The Banker’s Wife

by Cristina Alger

  “I think we’re in over our heads,” Marina said, and sat back down in her chair.

  “Sweetheart, you were in over your head the day you accepted that USB.”

  “But if I just don’t do anything with it.”

  “Whoever killed Duncan will find you. If they were willing to kill him in order to ensure this information didn’t get out, you better believe they’ll kill you, too.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “You find them first.”

  “And then what?” Marina snapped, exasperated. “Give them the USB and tell them I’m sorry and that I just want to go be a stay-at-home mom now, so no worries? I don’t think that’s going to assuage their concerns.”

  “You want to be a stay-at-home mom now? Seriously? Oh, fuck. Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

  “Jesus, Owen. Focus. I’m freaking out here.”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I joke when I get nervous.”

  “Well, stop. I think I should go to the police.”

  “I think we find Duncan’s source and get as much information as we can. Then we put it all out there on the Deliverable website, as fast as possible. They can’t hurt you once this all goes public.”

  Marina narrowed her eyes. “You just think this is the story of the year.”

  “Well, yes. I can’t deny that. But I also think this is bigger than the police. The police can’t protect you from the world’s largest bank. The police can’t protect you from all the heads of state who bank there, and the cartel leaders, and the terrorists, and the dictators. All these people have a vested interest in making sure there are no information leaks. So as long as you have the USB and the information isn’t in the public domain, I think your life is in danger. And I think you know I’m right.”

  Marina bit her lip. She was the keeper of highly valuable, dangerous information. Information that had gotten Duncan killed. As long as she had it, it was very likely that it would get her killed, too. Maybe she could just go home and pretend to be Mrs. Grant Ellis for the rest of her life. Quit her job, join the Christmas Committee at the Colony Club, dedicate herself to throwing charity lunches for the Red Cross and redecorating their house in Southampton. She could destroy the USB and its contents and pretend that Paris had been nothing more than a lovely vacation, cut short by the death of an old friend and colleague.

  But could it ever be that simple? Marina doubted it. Someone would always be looking for her, hot on the trail of the information that went missing somewhere between Paris and New York. Even if they weren’t, she’d wonder if they were. She’d always be looking over her shoulder, taking note of dark cars that idled too long in front of her apartment building, or strangers who came just a little too close on the street.

  “If we do this,” she said, “we have to act fast.”

  “Of course. Clock’s already running.”

  “And if something happens and I decide this is getting too dangerous, we go straight to the police.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And bylines. I get to decide the bylines,” Marina said, thinking about Duncan. She wanted him to get credit for finding Reiss, if, in fact, they ever did.

  “You’re the boss. It’s your story.”

  “Well, it’s Duncan’s story. I’m just making sure it goes to print.” It would be their last story together, she thought. She would make sure it was their best.

  “So you’re in?”

  “In,” she said, and turned back to the keyboard.

  Annabel

  Annabel was sleeping when her phone rang. It jolted her upright, and for a moment, she sat very still, wondering if she was dreaming. She ran her hand over Matthew’s side of the bed. It was cold and empty. She picked up the phone just before it went to voicemail.

  “I’m sorry for calling so late,” the voice on the other end said. “I wanted to catch you when you were alone.”

  “Who is this?” Annabel stifled a yawn. The clock on her bedside table blinked the time: 11:45 p.m.

  “Sorry, it’s Zoe. Can I come up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m outside your building. I wanted to make sure you were by yourself before ringing the bell.”

  “I’m alone. I’ll buzz you in.”

  Annabel was fully awake when she opened the front door. She wore Matthew’s bathrobe over her nightgown, and in a moment of last-minute vanity, she’d run a brush through her hair. Even in the middle of the night, Zoe looked fresh-faced and chic in black jeans, high-top sneakers, and a fur vest. Her skin glowed in the dark hallway, the moonlight glinting off her high cheekbones. Annabel wished she hadn’t answered the phone.

  At Zoe’s feet was a brown cardboard box, which she picked up. She followed Annabel into the living room and handed it to her.

  “What is this?” Annabel asked.

  “It’s Matthew’s laptop. From work. They’ve already taken his desktop. They will come looking for this. It has everything on it. All his clients. All their financial data. Everything.”

  Annabel stared. “Why do you have it?”

  “He gave it to me. Before the plane crash. He told me to hide it. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I have it.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The bank. The security people questioned me about it yesterday. I was hiding it in my apartment, but I can’t do it anymore. I need to leave, Annabel. Things are not safe for me.”

  “Who at the bank? Why can’t they have Matthew’s files?”

  “Because he was leaking them. And they know there’s a leak. They just don’t know who it is. Or was. If they find this—”

  “Wait.” Annabel put her hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “What are you saying?”

  Zoe sighed. “He really didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

  “Matthew was my husband,” she said, her voice curt. “He told me everything.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant he didn’t tell you anything about his work. That’s good. He was protecting you. The less you know, the safer you are.”

  “The less I know about what?”

  Zoe sighed. “It’s safer for you if you just turn over this laptop when they come looking for it. Just put it in his home office. Tell them you don’t know the password. Then leave. Go back to New York. Get away from here.”

  “I don’t know the password.”

  “Great, so then they’ll believe you.” Zoe couldn’t hide her exasperation. “If you don’t know anything, they won’t hurt you.”

  “But you think they hurt Matthew?”

  “I think someone did, yes. That plane crash was no accident.”

  Annabel frowned. Zoe seemed so certain. The uncomfortable feeling that Matthew and Zoe had been closer than he had let on descended on her. It wasn’t the first time. “What do you know, Zoe?” Annabel said. “If you know what happened to my husband, you need to tell me. Now.”

  Zoe got up, walked over to the window, scanned the street. She pulled the curtains closed and turned around.

  “You’re sure you want to hear this?”

  “Why don’t you sit,” Annabel said. She put the box down on the coffee table. “Would you like some coffee or tea? Or something to eat?”

  “Perhaps some water. I can get it.”

  Annabel waved her off. “Please. Sit. I’ll be right back. Then we’ll talk.”

  In the kitchen, Annabel set the teakettle on the stove. A wave of light-headedness overtook her. She steadied herself on the counter, her hands gripping the cool marble. She shut her eyes and willed herself to breathe. For a moment, she considered her options. If Zoe was right—Matthew was involved in some dangerous or illegal bank dealings—did she really want to know? Would it put her at risk to know? Perhaps she ought to turn over his laptop to Swiss United and take the next plane back
to New York. She could put this whole nightmare behind her.

  But would she ever be able to start over? Or would she always wonder what really happened to Matthew? Would it haunt her, never knowing what he’d been willing to risk his life to reveal to the world? Would she revisit the facts as she knew them again and again, looking for signs and clues that she might have previously missed?

  Zoe had information. At the very least, she ought to hear it. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t.

  The teakettle began to whistle. Annabel lifted her head. She took a final, resolute breath before pouring the steaming water into two cups. She placed the cups on a tray, beside tea bags and a box of cookies sent the previous day by some vice president at Swiss United she had never met.

  Zoe smiled gratefully when she saw the tray. She reached for the cookies the moment Annabel placed them on the coffee table.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I haven’t been eating, really. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

  Annabel nodded. “Me, either,” she admitted, and though she hadn’t planned to, she took a cookie for herself, too. “Help yourself.”

  After Zoe had finished the cookie, she took another. Then she wiped her mouth and began to speak. “Matthew and I started at Swiss United the same month,” she said. “I liked him right away. He was kind to everyone, even the assistants. And he loved you so much. He talked about you all the time. He was one of the few men who had a picture of his wife on his desk, where everyone could see it. Not like some of the others, who stared at anything in a skirt that passed them.

  “I knew he was being groomed by Jonas for a senior position at the bank. Everyone said so. Matthew was smart and hardworking. And Jonas trusted him. It takes Jonas a long time to trust anyone, but Matthew was different, I guess, because Jonas had such a close relationship with Matthew’s father.

  “I was happy to be assigned to Matthew. I knew that he’d treat me well and that, if I was good enough, my star would rise along with his. Jonas’s assistant, Therese, has been with him for seventeen years. She makes more money than some of the senior bankers. I thought maybe I could be like that, if I worked hard enough for Matthew. I made sure I was always available to him and went out of my way to do everything he asked.

  “Right away, Swiss United seemed like a dream to me. I was making so much more money than any of my friends from university. And the perks were good. When we traveled, we always stayed in the best hotels and ate in the nicest restaurants. I grew up in a small town in the South of France. No one ever goes anywhere. Most of my friends are still there. So for me, flying to Monaco and New York and Paris was exciting. That probably sounds silly to you, I know.”

  “Not at all. I grew up in a small town, too. And part of the reason I agreed to come to Geneva with Matthew was the travel. It’s a romantic life. At least, it sounded romantic.”

  Zoe nodded. She seemed relieved that Annabel wasn’t judging her. “The hours were terrible, of course. I worked all the time. You know. Matthew did, too. And no one in my position ever takes a vacation. We’re supposed to be on call whenever the bankers need us. Nights, weekends, anything. But I didn’t mind. I knew that’s why we got paid so much.

  “A few months ago, I walked into Matthew’s office and Jonas was in there. And they were angry with each other. They stopped talking when I walked in, so I ran out as quickly as I could. But afterward, Matthew was upset. So I took him out for a drink after work. He got a little drunk, which wasn’t usual for him. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

  Annabel shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She didn’t like the idea of Matthew confiding in Zoe over drinks. But she nodded and said nothing.

  “He told me he was worried about some of Jonas’s clients. Look, a lot of our clients aren’t exactly—how do you say this in English? I’m sorry, my English fails me when I’m tired. On the up-and-up? I mean, they come to us to hide their money. From the government, from spouses, whatever. That’s what we do. We hide money in numbered accounts so no one knows who it belongs to. You understand?”

  “I think I do,” Annabel said slowly. “Do you mean to say that what you do is illegal?”

  Zoe shrugged. “We’re not breaking Swiss law. If a US client comes to us, for example, and puts ten million into one of our numbered accounts and doesn’t pay taxes on that money, he’s the criminal, not us.”

  “Okay. So you may be helping someone violate tax rules elsewhere, but here in Geneva, what you do is legal?”

  “Technically, yes. But there are exceptions. And that’s where Matthew started disagreeing with Jonas.”

  “What are the exceptions?”

  “There are people that the bank isn’t supposed to do business with at all. People on sanctions lists. Terrorists. Arms dealers. Dictators. Swiss United can’t do business with these people. No bank can. There’s a whole Compliance wing of the firm that is supposed to make sure of it.”

  “But Jonas would ignore those rules?”

  “Yes. If it was lucrative enough to do so. Bashar al-Assad, for example.”

  “The Syrian dictator?”

  “Yes. Assad, everyone in his family, all his ministers and officials, they’re all on sanctions lists. Sanctions lists are one way the UN, the EU, the US crack down on people like this. They’re telling you: if you do business with anyone on this list, that will mean trouble for you.”

  “And so if Swiss United does bank with them, they’re violating international law.”

  “Yes. But Swiss United does it anyway. Not officially. Unofficially, Jonas is the Assad family’s personal banker.”

  Annabel shuddered. The videos and photographs coming out of Syria were horrifying. Chemical attacks. Cities reduced to rubble. Heaps of bodies, starved and burned and hanged, piled up in prisons. How could anyone do business with a man like Assad? How could Jonas sleep at night?

  “Did Matthew . . . ,” she started, but her voice faltered. “Was Matthew . . .”

  Zoe shook her head. “No. They don’t give clients like that to junior bankers. But Jonas was grooming him. He was drawing him in. He wanted Matthew to take on Fatima Amir, a cousin of the Assads, first. She isn’t on the sanctions lists. She runs a legitimate business. But once Matthew knew who she was, he got uncomfortable. And he didn’t like the way Jonas was dealing with Compliance. It made Matthew nervous that Jonas was flouting the sanctions. It’s illegal and Jonas knows it.”

  “So then why did Matthew agree to take Fatima on as a client?”

  Zoe gave a tight smile. “If Jonas tells you to do something, you do it.”

  “He could have quit.”

  “Maybe. But it’s not that simple. Jonas has ways. He could make sure that Matthew never worked in the US again.”

  “You can’t be serious. Jonas treated Matthew like a son.”

  Zoe frowned. “Do you know how Matthew’s father died?”

  “He had a heart attack,” Annabel said stiffly.

  “He killed himself.”

  “How do you know that?” Annabel snapped. Matthew had rarely spoken about his father. Until this moment, Annabel thought she was the only living person who knew that Tom Werner had committed suicide. To the outside world, Tom had been a highly successful, well-liked, philanthropic man. He had homes in Manhattan, Southampton, and Palm Beach. He sat on the boards of several corporations and had been, at one time, the president of the Knickerbocker Club in New York City. Only Matthew knew that his father had, in the end, run into financial troubles. The idea of dying penniless had, apparently, been too much for him to bear. And so he had hanged himself in his Fifth Avenue apartment. It was Matthew who found the body. He told Annabel what had happened, but to everyone else, Matthew claimed his father had died of a heart attack. It was a story that had been repeated so often that Annabel occasionally forgot it was a lie.

  “Jonas told me.”


  “Jonas?” Annabel said, stunned. “How does Jonas know?”

  “Tom Werner was one of Jonas’s clients. He stole millions of dollars skimming off the top of his mutual fund. Then he gave it to Jonas to hide at Swiss United. He killed himself after the IRS investigated him for tax fraud.”

  “Oh my God,” Annabel whispered. “I knew he had financial troubles, but nothing like that.”

  “No one in the US ever found out. Everyone thought he died of a heart attack. Jonas made sure of that. Otherwise, Swiss United would have come under investigation. And Matthew’s family would have been horribly embarrassed. So Matthew was indebted to Jonas.”

  “I just knew that Tom and Jonas were friends. That’s all.”

  “When Matthew and Jonas argued about the Assad family, Jonas became enraged. I could hear them yelling at each other, even from the hall. Jonas said he could destroy Matthew and ruin his father’s legacy. He threatened to go public with details about Matthew’s father’s suicide.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Yes. But that’s the way Jonas works. He has a team of private detectives who dig up dirt on all the bankers who work for him. The detectives follow them everywhere at the beginning. Nothing they do is private. Jonas learns their secrets. He uses them as leverage. That way they stay loyal to him. And if there are no secrets . . .”

  “If there are no secrets?”

  “He sets his people up. He finds weaknesses and exploits them.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Zoe closed her eyes and winced. “He tempts them. He’s like the devil, Annabel. Truly.”

  “You know this for sure?”

  “I’ve helped him do it.”

  “How?”

  Zoe squirmed uncomfortably. Her eyes shifted to the floor. “I’m not proud of this. But when I started at the firm, Jonas brought some of us to Monte Carlo for a retreat. We all drank too much. Some of the bankers were doing coke, too. Jonas knew it. He provided it, I think. I was new and I didn’t want to seem like I wasn’t having fun. The next thing I knew, I couldn’t see straight. I could barely stand. They drugged me. And Jonas insisted that one of the bankers help me upstairs. I remember only a little, but we ended up in bed together. He didn’t want to be there. He was married. But he was as out of it as I was. They drugged him, too, I think. I don’t really remember what happened. But someone was taking pictures—”