“Not really. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. We were practically broke when we were married. Most of the time we were living from hand to mouth. I hated that existence, and was so determined to dig us out of it, I worked ridiculous hours.” Visconti shook his head and stared at the ceiling. “Unfortunately, she wanted a nine to five husband and it didn’t take her long to realize she had the wrong guy.”
“Any children?” Karen asked.
“No. Fortunately, we split soon enough.”
“Would you consider marrying again?”
Visconti exhaled, then gave a delayed and barely perceptible nod. “Maybe later. Right now I don’t think I could afford the time to devote to a marriage, or children.”
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty-three.”
“If you’re thinking of ever having kids, you might want to get started sooner rather than later.” As she spoke, Karen thought of her own plan to have Mike’s child, at thirty-eight years of age.
Visconti accepted Karen’s advice with diplomacy. “I understand what you’re saying, Karen. By normal standards you’re right. But what’s normal these days?”
Mike, anxious to discuss more substantive issues, changed the subject. “Louis, in referring us to you, Alfred spoke very highly of you and your abilities. I respect his opinion, but I would still appreciate if you would explain to Karen and me why you think you’re qualified to manage the trust.”
Visconti was about to reply when the waiter returned. He remained silent while the waiter opened a bottle of Le Montrachet and filled three glasses. The waiter quickly replaced the cork, placed the bottle in a sterling silver ice bucket, then left.
Visconti smiled broadly and lifted his glass from the table. “Before I answer your question, I would like very much to propose a toast to both of you, your happiness, and the success of your marriage.”
“Thank you, Louis,” Mike responded, then all three clinked their glasses, one to the other.
“Now I’ll answer your question… I’m qualified because, with a modicum of humility, I’m one of the best in the business. The statistics verify it. For the past five years, the people whose money I’ve managed have enjoyed better than twenty percent annual returns. Very few managers on the street can match that record. If it was just one or two years, one could suggest it was a fluke. But five consecutive years, no fluke.”
“What assurances can you give us that those returns will continue?” Mike asked, unimpressed by the boastful and cocky tone of Visconti’s response.
“None. I can’t guarantee any returns. All I can guarantee is honesty, integrity, privacy, and a conservative prudent investment strategy. If you honor me with the responsibility of managing your money, I’ll invest it as if it were my own.”
“Where?’ Mike asked.
“You mean where would I invest it?”
Mike nodded.
Visconti flashed a condescending smirk. “I could waste the rest of your day answering that one. The first thing we have to do is determine your objectives. Then I can give you a more definitive and satisfactory answer. Our analysts have identified a broad range of attractive investment vehicles, but I could narrow the range considerably if I had an understanding of your investment objectives and risk threshold.”
“Preservation of the purchasing power of the funds must be the primary objective,” Mike said.
“Am I correct in assuming the funds are inherited?” Visconti asked.
“We’d prefer not to disclose the source of the funds,” Mike answered, a clear signal to Visconti to back off.
Mike’s curt response jolted Visconti, but his youthful ambition refused to allow him to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. The implications of attracting a client with more than three hundred million dollars to Mara, Griesdorf and Visconti, were enormous. He parried. “Then if preservation of the purchasing power of the capital is your one and only objective, the job should be relatively easy. If I’m selected to do it, I promise I’ll pursue that objective vigorously. The first question is whether I manage the trust, not what I do with it.”
“I agree… We’ll let you know after we talk to Alfred,” Mike said, refusing to concede even the slightest measure of security to Visconti.
Disappointed, Visconti tried to smile. “What time did you say your flight is?”
“I didn’t. It’s four o’clock. Panam, out of Kennedy.”
“Then let’s order? I’ll drive you out there after lunch.”
CHAPTER 7
New York. Kennedy Airport.
Mike complied with the request of the cute Panam stewardess to fasten his seatbelt, then turned to Karen. “What did you think of Visconti?” he asked.
“I liked him. I think he’d do a good job, but something tells me you don’t agree.”
“I have reservations.”
“That was obvious.”
“I’m not sure what it was that bothered me. I just couldn’t get comfortable with him. Maybe he was too smooth. Maybe it was just my paranoia.”
“It must have been something he said or did that made you uncomfortable. Can you think of what it was?”
Mike tightened his lips and shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I kept seeing a flashing red light, but I’m not sure why. It’s been bugging me since we left the hotel… Okay, give me Karen’s take on him.”
“No reservations. He’s smart, obviously very capable, and he has a very impressive track record.”
“Wow! Did we have lunch with the same guy, or were you just blinded by his charm and good looks?”
Karen postponed her response to turn and stare out the window. She then directed an angry glare at Mike. “That’s bullshit and you know it! Something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is, right now,” she demanded.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that… I think Visconti’s young and impulsive. He might do something stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like telling someone about us.”
“He never has to know. All he knows is that the money was inherited, and that the trust is in place for the future. Why can’t we just leave it at that?”
“That would be great but I don’t know how much Alfred’s told him. If he’s told him more, we’ve got a problem. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to give him a commitment at lunch. Also, I wanted to talk to you first.”
Karen’s frown melted to a broad grin. “I love you, King. I can’t begin to tell you how refreshing it is to hear that from my husband. The previous one never consulted with me on anything.”
Mike reached into the right pocket of his jeans and removed a gold ring adorned with a cluster of seven diamonds, the two in the center dwarfing the others. “This is a little late, but it’s from the heart, and it’s forever,” he declared, then lifted Karen’s left hand and placed the ring beside her wedding band on her third finger.
Ritz Carlton. Paris, France.
Reminded of the first time he and Karen had showered together in Santo Domingo, Mike applied soap to every square inch of her body, then methodically removed it with the spray from the shower head and his hand. When Karen returned the favor, Mike once again found it impossible to wait until they got to bed. Shower sex was imperative.
Afterwards, Karen stared lovingly into his deep blue eyes. “There’s a wild steak in me that tells me we should never go back,” she said, still panting.
“Where’s that coming from?” Mike asked, surprised by Karen’s declaration.
“I don’t know. I just want to disappear into obscurity, and stay there.”
“Do you have any idea where obscurity is?”
“Buying a villa in Monte Carlo and living happily ever after. Phillip could finish his education in a private school in Switzerland.”
Mike exhaled, then rested his chin on Karen’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “I would be lying to you if I told you that kind of obscurity isn’t appealing, but I don’t think we would live happily
ever after.”
“Why?”
“We’re still in the Feds’ crosshairs. A ton of their money is still missing and you know they suspect we know where it is. If we did what you’re suggesting, they’d be all over us like a tent.”
“They can suspect all they want,” Karen scoffed. “As long as we keep our mouths shut, what can they do?”
“Harass the hell out of us… They’re missing over three hundred million dollars!”
“Screw the Feds, King! Will you at least think about living happily ever after?”
Mike frowned and shook his head. “This isn’t you, Babe. It’s so uncharacteristic of you to talk this way. What happened to that responsible girl I once knew?”
“You’re such a great lover, you make me lose my head,” Karen teased with an impish grin. “Now tell me why you still want to keep the money. I’m amazed. I still can’t believe you would do such a thing. It isn’t you.”
“I’m amazed too,” Mike conceded. “I guess I’m more larcenous than either of us ever imagined.”
“That’s my point. You’ve really confused me. It would be far easier to understand if you intended to keep the money for yourself, but by just hiding it in a trust you’re taking all the risk while you don’t stand to gain a thing.”
“You would understand if you knew how pissed I am. The Feds really messed with my head. If I live forever I’ll never forget when those bastards marched into my office like Nazis and ruined my life without an ounce of remorse. They didn’t give a shit about us. They were covering their over-paid political asses. Then when they realized they couldn’t touch your husband, they arrested us and put us in jail without any consideration for the damage it would do to our lives, and to the lives of people who depend on us.”
“I understand that, but does the money mean anything to you?”
“Not really. I have no intention of ever spending it.”
“Then why did you… ?”
“It’s a statement,” Mike interrupted. “Keeping it helped to even the score. It gave me closure. Maybe we’ll use it to some real good in this world, anonymously. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find a charity that beats the hell out of paying bloated salaries to too many civil servants and politicians who waste too much money on too many useless programs… It’s also a hell of an exciting caper.”
Karen placed her hands firmly against Mike’s buttocks and pressed him against her body. “You’re exciting, King,” she said, grazing his lips with hers. “You’re body gives me a far bigger rush than the caper.”
CHAPTER 8
Almost an hour later, Mike telephoned Alfred Schnieder from his hotel room.
“And what did you and Karen think of Louis Visconti?” Schnieder asked, struggling to mask his anxiety.
“We were impressed. It’s not hard to understand why you recommended him.”
Relieved, Schnieder leaned backward and flashed a golden smile. “Any negatives?”
“How much did you tell him, Alfred? How much information did you give him about the trust, its history and its current owner?”
Schnieder spun the stem of his glass between his index finger and thumb, staring at his swirling brandy. “I must remind you that many years ago, when I came to Venezuela from Germany, I learned very quickly that secrecy is of paramount importance in the banking business. I learned that if one wants to survive in the business, one must be discrete with his clients and their holdings.”
“Never mind the crap, Alfred. What did you tell him?”
“I merely told Louis that you would be contacting him to arrange a meeting, and that the purpose of the meeting was to determine his suitability to manage the trust. I swear to you, Mike. I will go to my grave with your secret. Please rest assured that unless and until I am instructed to disclose any further information, my lips will remain sealed.”
“I was afraid you’d told him more, and I needed to be certain. I want the memory of that money to die a natural death, Alfred. Only time and absolute secrecy are going to kill it.”
“Mike, I must remind you that it is my intention to retire in August. On the fifteenth of that particular month, I will have completed my sixty-fifth year on this planet. Have you made a decision with respect to Louis Visconti? I must insist on an answer.”
“Karen made her decision in New York, but I needed to talk to you before I made mine. It’s absolutely crucial to me to know that our secret stays with you… Visconti’s our man.”
“Splendid!” Schnieder shouted, again flashing most of his gold teeth, thrilled that his net worth had suddenly escalated by five million dollars. “Would you like me to tell Louis the good news, or would you prefer the pleasure?”
“You do it, Alfred. Karen and I have officially started our honeymoon… Exactly how much money is in the trust?”
“It’s quite difficult to give you a precise answer to that question at any specific point. The value is constantly fluctuating. Conservatively, however, I estimate it’s current value to be close to its value when you left Caracas: three hundred and twenty-five million,” Schnieder said, deliberately shorting the actual value by five million.
“Thank you for everything, Alfred. Your personal attention to our little secret is very much appreciated.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I wish you, Karen and Phillip much happiness.”
CHAPTER 9
New York. Saturday, July 19, 1980.
“Good of you to call, Alfred. What’s happening?” Visconti asked, close to bursting with anticipation.
“Congratulations, I just received a telephone call from your new clients.”
“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
“As soon as the paperwork is completed, you will assume the management of the King’s trust. I assume it will have an appreciable impact on your bottom line. It is conservatively valued at three hundred and thirty million.”
“Fantastic! Alfred, you’re incredible!” Visconti shouted.
“Competent perhaps, but never incredible. Allow me to remind you that before the transfer is completed, five million must find its way into my account in Geneva. My lawyer will call you this afternoon to give you the details.”
“Why can’t you just do it yourself? You have…”
Schnieder interrupted. “Too much of a risk at this late stage in my career. Banks are terribly bureaucratic organizations, my young friend. An internal audit of the transaction would quickly reveal my indiscretion. Furthermore, while brandy helps me to make it through my days and nights, I don’t believe they serve brandy in prison.”
“No problem,” Visconti conceded, now on his feet and pacing back and forth, pondering the implications of managing the gigantic trust and calculating the huge increase in his income it would bring. “We’ll bury the shrink here in no time,” he promised.
“There are several things of which you should be aware, Louis. They are crucial to the success of your relationship with the Kings.”
“Shoot.”
“The fact that they have anything to do with the money must remain a tightly guarded secret. They assume I have told you very little about them, the trust, and the source of the money. They assume all you know is that the money was inherited. I strongly suggest you do everything necessary to preserve that assumption.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. Where did it really come from?”
“It actually was inherited. Jim Servito, a long time client of mine and former husband of Karen, accumulated most of it by forgetting to pay taxes on a very large quantity of gasoline. You can be certain that the governments of both Canada and the United States would dearly love to recover it.”
“Incredible! I thought we had some pretty heavy tax evaders here in the Big Apple. Servito makes them all look like penny-ante pikers.”
“That may be so, but with one major difference… It is very likely that those penny-ante pikers are still alive.”
“Good point. Do you have any idea what possess
ed the Kings to keep the money?”
“I can only speculate. I understand the Feds treated them very shabbily. Personally, I don’t blame them for keeping it. In similar circumstances, I would be inclined to do the same thing.”
“To keep three hundred large? That’s a no brainer. It would take me a microsecond to make the decision. I would keep it and spend the rest of my life swinging from the trees… How did Servito die?”
“His wife killed him. She pushed him over a cliff.”
“Nasty lady. I’d better be careful with her.”
“You had better be careful with both. They are extremely shrewd.”
CHAPTER 10
August 14, 1980.
Louis Visconti had a banner day. All of the documentation was now properly executed, the blue cornered indentures safely in place in his firm’s fire-proof safe, and he was now officially responsible for the management of the funds in the King’s trust. The implications for Visconti’s firm were enormous. Annual management fees would increase by orders of magnitude. If the funds were invested to yield a return anywhere close to those generated by the firm in the past five years, the fees would be stratospheric.
He worried about the intentions of Paul Volcker, Chairman of the Federal Reserve. Schnieder had told him that interest rates were going up, soon. If Schnieder’s prediction was correct, the immediate future of investments in stocks and tangible assets was extremely bleak. He had to move fast. He commenced a program of liquidating stocks, investments in real estate, and other tangible assets. He planned to short bonds and ride the interest rate wave to the top. He would wait for the inevitable crash, then plunge again into stocks.
The plan gave Visconti an uneasy feeling, however. In March of that year, interest rates had peaked at sixteen percent and had been dropping ever since. Conventional wisdom continued to suggest the Fed was stimulating the economy and that interest rates would continue to drop, but his respect for Schnieder’s opinion allowed him to overcome his concerns. Schnieder had been correct too many times for Visconti to ignore his counsel. With prime rates at eleven percent and fear and trepidation in his heart, he pressed ahead with his plan. To him, preserving the trust’s purchasing power as Mike had requested was a joke. Maximizing his fees was the name of the game.