And I knew it was on the computer, so I could always pull it up again.”
“Ravi, after your computer’s working again, don’t send any important messages to anybody.”
“Archie said the same thing. He recommends that I should just lie low and let the company business go on as usual.”
“If you want to tell someone, like I said, there’s a Japanese agency that handles these matters. You can find them on the Internet, and the website’s in English as
well as Japanese.” I thought some more. “Since it’s an American bank, and you’re a little—unfamiliar—with Japanese ways, you could, as an alternative, contact someone in the American government. What would you think of that?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Ravi said.
“Well, there’s a specific group called Fincen that investigates banks that break laws,” I said. “You can even find them on the web.”
“Really.” Ravi looked at me speculatively. “Who are you really, Rei Shimura, that you know these people?”
“Think of me like the big sister you never had.” I patted his shoulder. “Let’s go back to the others, and don’t worry anymore.”
36
The party broke up around one—early by my usual standards, but late for me tonight. I said good-bye to Miyo, who was riding in a taxi with the guys over to Roppongi Hills, where, presumably, she’d continue her evening with Archie. I warned her not to do anything too fast; coming from me, this advice was actually quite ironic.
In the taxi, I watched the meter tick upward, feeling relieved that I had the money to pay for it. Earlier that day, I’d gone to my bank’s ATM and discovered I had funds galore—not just the expense account advance, but my latest biweekly pay check from the Department of Defense.
The whole mishap with the credit card, I’d figured out, was the result of a fourteen-hour time difference between Langley and Tokyo. My paycheck was deposited in the Citibank account every other Friday morning. During the time that Mitsutan’s credit card company had attempted to withdraw money, it was actually still Thursday in the United States, so my paycheck hadn’t been deposited.
I was glad the funds were there, because I could quickly pay back the credit division in cash on Monday, and—I hoped—avert any further negative attention. Bad credit was the kind of complication that could lead to an investigation of who I really was—surely not a banker’s daughter, after all.
My taxi had stopped outside the apartment building in Hiroo. I asked for a receipt and reached into my bag for money to pay the driver. I glanced through the window at the building, where all the lights were out, save the one in the vestibule. Then I hesitated.
Girl in a Box Page 28