“I think it’s great you were able to develop even that much information,” said Sean. “Locating those accounts in Caracas will be helpful to our investigation.”
“Very nice work,” added Laura.
“Thanks, but Pam really got me started on the right track. Now I need you guys to help me find out if the seventy million includes the thirty-five million he stole from my clients, and where Gartenberg and the money are now.”
“I’ll see what we can do about getting a warrant under the money-laundering statutes,” Laura said. “We need to know where the entire seventy million came from.”
“Well, if you deduct the thirty-five million he stole from the Pendayans,” Sean added, “you’ll probably find the rest came from assets he sold off before he absconded, like his house, and money he stole from other deals.”
“Which will be assets the FBI will be able to attach because they’re the fruits of Gartenberg’s illegal activities,” Laura said.
“So we can really work together on this. Can you also let me know if you receive any no-fly reports about Gartenberg? I need to know if he tries to fly anywhere on a commercial airline.”
“That’s no problem.”
“I want to clean up this mess for my clients and even help the Smythe estate if I can. Chord Masters made it possible for all of them to get screwed this way, and I feel like I owe it to his uncle to make it better.”
“How come?” asked Sean.
“Judge Masters is one of my father’s oldest and closest friends. He introduced him to Clifford Giles, the attorney who cofounded our firm.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“So I have a personal interest in getting the money back and nailing Gartenberg.”
“How’s Chord doing?” Sean asked.
“Last I heard, he was transferred to New York–Presbyterian Hospital in the city. They’re trying to save his leg.”
“So he may not even know about the mess he’s in.”
“Just as well for him,” Beth replied. “He’s got big jail time waiting for agreeing to take that bribe from Gartenberg.”
“Even though Gartenberg never paid him a dime of it.”
“Gartenberg’s big on making promises and even bigger on not keeping them.”
“Okay, are we all good?” asked Sean. “I have another meeting in a few minutes.”
“So do I,” said Laura.
“We’re good. What time’s your plane to D.C.?” Beth asked Sean.
“Six-fifteen. Then I have that dinner conference with the deputy director at eight-thirty.”
“Have fun,” replied Beth, closing up her laptop. “Just keep me in the Gartenberg loop.”
Chapter 49
“So I’ve got bad news and I’ve got worse news,” said Laura.
“It’s always good to hear from my friends in the FBI before nine A.M.,” Beth replied, followed by “Give me the bad news first.”
“Seems that the airports down in the Caribbean aren’t so diligent about enforcing no-fly lists.”
“You mean Gartenberg’s gone?”
“Not exactly, but over the last ten days, commercial airlines have allowed him to fly every morning from Antigua to other Caribbean islands, and then to fly back to Antigua every afternoon.”
“So at least he’s still on Antigua. Probably living on his sailboat.”
“I have nothing to report on that.”
“I know it was moored down in English Harbour two weeks ago. Hang on a sec while I check to see if it’s still there.”
Beth put Laura on hold while she loaded the Caribbean marina locator app on her computer, logged in with her password, and filled in the blanks. The screen went blank and then reappeared with confirmation of the current location for Tanks Banks in English Harbour at slip 16 on pier H.
“Laura? Still there?”
“Get a hit?”
“Yes, he’s still there, or at least his sailboat is, so it sounds like no harm no foul.”
“Not exactly,” Laura said.
“I love that expression. What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”
“It means he’s been island hopping to hide the money trail for the seventy million. He’s been transferring it around from bank to bank down there, each account always in the name of a different offshore company. We have copies of their charter documents.”
“Does that mean you know where the money is now?”
“That’s the worse part of the news. We lost the money trail yesterday.”
“So it’s all probably buried now in the names of those offshore companies he set up.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Some of the banks in the Caribbean don’t like to cooperate with the FBI.”
“Maybe he converted the whole thing into double eagles. Hold on—let me see something.” Beth googled “gold coins” on her computer. “At today’s prices, seventy million in one-ounce gold coins would weigh about thirty-five hundred pounds, and that would fit easily into the storage lockers of a cruising sailboat the size of Gartenberg’s.”
“Really? Somehow I doubt he would do that, but it’s good to know.”
“I would imagine that offshore companies are the camouflage of choice for today’s embezzlers.”
“Statistically, you’re right,” replied Laura.
“Were you able to figure out if the seventy million includes my client’s money?”
“We were, and yes it does. Just before the BMI closing, the Pendayans wired thirty-five million dollars into the escrow account of Gartenberg’s attorney.”
“You mean Zeke Shadenheim?”
“That’s the guy. Gartenberg was able to steal it from that account and wire it down to those Caracas banks you learned about from Pam Gartenberg.”
“Was Shadenheim in on it?”
“We don’t think so, but the bar association made him turn in his license to practice law anyhow. They have zero tolerance when it comes to abuse of escrow accounts.”
“What about the other thirty-five million?”
“You were right. It came from the sale of his house and other assets, plus deposits he stole from offshore investors on other deals he syndicated.”
“Laura, I need you to do something else.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you get our damn State Department to remind Caribbean airports that Gartenberg is on a no-fly list?”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll send Interpol an alert about him as soon as I hang up with you.”
“That would be great. Appreciate your help.”
“The FBI aims to please.”
Chapter 50
Beth processed what she had learned from her conversation with Laura. Gartenberg’s connection with Antigua was a constant piece of the puzzle, and it gave her an idea she wanted to follow up on. She refueled with a fresh cup of coffee and dialed Max on the office intercom.
“Max, can you give me Tad MacMillan’s phone number down at the Antigua West Bank?”
“Why do you want him?”
“I could use his help.”
“Let me guess. Does it have anything to do with Gartenberg?”
“You’re a genius.”
“Hold on while I look it up.”
* * *
—
“Hi, Tad. It’s Beth Swahn.”
“Beth, it’s good to hear from you. How are Max and Andi?”
“Anxious to get back down to Red Sky. As a matter of fact, they plan to retire again next month.”
“Excellent. We’ve missed them. Give them my best.”
“I will.”
“How can I help you, Beth?”
“Tad, do you know the harbormaster over at English Harbour?”
“Sure. Mac McEwen and I are both third-generatio
n Antiguans. We’ve known each other for years.”
“I’m doing some due diligence on a party up here who lists a yacht down in English Harbour as an asset. I want to see if I can get a copy of the docs he used to get through your customs and immigration, maybe U.S. vessel registration, banking information, references, anything like that.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Mac’s a stickler on getting documentation from foreign-flag vessels moored in the Harbour. What’s the name of the yacht?”
“Tanks Banks. It’s a fifty-two-foot sloop parked in slip sixteen on pier H.”
“Can you tell me the name of the owner?”
“I can’t. That’s what I’m trying to verify. Anyhow, there’s all kinds of confidentiality issues.”
“Understood. I’ll ask Mac to send you everything he has. Send me your contact info.”
“It’s on its way even as we speak. Thanks, Tad.”
Chapter 51
It was still dark when Beth arrived at the office the following morning. She turned on her computer terminal and unlocked the office server, made herself a cup of coffee, and changed her shoes. Then she put on her managing partner’s hat, reviewed the office calendar for the day, and texted several of the firm’s attorneys for billing clarification about appointments they had scheduled.
Only then did she open her email account and see that several pieces of mail had arrived from Mac McEwen, the harbormaster at English Harbour. Each one had files attached, so she was optimistic that they contained some good stuff about Gartenberg and maybe some information to help her locate the stolen funds.
The first attachment she downloaded looked like a PDF of the U.S. Coast Guard’s Certificate of Documentation for Tanks Banks. This was the basic document that Gartenberg had submitted to Antiguan customs and immigration. The next attachment included the Antigua and Barbuda cruising permit issued for Tanks Banks, Gartenberg’s U.S. passport, Lance Sturrman’s Brazilian passport, and a Venezuelan passport for Richto Verdes, their hired captain.
She opened another attachment that contained a copy of Verdes’s captain’s license, all passengers’ international vaccination certificates, and for identification overkill, even their drivers’ licenses. Finally, there was a copy of the monthly mooring permit for their boat slip at English Harbour, and several recent credit card receipts indicating how Gartenberg was paying for it all.
The attachments proved to be a source of much important information, but for Beth it felt like the mother lode when she compared the information on the COD that Gartenberg had filed on Antigua with the earlier PDF copy she had downloaded directly from the Coast Guard’s website.
The COD that Gartenberg gave to the Antiguan authorities should have been an exact copy of the document that Beth had obtained from the Coast Guard, but for some reason, Gartenberg had made changes. In one alteration, he had changed the documented owner of Tanks Banks from himself to his ex-wife. Beth doubted that Pam was even aware of this change but made a mental note to ask her.
Gartenberg had also added the names of two banks as holders of first and second mortgages on the vessel. The idea of Gartenberg stealing $70 million and then mortgaging his yacht twice seemed a little strange to her.
Beth hoped that the bank information might help her map out a path to the money Gartenberg had stolen from the Pendayans. She didn’t have a handle on it yet, but it was within her grasp. It was only a matter of time and effort. “Right?” she asked herself.
“Laissez les bon temps rouler!” she replied.
Chapter 52
“Elias? It’s Elisabeth Swahn,” Beth said, mustering up cool formality for her ex-partner.
“What’s up, Beth?” the ex-partner replied coldly.
“We need to speak. Can you make it in here this afternoon?”
“I’m kind of busy.”
“It’s important.”
“I can probably get in there around three. What’s it about?”
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. See you at three.”
* * *
—
“Max, I have Elias Strauss coming in this afternoon at three. Can you make it?”
“What’s it about?”
“I found out he formed all the offshore companies that Gartenberg’s been using to stash the Pendayans’ money.”
“Just tell me he didn’t do it in the name of our law firm.”
“No, he only used his own name.”
“Be grateful for small favors. See you at three.”
* * *
—
It was adversarial, somber in tone. Max, the founding partner, and Beth, the managing partner, sat on one side of the long conference room table with a manila folder and an open laptop in front of them. Their former partner, Elias, disliked and isolated, sat by himself on the other side of the table, coat still on and only a cellphone to mark his presence.
“To make a long story short, Elias,” Beth began, “when Herb Gartenberg stole thirty-five million from the Pendayan family, you assisted him by forming the offshore companies to hide the money.”
“That’s ridiculous, Beth,” Elias Strauss replied with as much feigned assurance as he could muster. “I’ve never done any work for Gartenberg.”
“I’m sure you’re busy, Elias,” Max interjected, as he passed a folded document across the table to him, “and we don’t want to waste your valuable time. Why don’t you just take a look at this charter for a company known as Tanks Barbuda Investments, LLC. I believe that’s your name listed as the attorney of record.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Elias gasped.
“Jesus has nothing to do with it,” Beth replied.
“Herb promised me my work would have nothing to do with any case we had in the office.”
“You’re not that naïve,” Beth continued.
“And he threatened to out me.”
“Out you? Come on, Elias. It’s fashionable to be gay today.”
“I’m talking about the adult film business.”
“You mean your kiddie porn website?”
“Herb’s been my partner in that since our days at BMI.”
“Look, it’s up to the Feds whether you get prosecuted for that or not. Personally, I hope you get life without parole, but right now, I just want to recover the money that Gartenberg stole from the Pendayans.”
“What do you want me to do?” offered Elias, about as ashen faced as anyone could be.
“I want a copy of every file for every offshore company you created for Gartenberg, and I want the name and address of every bank that he used them for.”
“Gartenberg will kill me.”
“That’s not my concern, but I doubt it because he’s on the run himself.”
“He’ll find me.”
“If you want, I can turn this all over to the FBI, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to offer you some sort of witness protection in exchange for your cooperation.”
“And then what do I do about Nikko Benetez?”
“What about him?”
“Gartenberg stole from him also. If Nikko finds out I helped Gartenberg, he’s going to dissect me and then plant me in the BMI tunnels along with his other victims.”
“Well, maybe witness protection isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe they’ll also grant you immunity on the kiddie porn if you agree to counseling.”
“It’s never helped me before.”
“Look, Elias,” Beth interrupted, “I want all those documents from you before we go any farther.”
“I have them here with me.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a thumb drive.
“You carry them around with you?”
“I managed to get the files off my office computer the day Max tossed me out of the office. It’s my insurance policy.”
“Did you make a c
opy?”
“It’s in a bank vault.”
“Do you know where Gartenberg intends to permanently hide the stolen money?”
“No idea. He had me organizing companies all around the Caribbean for several years, but he never told me what he intended to use them for.”
“And I don’t suppose you ever considered your responsibility to this law firm and to your partners?” Beth asked.
“Responsibility for what? Clifford used me as the firm’s doormat to handle every losing case since the day I got here. He got what he deserved.”
Hearing that, Max lost it, going only a little short of totally insane. He jumped up out of his chair and started to climb across the table to get at a very startled Elias Strauss. Beth grabbed his arm and told him it wasn’t worth it. She held him until he regained control of himself and walked out of the room, leaving her to finish up with Elias.
Chapter 53
After Beth made sure that Elias was on the elevator and gone from their floor, she checked in on Max and found him still seething.
“I taught him sailing when he was a cadet at BMI. His law school references were excellent.”
“What happened is not your fault, Max.”
“I took stupid pills the day I hired him.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.”
“Clifford knew there was something wrong with Elias. He asked me to fire him a few years ago when he messed something up, but I decided to give him another chance.”
“I guess Clifford saw something that you didn’t.”
“Well, we’re all paying for it now.”
They sat and talked until Max finished his mea culpa, and then Beth went back to her office, all the more intent on implementing her plan to recover the funds that Gartenberg had stolen from the Pendayans.
Her first step was to duplicate the information on the thumb drive she had gotten from Elias, so she got a clean flash drive from her desk and made a copy of his files. After she locked his thumb drive into her private office safe, she plugged her flash drive into her computer and downloaded its contents.
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