Beneath The Surface

by Glenn, Roy

  “Which reminds me: I haven’t heard from Marcus in two days,” Carmen said. Until that moment, she really hadn’t given Marcus much thought. She was with the man she wanted to be with.

  “What’s up with that?” Black asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ve been playing phone tag and I missed calling him yesterday, and he didn’t call me.”

  “Maybe you should check on him.”

  “I will; but back to you, Mr. Black.”

  “I should go.”

  Carmen kissed him on the cheek. “Good night.”

  “I’ll call you,” Black said as he walked away.

  “If you don’t, I know where to find you,” Carmen said and went inside her building. Black got back in the cab and rode away, knowing what he was going to do next.

  Chapter Thirty

  Money laundering is the criminal practice of processing dirty money through a series of transactions. In this way, the funds are laundered so that they appear to be the proceeds of legal activities. Introducing dirty money into the financial system without attracting the attention of financial institutions or law enforcement includes structuring deposits to evade detection, and reporting and commingling deposits of legal and illegal businesses. And moving funds around the financial system, often in a complex series of transactions to confuse and complicate the paper trail, fully insulates the funds from its illegal sources, giving it the appearance of “clean” money.

  The Bank performs a risk assessment annually to assist in identifying the Bank’s risk profile. The risk assessment evaluates varying levels and types of risk. High-risk products and services include electronic banking, private banking, trade financing, and non-deposit account services. High-risk customers like foreign corporations, private banking clients, senior foreign political figures, and professional service providers like accountants, doctors, real estate brokers, and of course, attorneys.

  Meka Brazil sat at her desk making the type of calls that she hadn’t made in years. The way she operated involved a network of attorneys, in multiple locations. Each attorney setup some type of cash business, and then established a trust, based on these seemingly legitimate businesses. The selected attorneys would setup annuity contracts: Variable Universal Life or Whole Life insurance policies, or any policy or contract that builds cash value.

  “Over twelve months, you have these attorneys processing amounts under the transaction limit,” Meka instructed.

  “Ten thousand dollars,” Leon said.

  “If it were me, I’d keep it under five thousand, and I wouldn’t process transactions everyday. Two or three times a week, at most; and I’d have them vary the amounts.”

  “But all under five thousand dollars.”

  “That way, you avoid suspicion from the banks.”

  “And this money gets stockpiled into these annuity contracts over twelve months.”

  “Exactly. We’re doing this over a twelve-month period and involving ten attorneys nationwide. Now, say for example, each attorney sets up three trusts, and each processes transactions totaling ninety-five hundred per week, per trust, over the course of fifty weeks. That would be a total of $14,250,000 deposited in trusts. After surrender charges and penalties, that would be about ten million dollars that would be available for legitimate use.”

  Leon looked confused.

  “You bring me three hundred grand a week, and at the end of the year, you’ll have ten mill in clean paper.”

  “Got you,” Leon said. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. I don’t see you; you don’t come to this office; we don’t meet for lunch; and you definitely don’t hand me large sums of money.”

  “How do you get the money?”

  “Another attorney, one that is not involved in the cash transactions, will set you up a series of front companies. Five—to be exact; in this case. You hire ten different bonded carrier services, and each day, Monday through Friday, two carriers will come to your front companies and pick up thirty thousand dollars in cash. Each of those carriers will bring the money to me.”

  “And you set all this up in two days?” Leon said, definitely impressed with Meka.

  “All except for one final piece; and I’ll take care of that today,” Meka promised.

  Leon stood up and extended his hand. “It’s gonna be a pleasure doing business with you, Meka Brazil.”

  “Likewise, Leon Copeland,” Meka said, and Leon left her office.

  Meka picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Thompson, Foster and Elliot. How may I direct your call?”

  “Bob Packard, Please.”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Meka Brazil.”

  “Hold please.”

  The receptionist placed Meka on hold, and shortly thereafter, Bob Packard, attorney at law, came on the line. “Meka?”

  “Yes, Bob. It’s really me,” Meka said.

  “You know when Gladys said that Meka Brazil was hold for me; I thought it was somebody from the old days playing a joke. How have you been, Meka?”

  “I’m good, Bob. What about you?”

  “A little heavier and I’ve lost some hair, but I’m doing good.”

  “What about Stacey and the kids?”

  “They eat too much.”

  “Bob, I need some work done.”

  “I didn’t think you called to catch up on old times, Meka.” Bob got a pen. “Give me the particulars.” Meka told Bob that she wanted to setup five front companies. “Give me a few days and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Sounds good, Bob; but I’ll get back to you in a few days,” Meka said and ended the call.

  Bob hung up the phone and flipped through his rolodex, and then dialed a number. “Who is this?”

  “Bob Packard. Is that you, Cerrone?”

  “Yeah, what you want, Bob?” Cerrone Merkerson said.

  “Guess who just called me.”

  “I don’t have time for your bullshit games, Bob.”

  “Meka Brazil.”

  “Where is she?” He’d been waiting for this call for years.

  “I don’t know. She called from a blocked number and wouldn’t leave one.”

  “She doesn’t trust you, Bob. What did she want?” Cerrone asked and laughed.

  “She wants me to setup some companies in New York. She’ll call me back in a couple of days.”

  “Do what she wants and call me when she calls you.”

  “No problem,” Bob said. “Is that bounty on her still good?”

  “You’ll get your money when you tell me where I can kill her.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  After another night of intensely physical lovemaking, Wanda woke up late, or at least late for her. For years she had prided herself on being in the office at nine am, sharp. Wanda thought it was important to set a positive example for her staff. Even if that meant that she would have to be there on little or no sleep, which was the case on many nights when Nick used to run Impressions.

  It was almost 10 o’clock; so Wanda reached over and picked up the phone, and called her assistant to say that she had a meeting and would be in that afternoon. When she hung up, her cell phone rang. She started not to answer until she saw that it was Victor’s cell phone. “Hello,” she answered.

  “Good morning, Wanda,” Black said. “I tried you at the office, but your assistant said you hadn’t gotten there yet.”

  Wanda hesitated and glanced over at Marcus, who had begun to move around under the covers. “I have a meeting this morning.”

  “Anything I need to know about?”

  “Nothing major. I’ll tell you about it when I see you,” Wanda lied and she hated it. She had never lied to Black before.

  “I’m on my way to the airport, so you might as well tell me now.”

  “Where are you going?” Wanda asked to avoid having to come up with another lie.

  “Goin’ to Nassau.”

  �
��When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. A week—maybe two.”

  “Anything you need me to do while you’re gone?”

  “Check with Meka and see if she’s made any progress on what we talked about.”

  “I’ll get a progress report and let you know what she said when you call me. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. Oh yeah, if Bobby calls, let him know where I am.”

  “I haven’t talked to Bobby since he left for South Carolina, but if he calls I’ll tell him.” Marcus began running his hand up and down her thigh. “Well have a safe trip,” Wanda said quickly. “Call me when you get there, and we’ll talk then.”

  “All right,” Black said and ended the call.

  Wanda put down her cell. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Marcus said before he pulled the covers over his head. He continued running his hand along Wanda’s thigh, and then gently spread her legs.

  Wanda giggled. “What are you doing under there?”

  “I have a meeting,” he replied and crawled between her thighs. Soon his lips and tongue where engaged with her lips and clit; slowly tonguing her lips and sucking lightly on her clit. Wanda spread her legs a little wider and held his head in place.

  Marcus slid his hand along her thigh and gently pushed his finger inside her. He could feel her clit getting harder as he ran the tip of his tongue across it. Her head drifted back and she moaned her approval. Marcus heard her moans and felt her body begin to quiver. “Oh, yes! Oh my God—yes!” she screamed and quickly pulled Marcus on top of her.

  “I wanna feel you inside me. I know you love this wet pussy.”

  Without a word, Marcus entered her and started to move in and out of her, slowly. And before too long, Wanda wrapped her legs around his waist and began grinding her hips into him. Wanda rocked her hips furiously until they both reached a climax.

  Wanda got up and quickly made her way into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and hoped Marcus wouldn’t follow her in for another round. He was fuckin’ the shit out of her. And although she loved every minute of it, she knew that if she let him, he would fuck her all day. “And what would be the harm in that,” she said and stepped in the shower. One thing she was sure of: she had definitely traded up.

  When she was done with the shower, she returned to the bedroom to get dressed, and found that Marcus had gone back to sleep. Once she was dressed, she woke him up.

  “Go on and get up. I’m hungry; so when you’re ready, I’ll take you to lunch,” Wanda said, and Marcus got out of bed.

  “What are you hungry for, Wanda?” Marcus asked on his way to the shower.

  “I have a taste for grilled North Atlantic salmon, with a sun dried tomato relish, roasted peppers, and black olive salad.”

  “I take it you’ve got someplace in mind?”

  “Cuisine.”

  “I thought they weren’t open for lunch.”

  “Chef is there by now and he’ll cook for me. I have connections, you know,” Wanda mused. “Now hurry up.”

  As expected, chef was more than happy to make Wanda whatever she wanted. He made grilled Black Angus sirloin steak, with a baked potato and roasted peppers, marinated in basil, garlic and olive oil for Marcus. Shareholder litigation on managerial misconduct within corporations was the topic of their lunch discussion.

  “Derivative lawsuits and federal securities class actions are a way to control the managerial agency costs, created by the separation of ownership and control in the modern corporation.”

  “Yes,” Wanda said and sipped her martini, “but hopes that these suits would effectively monitor managerial misconduct have been replaced with concerns about the size of the litigation agency costs of such representative litigation.”

  “However, a new form of shareholder litigation has emerged that is distinct from derivative or securities fraud claims. Now class action lawsuits filed under state law, challenges director conduct in mergers and acquisitions. The empirical data shows that these acquisition-oriented suits are now the dominant form of corporate litigation, outnumbering derivative suits by a wide margin.”

  “One could argue that like with derivative suits and securities fraud class actions, good policy must balance the positive management agency cost, reducing effects of these acquisition-oriented shareholder suits against their litigation agency costs.”

  As they walked out of Cuisine, Marcus put his arm around Wanda and pulled her close to him. Without really stopping to think about what she was doing or where she was, Wanda threw her arms around Marcus’s neck and kissed him.

  “Hello Wanda.”

  Wanda let go of Marcus and was shocked to see Nick and Rain standing in the doorway.

  “Hello Nick,” Wanda said and looked over at Marcus. “Marcus Douglas, I’d like you to meet, Nick Simmons.”

  Being a gentleman and not having any idea about their prior relationship, Marcus stepped forward to shake Nick’s hand. “Good to meet you, Nick.”

  Nick shook his hand, but he never took his eyes off Wanda. “Can I speak with you for a minute, Wanda,” Nick said, and grabbed Wanda by the hand.

  Rain looked on and could barely hold back the laughter. Marcus looked at Rain and smiled. “Hi, I’m Marcus Douglas.”

  “Lorraine Robinson,” Rain said in her most ladylike manner.

  Nick and Wanda didn’t get far before . . . “What are you doing here?” Nick asked.

  “I’m having lunch,” Wanda replied with attitude. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for Black.”

  “I talked to Mike this morning. He should be in Nassau by now,” Wanda spit out and glared at Rain.

  Rain smiled and looked right back at her.

  “What’s really goin’ on, Wanda?” He started to say, You fuckin’ this nigga again, but thought better of it. He always thought that there was something more going on between them than just the law; funny how he just shows up right after we break up. “So you fuckin’ this nigga now?” Nick asked quietly. Now he wondered how long had it really been going on?

  “You still fuckin’ that low-life bitch?” Wanda said and pointed at Rain. Only she said it loud enough for Rain to hear.

  “Excuse me a minute, Marcus,” Rain said politely and stepped quickly to Wanda. “Who the fuck you callin’ a bitch,” Rain said and slapped the shit outta Wanda.

  Wanda grabbed her cheek and Marcus rushed to her side.

  Nick grabbed Rain.

  “You fuckin’ lucky my man is here, bitch, or I’d be kickin’ your bitch-ass right now,” Rain shouted as Nick carried her out of Cuisine.

  “You okay?” Marcus asked.

  “I’m fine, Marcus.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, Marcus, I’m fine.”

  “Good. Now you want to explain to me what just happened?”

  “Not really, Marcus. Not right now, anyway. Let’s just get out of here,” Wanda said and led Marcus out of the supper club.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  It was late in the day when Carmen got a call from Detective Mitchell. “Carmen, it’s Diane,” Mitchell said.

  “Hello Diane,” Carmen said, feeling sort of lackadaisical because Black hadn’t called her like he said he would.

  “You all right, honey?”

  “I’m fine,” Carmen said, even though she wasn’t. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted let you know that I have some information on the women you asked me about last night.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Why don’t you meet me at the station and I’ll tell you about it,” Mitchell said, and Carmen agreed.

  Carmen hung up the phone and got up off the couch. She made her way to the bathroom. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Carmen caught a cab to the precinct to meet the detective.

  “Thank you for coming, Carmen,” Mitchell began.

  “I should be thanking you. You’re the one doing me a favor by look
ing into this. And besides, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.”

  “Well, to start with, I found one of the women you asked me about.”

  “That was fast.”

  “I’m a cop, honey, I do this for livin’. Take a look at this picture.” Mitchell handed Carmen another picture. “That is Cecelia Cunningham. She had a record loitering with intent to commit prostitution and was positively identified from her fingerprints.”

  “Where was this body found?” Carmen asked.

  “The body was found in a dumpster in lower Manhattan, about two months ago.”

  “That would be about the time she stopped dancing at Lace.”

  “What’s interesting is that she was strangled.”

  Carmen looked at the detective. “Coincidence?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, Carmen. Then I came across this.” Mitchell picked up another picture. “I ran across her as a Jane Dow that matched Vallie’s description. She was involved in a hit and run. An eyewitness saw her get out of a cab and standing in the street looking kind of dazed, when she got hit by a car. What made her standout was when I read the coroner’s report. It said she had heroin in her system, which explains why she may have looked dazed. But what caught my attention was there were marks around her neck like she may have been strangled.”

  Carmen looked at the picture. “But I’ve never actually seen Vallie, so I couldn’t tell you if that’s her or not.”

  “It would be nice if we could get somebody to positively identify the body.”

  “I may know somebody,” Carmen said and took out her cell phone. She scrolled through her calls until she got to Margaret’s number. “Margaret; it’s Carmen Taylor.”

  “What you want?”

  Carmen picked up on her tone. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need your help. The police may have found Vallie, but I’ve never seen her, so I need you to come and identify the body.”

  “I’m sorry, Carmen; but I can’t help you. I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to you.”