That seemed to be the eighty billion dollar question: where was Lewiston and the money? John recalled how he had passed his boss in the hallway one day. The next day the man had vanished. A few days after that, the FBI had come to their offices, making arrests and shutting the firm down, sending John and the rest of the clueless lackeys home. Four months had passed without any leads.
A team of FBI agents worked the case from inside the investment firm, going through computers and files. John knew there were other agents working the case from the local headquarters, and still others from the SEC who were involved in the investigation.
He had become fairly chummy with the guys working inside the firm, often going to lunch with them or out for the occasional drink after work. When Agent McCoy swung by his cubicle to invite him to lunch, though, John declined. He was already halfway through a ham and cheese sandwich he had brought from home. That was the healthy part of his lunch – the Doritos and Red Bull were the not-so-healthy part.
When John finished eating, he went back to his research. He had just found a data backup file from a few days before Lewiston had vanished. As he opened it, he realized it was the last backup he had made before the firm was shut down. As he sifted through the data, an unusual entry caught his eye. Lewiston had wire transferred most of the firm’s cash to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Lewiston must have deleted the entry before he disappeared, because there was no record of it on the main system.
John printed out the account information and stared at it. He knew enough about offshore accounts to realize that the bank would refuse to provide any information to the FBI without a long, protracted legal battle. It would likely take months before the investigators would get the information they were seeking, and even longer before they got their hands on the money. In the meantime, his parents were barely hanging on. His dad was in a state of constant rage; his mom seemed almost suicidal.
John got back on the Internet and opened the website offering the reward money. Townsend Group. He recognized the name, but didn’t know anything about the firm. He Googled them and found their corporate website. They were a large international shipping company. As he read about them, he got more excited. The reward money would just be a drop in the bucket to them, but to his parents, it could make all the difference in the world.
What would it hurt to give Townsend the account information before he gave it to the FBI? It would take months before the FBI could do anything with the information anyway, so what would a few more days matter?
John printed out a copy of the data entry and the reward offer. When he heard the lobby door open, he stood up and stuffed them into his back pocket. His heart was pounding when Agent McCoy ducked his head through the doorway.
“Hey, John, we’re back from lunch. Everything okay?”
John nodded, not trusting his voice.
* * *
John glanced at his watch as he approached the office building in downtown Chicago where Townsend had their U.S. headquarters. It was a few minutes before noon. The woman he had spoken to on the phone yesterday had asked him to meet her for lunch at their offices. Following her directions, he took the elevator up to the twenty-third floor and located their suite. He pushed open the heavy oak door and was instantly transformed into a different world. The receptionist sat at a rich mahogany desk, dwarfed by a large crystal vase filled with exotic looking flowers.
After he introduced himself, the receptionist picked up her phone. When she finished her call, she looked up at him. “Ms. Hawker asked that I show you to our private dining room. Will you follow me please?”
When they arrived at the designated place, they were met by a hostess, who led John through the dining room. The walls were paneled in a rich cherry wood. The floors were covered in deep, plush carpeting. There were no tables, just booths that seemed to be arranged for the utmost privacy. The hostess led John to one of the booths in the back of the room. The woman seated there glanced up and extended her hand. “You must be John. I’m Sheri Hawker.”
John shook her hand before sliding into the booth. He sank into the butter-soft burgundy leather and looked across the table. The woman was lovely, with thick dark hair and a slightly olive complexion. She was dressed in a conservative navy suit with a strand of pearls at her throat.
A waiter appeared and asked John if he would like something to drink.
“We have an excellent assortment of wines here,” Sheri said. She gestured towards her glass. “I’m having a Pinot Grigio, if you’d like to join me.”
“No, thanks,” John said, turning to the waiter. “I’ll just have a Coke please.”
When the waiter left, Sheri suggested they look at the menus and decide on lunch before they started discussing business. When the waiter returned, they placed their orders. John picked up his glass and gulped down half his Coke. Then he leaned forward, his fingers nervously drumming on the table.
Sheri smiled. “Why don’t we start off by my telling you a little bit about our company?”
She spent the next several minutes telling John most of what he had already learned from their web site. “Besides our business interests, we also contribute a great deal of money to various charities. Our company feels strongly about giving back to the community. Each year we donate millions of dollars to various organizations throughout the world. In fact, that’s one of my main job responsibilities. I help administer our charitable fund.”
Her eyes glowed as she spoke. “I’ve been with Townsend for about seven years, and it’s the most rewarding experience I’ve ever had. Up until now, that is.” She paused. “Because of all the money we lost through the Lewiston fund, we’ve had to put an end to our charitable work.”
Sheri looked down at the table, and when she raised her head, John could see tears in her eyes. She reached into her purse for a Kleenex and dabbed at them. “I’m sorry. This has been such a difficult time for me.”
John nodded. “I know. Lewiston cheated so many people – including my parents. They had all their money invested with him. Their retirement savings have been wiped out.”
“I’m so sorry, John. What he’s done is reprehensible. Which brings us to why we’re here. We know that the FBI is working on the case and trying to locate Lewiston and the money. But we also know that big government moves slowly. Our concern is that by the time the FBI finds Lewiston, most of the money will be gone.”
Sheri leaned forward, grabbing the edge of the table. “And that’s why we’ve taken matters into our own hands. We’ve hired some of the top private investigators to try to track him down. The sooner we can find him, the sooner some of that money gets returned -- to us, as well as the other investors like your parents.”
“What about the FBI? How do they fit into this?”
“The last thing we want to do is interfere with their investigation. We just think that if we have the same information, we can move faster. Once we track Lewiston down, we’ll immediately alert the FBI so they can move in.”
“Okay.” John leaned back, feeling relieved. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
“Based on what you told me on the phone, it sounds as if you have information we could use.”
John reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Like I said, I can give you the name of the bank and the account number where Lewiston transferred some money. But from what I know about offshore accounts, I’m not sure if the bank will give you any information.”
Sheri smiled. “And that’s where we can make a difference. The government has to follow legal protocol to access that information. In other words, they have to play by the rules. We don’t. All it will take is a few well greased palms, and we’ll find out everything we need.”
John shifted in his seat nervously. “And what about the reward money?”
“As you know, the reward offered is five hundred thousand dollars. I have a certified check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars that I’ve been author
ized to give you today in exchange for the bank account information. If we can use that to track Lewiston down, we’ll give you the rest of the money. I don’t know how much your parents lost, but I’m guessing this could help get them back on their feet.”
John looked down at the printout of the data entry, biting his lip. He knew it was wrong to keep this information from the FBI, even temporarily. Doing so might even land him in jail if they ever found out. But how could he just sit back and watch his parents suffer? They needed that reward money. He took a deep breath and pushed the paper across the table.
* * *
The florist truck pulled up in front of Robert Lewiston’s gatehouse in Rio. The armed guard called out to the delivery man, who came each week with fresh flowers. “Buenos dias, Manuel.”
The guard pressed a button to open the electronic gates and waved as the truck drove through. He watched the van travel down the driveway until it rounded a corner and was out of sight.
When the delivery truck pulled in front of the house, the van’s back doors opened and ten armed men dressed in black swarmed out. The leader of the group yanked the driver’s door open and pulled the delivery man out, throwing him to the ground. As Manuel began to scramble away, the man lifted a gun with a silencer and shot him twice in the head.
The shooter turned back to the other men and raised his hand once in the air and then gestured towards the house. The men rushed to the house and kicked in the front door. A guard was seated in the foyer, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. As he lifted his head in surprise, he was shot between the eyes. There was no noise other than the soft whoosh of the silencer and thud of the man’s body hitting the floor.
The leader signaled to the men to split into two groups. As they combed through the house, they shot and killed everyone in their path – a cook, a butler, and two housemaids. When they burst through the library door, they found Robert sitting and reading, oblivious to the massacre.
“What the hell?” Robert called out, as he leapt to his feet.
The men surrounded him, their guns raised. In heavily accented English, the team leader spoke. “Good morning, Senor Lewiston.”
“Who are you?”
The team leader ripped off his face mask. “You know us as the Townsend Group.” The man paused and smiled. “In other circles, we’re known as the Cortez drug cartel.”
Robert blanched. “How did you find me?”
“Once we had your bank account information, it was quite easy. The bank manager was more than willing to give us your new name and address when we showed him his daughter’s finger. We were quite pleased, really. Sometimes it takes several appendages before we get the bank to cooperate.”
Robert raised his hands. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Oh, yes, Senor Lewiston. I have great confidence that you’ll do what we want.”
Robert dropped to his knees, his whole body trembling. “You can have the money. Just please don’t turn me in. I can’t do jail time. Please.”
“Oh no, Senor Lewiston. I can assure you, we have no plans to turn you in.”
# # #
www.LindaJohnson.us
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Other works by Linda Johnson:
“A Tangled Web” - a novel
Divorce is unpleasant and messy. Murder is simple. Cathy Nelson is a young, successful career woman and mother. When her marriage sours, she turns to a time-honored solution: arsenic. Toni Ambrose is a young, but relentless detective, assigned to the murder case. Her instincts tell her that Cathy is guilty and she defies her superiors to doggedly build a case against this black widow disguised as a grieving wife.
“Trail of Destruction” - a novel
Brad Newcomb believes he is destined to be President of the United States. When he has an affair with a staff member and gets her pregnant, there is nothing he won’t do to fulfill his destiny – including murder. Brad’s brother, Ryan, is a journalist who uncovers the story and is faced with a monumental decision that could determine the fate of the entire country: bury the truth and see a murderer elected president or destroy his brother's life.
“Breaking the Cycle” - a short story
Kate Bynum is a patrol cop working the graveyard shift. She has seen more than her share of domestic violence calls. More often than not, these besieged women are unable to find a way to stop the torment on their own.
When she meets a young woman who is trapped in an abusive marriage by her politically connected and powerful husband, Kate knows she must find a way to help the woman escape and break the vicious cycle of abuse.
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