Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1)

by Anthony DiVerniero

  “Wow, liquidating. Should I do the same?”

  “No, you’re okay, hold on to the gold.”

  “Do your employees know?”

  “Just Rebecca. I’ll tell them in two months at the Christmas party. I have to make sure they’ll be compensated properly. Believe me, they’ll be very happy.”

  “I’m sure they will. But why? And what do you have to do for the prime minister of Italy?”

  “Boy, you’re full of questions. It’s time, Bill. I’m tired of the business, I don’t need the money. Maybe I can use the gift for something good. And to answer your second question, Sergio asked me to track down a money launderer. I leave for Paris next week.”

  “Paris?”

  “That’s where the trail is leading.”

  “Oh, does Sergio know about your gift?”

  “Hell no. I’ll use the company resources and Mike Quinn.”

  “So, in other words, you’re going to use the gift.”

  Paolo said nothing.

  “Are you still writing down your visions?’

  “Yep.”

  “Do you think they’ll come true?”

  “Yep.”

  “In our lifetimes?”

  “Maybe one or two.”

  “Shit, man, you scare me.”

  “You should be in my shoes.”

  The two talked for a while, discussing their children and Paolo’s divorce. They met Steve and Tony at Sally’s Apizza on Wooster Street and enjoyed a pizza.

  That evening Paolo researched BOET. Just as Bill had said, the team operated on its own accord under the direction of the president. The only requirement was that the commander-in-chief was to be briefed daily. Members of the elite squad were fire-tested in a furnace, subjected to scrutiny in every aspect of their lives. A team of dedicated men and woman who understood the core values of the American people handpicked the members. The group came into existence in 1975, its funding part of the Secret Service budget.

  The commander was General Tawten Ramirez. His friends called him Rami. Tawten, the president, and Paolo graduated from Yale together. The president and Paolo were acquaintances more than friends. Rami lived with Paolo for a year prior to his induction in the Army. The two roommates kept in touch with one another for the first several years out of Yale. The burdens of their careers and life’s circumstances eventually eroded their communication to a Christmas card and an occasional phone call. Paolo had a desire to help the world before its inhabitants destroyed themselves. The more he wrote in his journal, the more he knew that helping Bill and Rami was the right thing to do.

  Paolo arrived at his office late Monday morning. He looked out his window, pondering what he was about to do. My gift is not just for me, some good must come from it. Please, God, don’t let me do wrong. He reached for his phone and called Colin Payne.

  “Dr. Payne’s office. How may I help you?”

  “I would like to speak with the doctor, please.”

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  “An old patient. Paolo DeLaurentis.”

  Two minutes passed. “Paolo, It’s been a long time.”

  “Hello, Colin. Yes, it has.”

  “You’ve done well for yourself, young man. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve done okay. No sense in beating around the bush, are you interested in sitting down and discussing what I can do for our country? I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about.” There was an unusually long pause. “Colin, are you there?”

  “Yes, I am. To be honest with you, you caught me off guard.”

  “Well, let’s just say the years have changed me.”

  “Yes. I would like to sit down and talk. When can you come to Washington?”

  “I’m in the process of closing part of my business. How about the first week in January?”

  “That sounds fine; I’ll be out of the country in December, so that will work out. Give me a call on January 2 and we’ll set up a time. Let me give you my direct number.”

  Payne gave Paolo his private telephone number and after some idle chat, the phone call ended.

  CHAPTER 26

  “HELLO, QUINN HERE.”

  “Good morning, Mike, sorry to wake you.”

  “No problem, Paolo. Where are you?”

  “The City of Lights, my friend.”

  “Paris? Nice. What time is it there?”

  “Ten in the morning.”

  “Four o’clock here in the States.”

  “Quick question, Mike, then you can go back to bed.”

  “I’m getting up anyway. What do you need?”

  “Do you know an Arnaud Chambery?”

  “Yes, I do…wealthy guy, was into heavy arms trading about five years back…made a fortune.”

  “Is he still in the business?”

  “I don’t think so, why?”

  Paolo ignored the question. “Could you arrange a meeting?”

  “Probably, I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks, Mike.”

  Two days later, Paolo met with the Frenchman at the Grand Couvert, one of two outdoor cafes in the Tuileries Garden. The November morning was unexpectedly warm. Arnaud was a handsome man with a round face and a bushy mustache that masked his rather large nose. A black beret covered his almost-bald head. He walked with a pearl-handled cane, although he had no noticeable injury. Paolo immediately recognized him from a photo he had. Paolo drank his coffee and tried to read a French newspaper, while Jim, his pilot-bodyguard, sat at a nearby table. The Frenchman walked up to Paolo. “Monsieur DeLaurentis?”

  Paolo looked up, “Mr. Chambery, please sit down.” Paolo offered him the seat.

  “What brings you to the City of Lights?”

  “I’m here because of you, Arnaud.” Paolo gazed into the Parisian’s eyes.

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes.”

  While investigating the corrupt Italian politician, Paolo was able to trace numerous hidden bank accounts to arms dealers in the Middle East. The Italian politician was a broker who laundered money for a small percentage; he used his influence as a member of the finance committee to facilitate his illegal activities. With the help of Rami, Paolo obtained a picture of the Middle Eastern men. The night before his conversation with Mike Quinn, Paolo remote-viewed the arms dealers. Present at the meeting, Arnaud Chambery.

  Paolo looked at his surroundings; his mind took snapshots. He was in a large hotel suite. Three men were present—two Middle Eastern men and a third who had a white pearl-handled cane.

  The man called Duman said, “Mr. Chambery, we understand that you are able to acquire weapons for a reasonable fee.”

  “Yes, I can—or I used to. I am out of the business.”

  Paolo looked about the room. He noticed the bedroom door was closed. He could see shadows under the door moving back and forth. He felt queasy.

  “Abir, tell Mr. Arnaud Chambery what we wish to purchase, maybe we can change his mind.”

  “I am really not interested.”

  “Listen to my friend Abir. Believe me when I tell you.” A noise emitted from the bedroom as if someone fell out of bed.

  “What was that?” Arnaud asked. He stood and took his cane.

  “Please, Arnaud, it is nothing but my stupid bodyguards. Please sit down.” Arnaud sat as he held his cane between his legs.

  “Abir, please.” Duman pointed at Abir.

  “We are in the need of a nuclear weapon? Two, to be exact.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “We know you can. We will pay you very handsomely. Say, five million euros over the price of the product,” Abir said.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” Arnaud stood, his cane in his right hand.

  “Sit down, Mr. Chambery,” Duman said.

  “Up your ass. Good luck on your quest.”

  Abir jumped up and raised his hand in an attempt to strike Arnaud. The Frenchman blocked the punch with his cane and struck Abir in th
e head. Abir fell to the ground. The double doors of the bedroom swung open. Two bodyguards walked out with guns drawn on Arnaud.

  Duman held up his hand and the bodyguards stopped. “Please, Arnaud, this violence is unnecessary. If you wish to leave, go right ahead. No hard feelings.” Abir groggily stood and sat on the couch. He massaged the bump on the side of his head. Arnaud began to walk toward the exit. Duman signaled one of the guards.

  “Arnaud, before you leave…”

  Arnaud turned. There stood Arnaud’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Emily. The beautiful blonde-haired girl’s mouth was duct-taped and her hands were tied behind her. Her frightened eyes stared at her father, tears ran down her face. A stunned Arnaud stood motionless.

  “You are here because of me?” Arnaud repeated.

  Paolo positioned himself and leaned forward. He pointed to the cane. “You’re very handy with that cane. You did a great job in dealing with Abir two nights ago.” Arnaud’s face turned white. Paolo put out his hand and touched his arm. Police sirens echoed through the Rue de Rivoli. Jim stood and walked away from the table. “Do not worry, my friend.” Paolo’s eyes softened.

  “How do you know about Abir?”

  “I know about your daughter as well.”

  Paolo noticed Arnaud as he clutched the cane. “You won’t need that.” Paolo pointed to the walking stick. He held Arnaud’s gaze. “I’m a friend; the men you met with have been arrested and if you turn around, Emily is running toward you.”

  Arnaud stood and ran to his daughter, leaving the cane behind. Jim walked with two gendarmes behind Emily. Paolo stood and watched the reunification,

  “Sometimes I love this gift, what a great Thanksgiving. Thank you,” he said to no one.

  CHAPTER 27

  PAOLO USED HIS ANNUAL Christmas Eve luncheon to thank everyone on his staff for their hard work and commitment to Ottati Consulting. This year the party was hosted at the Amalfi Grill, an Italian restaurant in New Haven, and a favorite of his.

  After an hour of mingling, the staff moved to a private room. Paolo stood and addressed his twenty-one employees.

  “Merry Christmas! And for our Jewish friends, Happy Hanukah! What a great year we’ve had. You have all performed above and beyond your job description. Thank you.” Paolo clapped his hands in appreciation. “Thank you again. If it weren’t for you and your efforts, Ottati Consulting would not be here today.” Paolo paused. “For me, personally, this has been a difficult year, and I’ve made some tough decisions, decisions that will affect all of you.” Paolo sensed uneasiness among the group. “I’ve decided to retire from the business world and devote my time to the needs of society. I’ve discovered over these last several years that we as a people have put too much emphasis on personal wants and greed. We’ve left the poor and the destitute to die in the streets of the world. As most of you are aware, I like to work behind the scenes, or as Rebecca says, I like to stay under the radar. Well, that’s going to change to a certain extent. I realized our problems in society are not being addressed in our colleges and universities. I believe we have entered an era of change and disillusionment.

  “As you know, I often lecture at Yale University’s School of Business and other area colleges. I’ve chosen to use that venue and enter the lecture circuit with the hope of sending a new message to our upcoming graduates.

  “Over the years, our company has made numerous contacts in various world governments as well as many corporate connections. By utilizing these, I believe we can make small changes that will help the world. As of January 1, Ottati Consulting’s mission statement will change. Instead of helping the wealthy, we will help the needy of the world.”

  The employees sat there with shock and disbelief on their faces.

  “I can tell by the looks on your faces you are concerned. I’m sure you are asking yourselves, what does this mean? Under your placemats are envelopes.” With his hands, he gestured to the astonished employees. “Please, open your envelopes.”

  “Holy shit,” “Oh my God,” his employees responded. Some stood, not believing what they held in their hands. Others had tears in their eyes. Mouths were open, speechless in disbelief. In each envelope was a tax-free check for five million dollars.

  Paolo quieted the room of new millionaires. “I hope this Christmas present will help you. As to your employment, you are all invited to stay on and help or you can retire, the choice is yours. A word of advice and caution—spend and invest this money wisely. In addition, your vested retirement accounts will remain yours. I have placed financial safeguards on all of your accounts. You are protected against any economic disaster that will occur. I can assure you there will be an economic collapse within the next ten years.” Paolo said this with absolute resolve, and nobody doubted his words. What they didn’t know was that their retirement funds were backed with gold.

  In early 1971, the United States deregulated gold. At the time, gold sold for thirty-eight dollars per troy ounce. Paolo knew that once gold was deregulated, the value could only increase. It was a no-brainer. Investing in gold was better than the stock market. In the years from 1972 to 1985, Paolo amassed over 150,000 troy ounces of gold. In 1980, gold hit a record price of eight hundred dollars per ounce. Without hesitation, he converted his investment into cash. Paolo’s thirteen-million-dollar investment was worth one hundred and twenty million dollars. By 2000, Paolo’s liquidity had grown to over a billion dollars in cash. He had another half billion tied up in real estate and gold. The employees’ gold value exceeded two hundred and fifty million dollars. Paolo knew the value of gold would surpass the record price established in 1980. His employees’ financial security was no longer a concern for the ex-billionaire.

  After the Christmas party, Paolo went to his cousin’s house for the traditional Christmas Eve dinner. For the first time since he was a teenager, he was at peace. He carried with him thirty-five envelopes. Each contained a five-million-dollar tax-free check. His gift to his family and employees totaled two hundred and eighty million dollars.

  Paolo liquidated the majority of his assets into cash, financially securing his children and grandchildren. By year-end, Paolo’s portfolio dwindled down from almost two billion dollars to one hundred million. His donations to churches and charities exceeded one billion dollars.

  Paolo took his expertise, knowledge, and intuitive sense to another level. Besides the lecture circuit and his new role working with BOET, he donated his time to countries affected by natural disasters. His proficiency to chop through governmental bureaucracies allowed him to conquer those who hampered relief efforts.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE FIRST WEEK OF January 2001 brought the New Year in with a cold blast. Temperatures hovered around zero with the wind chill factor registering minus ten. Paolo was scheduled to meet Colin Payne in the suburbs of Washington, DC, at a nondescript office building.

  Paolo drove to Oxford airport where he would fly to Washington on his Gulfstream Five, the last flight on his own aircraft. He had sold the airplane to Tony at a price well below wholesale. As part of the deal, Tony had to keep Paolo’s flight crew, and he would have access to the plane if need be.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Sydney. Happy birthday.”

  “Paolo, thank you so much. You amaze me. You never forget my birthday.”

  “How is your day today?”

  “Not too bad, I’m enjoying the day as a free woman.”

  “Good for you. You deserve it. You have plans tonight with the kids?”

  “Yes, we’re going out to celebrate my birthday. If you’d like, you can join us.”

  Paolo’s heart skipped a beat, “Damn, I wish I could, but I’m having dinner with Rio tonight.”

  “Oh well, maybe next time. What are you up to today?”

  “Business trip to Washington, DC.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, a real thrill. Well, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “Well, thank you
very much.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “Okay. Have a safe flight.”

  “Thanks. Have a great day, Sydney.”

  “You, too. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Paolo’s heart sank. Another missed opportunity to see Sydney. He focused his mind on his meeting with Dr. Colin Payne.

  Paolo exited the private aviation terminal. A black Lincoln sedan was parked by the curb. The driver held the back door open.

  “Mr. DeLaurentis?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will take you to see Dr. Payne.”

  Paolo entered the back of the car. “Thank you. How long of a drive?”

  “About twenty-five minutes, Mr. DeLaurentis.”

  “Please call me Paolo. And your name is?”

  “Mark.”

  “Very well, Mark.”

  The car approached the five-story red brick building. A sign bordered the driveway: Center of Behavioral Studies. “Interesting.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

  Paolo was escorted through three security doors to the reception area of Dr. Payne’s office, where he was greeted by a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore a gray suit with a ruffled shirt and low black heels. She reminded Paolo of the classic old librarian spinster.

  “Please, Mr. DeLaurentis, come with me. Dr. Payne is expecting you.”

  Paolo walked behind the woman into Payne’s office. The white walls were interspersed with red brick. Plenty of photographs of Payne and the president hung on the walls—playing golf together, having dinner in the private residence of the White House, shaking hands. When you entered Payne’s office, there was no doubt about the power he believed he wielded. He had the president’s ear, and through his pictures, he made sure everyone knew it. There was a black couch against one wall and a large-screen television against the other. In front of the windows was his desk, piled with papers and folders, some marked Top Secret. Paolo knew that this was all for him; Payne was saying, without words, I’m the boss. The doctor had changed since the last time Paolo had seen him, twenty years ago. His nose appeared bigger, no longer did he sport a full head of hair, and it looked as if he’d gained a good forty pounds around his stomach. He looked up from his desk over half-rimmed glasses.