by Andrew Price
“How do we launder the money?”
Corbin stared blankly at Beckett. In all of his careful planning, Corbin never once stopped to consider what to do with the money after they stole it. He stalled for time. “Pardon?”
“How do we launder the money?” Beckett repeated. “I think we need to agree not to spend any of it for at least six months.”
“Six months,” Corbin repeated, letting Beckett lead the conversation.
“Yeah, at least. Were you thinking longer?”
“No, six months sounds about right. Don’t want to do it too soon, do we?”
“Exactly. When I was a public defender, I saw it over and over: the guys who got impatient got busted. Juries connect the dots really quickly.”
“That is what they’re asked to do. So tell me more. What else does your public defender experience tell you? What’s tipped the cops off and what hasn’t?”
Beckett folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “If the cops think there’s been a crime involving a lot of cash, they subpoena bank records and credit card records. In the bank records, they look for large deposits around the time of the crime or a series of smaller deposits adding up to something close to the amount of cash taken. In the credit card records, they look to see if the suspect changed their spending patterns by, say, suddenly charging only half of what they used to charge. Basically, they’re looking to see if the guy starts living off cash.”
“Can you get that evidence suppressed?”
“I don’t see how,” Beckett responded doubtfully.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off. You were talking about the investigation.”
“Right. The serious cops go further. They interview girlfriends, neighbors, and family members to see if you bought anything big with cash. Of course, car dealers, banks, and sellers of certain other high price items are required to report cash purchases. I’ve seen those reports show up in some cases, especially where a RICO is alleged.”
Corbin nodded.
Becket continued. “The real trick is getting the money into a bank so you can use it. I’ve seen guys claim drug money as gambling winnings. That worked for small amounts, but not enough for our purposes.”
Corbin chuckled. “You don’t know how right you are.”
“What?”
“We did some credit calculations based on our search of property records, and we’re coming in about five times the original estimate.” Corbin chose not to tell Beckett about the credit checks Alvarez ran.
“Are you serious?!”
“It’s a rough estimate, but it should be accurate. So think bigger! What have you seen on that scale that might help us?”
“The most common approach for laundering large amounts is to form a front company. You open some business that deals in cash and then fold the illegal money into the legal money. Cash businesses are hard to audit. That’s why the drug guys buy laundromats and pool halls. The only time they run into trouble is when they try to launder large sums at once, or if the Feds stake out the place and do a business volume audit. You know, lots of profit, but no customers.”
“A pool hall? I’m not thrilled with the idea of running a pool hall.”
“Wait a minute!” Beckett clapped his hands together. “A couple years back, our office represented this guy who managed to launder millions of dollars in a year. He did it by setting up an art gallery. Everyone in the office was talking about it. It was brilliant. . . allegedly that is.”
“Of course.” Both friends laughed.
“The reason his scheme worked so well is art has subjective value. How do you prove some piece of crud modern art isn’t worth five grand? He just mixed in his fakes with some real pieces and no one could say what he really sold and what he didn’t. The prosecutor couldn’t lay a finger on him.”
“Intriguing,” Corbin said.
“We had copies of everything he did, articles of incorporation, licenses, appraisal sheets, sales receipts, you name it. When I go back to my old office in June, I’ll dig up the file and get you a copy. We can set something like that up during the six months we wait before we touch the money.”
“All right, get me the file.”
“Say, what was your plan?” Beckett asked.
“It was more complex. I prefer this one.”
“What are you reading, Alex?” Theresa sat in her usual spot on Corbin’s desk. Today she wore glasses, not her usual contacts.
“It’s a book Molly gave me.”
“She can read? Will wonders never cease!”
Corbin ignored Theresa’s slur. “It’s called Wrongful Death. It’s about a medical malpractice case that goes wrong. It’s rumored to be a real story disguised as fiction, but I don’t know. It seems kind of far-fetched.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s ok,” Corbin set the book down. “What do you think about art?”
Theresa frowned. “I know what I like?”
“What about modern art?” Behind Theresa, Beckett almost fell out of his chair.
“I know it when I see it.”
Corbin smiled at the reference to a famous Supreme Court case defining pornography. “So does the Supreme Court.”
“I’m pretty sure they weren’t talking about modern art.”
“You might be right,” Corbin chuckled. “So you don’t know much about it then?” Corbin saw Beckett frantically signaling him to change topics.
Theresa shook her head. “No, why?”
“Just curious. I’ve seen some interesting stuff lately, and I wanted to learn more about it. I just thought you might know something.”
“That’s an interesting insight into the life of Alexander Corbin,” Theresa purred. “What else do you do when you’re not in the office?”
“I don’t know, a little of this, a little of that.” Corbin smiled slyly at Beckett before continuing. “I spent last night making a ton of fake documents.”
Beckett’s eyes shot open and his jaw dropped.
Theresa laughed. “Sure! What’s this bar I keep hearing about?”
“Ah, my fame precedes me. I play guitar at a local bar on Fridays. Sometimes I play during the week too.”
“You should have told me!” Theresa exclaimed.
Corbin smiled, but said nothing.
“Well?! Are you going to invite us to come hear you play?” Theresa’s head bobbed vigorously as she spoke. She routinely did this to suggest the appropriate response to her questions, and woe betide the conversationalist who ignored her suggestions. Corbin and Beckett often debated whether or not Theresa knew that she imparted these “gesticular admonitions,” but they didn’t want to risk asking.
“You’re welcome anytime, Theresa.”
Theresa considered Corbin’s invitation before responding in a suggestive tone. “You know, I just might take you up on that.” Her face instantly turned red, and she changed the topic. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Kak assigned me to write Wilson’s speech for the conference.” Contempt permeated her words.
“Can’t Wilson write his own speeches?” Beckett asked with equal contempt.
Theresa smirked at Beckett. “Are you kidding? He Peter-Principled out three jobs ago. I’d be amazed if he could even tell you his own job description.” Theresa turned back to Corbin. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised Kak didn’t ask you, Alex. Weren’t you a speechwriter for that guy, the Democrat from somewhere?”
“Only for a year, while I was in college.”
Beckett, who was not a Democrat, booed from across the room.
Theresa ignored him. “Kak should have you write the damn thing. I don’t want to do it, that’s for sure.”
“I’d be happy to help you with it.”
“That’s probably what Kak was trying to prevent,” Beckett chimed in.
“What do you mean?” Theresa asked.
“Kak’s afraid Corbin will make a fool of Wilson.”
“I’m hurt. Would I do something like that?” Corbin as
ked with mock innocence.
Theresa and Beckett looked at each, but left the question unanswered.
Theresa continued. “Well, you’re welcome to help out if you want, or write the whole thing if you want. I really don’t care, and Kak never told me not to talk to you about it. It’s his own fault if he doesn’t check it before he reads it.”
“Ok, show me what you’ve got.”
“I haven’t got anything, yet. Give me some tips and I’ll start something. You can take it from there. That way at least I can say I wrote the original draft.”
“Speech writing is an art,” Corbin reflected. “You need to craft each sentence carefully, word by word, to convey the meaning efficiently and beautifully. You need to create a tempo, build to crescendos. The listener should be held in suspense, waiting for the next word, but once the word arrives, the listener should feel as though that word was inevitable.”
“How about something more practical?” Theresa asked.
“First rule, keep it simple. Always avoid long, complex sentences. They’re difficult to read and more difficult to follow. Watch out for ambiguities. Many words, like ‘notwithstanding’ can have multiple meanings depending on how you use them.”
“I use notwithstanding all the time,” Beckett offered.
“Notwithstanding your use, it’s ambiguous. Case in point, did I just say that it’s ambiguous whether you use it or not, or did I say it’s ambiguous except when you use it? Different people will interpret it differently. The word ‘may’ can do the same thing, so use ‘can’ or ‘must’ instead. When you choose your words, make sure you put them in the right order. There’s a huge difference between ‘I badly need to write’ and ‘I need to write badly.’”
“What about substance?” Theresa asked.
“Wilson speaks in buzzwords to hide his ignorance. Use words like ‘the mission,’ ‘goal oriented,’ ‘forward looking,’ and ‘paradigm’ as substitutes for real analysis. Just don’t use too many at once. He’ll probably want to tell a couple of jokes, nothing too offensive, but make sure the punch line leads into the point he’s making. I’d throw in some statistics to give the whole thing an air of thoroughness.”
“I should just give this to you to write.”
“I could be talked into that.”
Theresa tensed up. Her romantic interest in Corbin sometimes resulted in her ascribing particular meanings to otherwise innocent words and phrases. It often took Corbin a few moments to realize they were no longer talking about the same thing.
“What have you got in mind?” she asked, folding her arms tightly. Her leg shook nervously.
“What have you got?” Corbin asked, still unaware of the change in Theresa’s attitude.
“How about a beer at that bar of yours?” she suggested.
Before Corbin could respond, Molly appeared at the office door. Although she could not have missed Theresa’s presence, Molly initially acted as if she didn’t see Theresa. “Hey Corbin, I’m going for coffee, you want to—,” Molly stopped mid-sentence, having “now noticed” Theresa. “T!” she exclaimed with a false smile. “I didn’t see you.”
Theresa shuddered. “Am I doomed to find you everywhere I go today?” she asked rhetorically, without turning to face Molly.
“You should be so lucky,” Molly responded.
Theresa and Molly kept running into each other all morning. After an initial exchange of pleasantries, each encounter became progressively more combative, with both doing their best to get under the other’s skin. Molly was winning, because Theresa misunderstood the game.
“What can we do for you, Molly?” Corbin asked.
“I just came to see if you wanted to get coffee with me. I know how much you enjoy our chats.” Molly replaced her usual sarcasm with a pleasant, if not downright affectionate manner. This made Corbin suspicious.
“No, it’s pretty close to lunch time.”
“Oh, lunch sounds like a good idea. Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure,” Corbin lied.
Molly walked over next to Corbin. Theresa, still sitting on Corbin’s desk, sat about a foot to Molly’s right. “That’s a fantastic tie,” Molly gushed, as she reached out and stroked the yellow geometric shapes on Corbin’s blue and silver tie. “Where did you get it?”
Corbin saw Molly sneak a peek at Theresa, which told him the reason for her overly-friendly behavior. Flirting didn’t come easily to Theresa. And while she was aggressive in her pursuit of Corbin, one thing she seemed unable to do was make physical contact. For Molly, however, touching was just part of flirting and flirting came easily to her, especially when she didn’t mean it. Rubbing her fingers along Corbin’s tie was intended to taunt Theresa.
“Nordstroms,” he said, retrieving the tie from her hand and leaning back out of her reach.
“It’s really nice. So, what were you saying about lunch?”
“He wasn’t,” Theresa spat out. She wrinkled her brow and folded her arms even tighter.
Molly let her jaw drop and covered her mouth with her hand. She wagged a finger back and forth between Corbin and Theresa. “Oh gosh, did you two. . .? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you two already had plans.”
“Drop it!” Theresa warned.
“Drop what, T? It’s not like everybody doesn’t know.”
“How dare you!”
Corbin jumped up before this could escalate and ushered them toward the door. “Come on, enough!” Corbin put his hands on Molly’s shoulders and guided her through the door first. As he did, behind him, he heard Theresa mumbling something about “big feet” and “limp hair.” In front of him, Molly turned and walked into her office, slamming the door. She was grinning from ear to ear. Corbin turned to eject Theresa, but she moved past him and stormed off down the hallway. Corbin stepped back into the office and closed the door.
With Molly and Theresa gone, Beckett turned on Corbin. Beckett was furious. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” Corbin responded tartly.
“You told Theresa you were making fake documents!”
“So what? She didn’t believe me.”
“It’s a stupid risk!”
“She wasn’t even listening to me,” Corbin said, cavalierly dismissing Beckett’s concerns.
“That’s not the point. What if she believed you and turned us in to the cops. That was stupid!”
“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
“It is not ridiculous!” Beckett punched Corbin’s desk. “You accuse me of taking risks, but you’re the one who’s playing around! You see this as some kind of game, a challenge to beat the system. Well, this is no game, and I’m not in this for the challenge! I don’t want fame. I don’t want satisfaction. I am not doing this to prove anything to myself. I’m in this for the money. That’s all I want, the money, and frankly, I’m not even sure that’s worth the price.”
“What price?”
“The moral price. We’re stealing and that’s wrong, no matter what we tell ourselves.”
Corbin shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, if you want to walk, you can walk. If you can’t go through with this, then you’re free to quit.”
“I’m going through with it,” Beckett insisted, “but you need to get serious!”
“‘Serious’?! You think I don’t know how serious this is?!”
“Then stop playing around! There’s no reason to toy with Theresa or Molly. Why tell them things that can come back to haunt us?” Beckett continued to yell.
“Stop overreacting. This is the first thing I’ve ever said to them that even hints at what we’re doing, and the only reason you think they can connect the dots is because you know everything we’ve been up to. They don’t. They don’t even know the dots exist.”
“They can’t connect them now, but what if you end up on trial and they call Theresa? Theresa might be a whacko, but she’s not stupid. What if the prosecutor shows her
the fake documents and asks if you ever said anything about making fake documents? Do you think she won’t remember your comment? You may know the theory of the law, but you don’t know jack about how things really happen.”
Corbin threw his hands up. “Fine.” He turned his attention to his computer, but stopped mid-turn. A shadow darkened his face. “I won’t say another word, that’s fine. But let me tell you that you better calm down. I am sick of dealing with your nerves. You were a trial attorney. You’re supposed to be used to dealing with the unexpected, handling disasters, but you’re panicking every other day.” Corbin stood up and pointed directly at Beckett. “You need to get over your fear of what could go wrong and just focus on doing what needs to be done. You’re acting erratically around here and it needs to stop! Do you understand me? It needs to stop! I won’t have it anymore!”
Beckett froze. Corbin made an imposing figure when he was angry, something Beckett had never seen before. Normally, Corbin remained relatively emotionless around work. This was something new. Beckett swallowed hard. They stared at each other. Beckett buckled first.
“Should we throw a couple punches or would you rather slam the door and one of us runs off down the hallway?”
Corbin laughed. His entire manner changed instantly, and he became the old Corbin again. “What does Miss Manners recommend?”
“Mediation.”
“Let’s just throw the punches.”
“Ok.”
“Or we could just go to lunch?” Corbin suggested.
“Better yet.”
“You know, the next time Molly and Theresa end up in here together, we might want to search them for shivs first.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
“You should have seen the grin on Molly’s face when she walked past me in the hallway to slam her door.”
“Honestly, I’m glad I missed it. Are you going to check on Theresa?”
“Something tells me that would be a horrible idea. Let’s go to lunch.”
An eerie silence settled over the office the following morning. Theresa didn’t emerge from her office and didn’t respond to e-mails. Corbin and Beckett spent the morning working in silence. Even Molly kept to herself, at least until Beckett was called away from his desk.