THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (3 page)

In no way intimidated by his visitors, Schnieder had been subjected to similar interrogations numerous times in his long career. “I’m at your service… I must remind you however, if your questions relate to the activities of any of our clients, I am by no means obliged to answer.” He winked at Anderson. “Besides, it would appear that you are considerably beyond the limits of your jurisdiction.”

Shaken by Schnieder’s response, Anderson took a deep breath. “We’re very much aware of your banking laws, sir. And you’re quite correct about our jurisdictional limits. It would be appreciated however, if you would try to cooperate with us. The government of the United States is attempting to recover a very large amount of money and Miss Sanchez and I have been directed to find it.”

“What money?” Schnieder asked, aware his bank was home to the fruits of crime and flight capital of many clients. “Perhaps you could be more specific.”

“Hundreds of millions of stolen gasoline tax dollars. We have reason to believe they’ve found their way into your bank… Several years ago, it came to our attention that a Canadian citizen by the name of James Servito might be involved in gasoline tax evasion. In addition to other things we did, we followed him all the way to your branch in Grand Cayman.” Anderson riveted his green eyes on Schnieder’s. “We did that too many times not to conclude that he was making very large deposits in your bank. Would you care to comment on that?”

“You know I can’t do that,” Schnieder replied.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Mister Schnieder.” Anderson said. “Our people have photographed Servito’s wife and Mike King enter this building on several occasions. Did they visit you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s privileged information.”

“Have they ever deposited any money in your bank?”

“None,” Schnieder replied, aware that he had provided a truthful answer, in spite of the fact that he was not obliged to do so.

“Then if they didn’t put money in your bank, what the hell were they doing here?”

Even though Schnieder knew he was not required to answer Anderson’s question, he decided to deflect suspicion. “You appear to be an intelligent man, Mister Anderson. Did it ever occur to you that they too might be looking for Jim Servito’s money?”

“Are you saying they are?”

“I’m not saying that. I merely asked you a question.”

“Do you know where they are now?”

“No, but I will tell you that Mike King and the former Karen Servito are now husband and wife, and I believe they’ve gone somewhere to enjoy a honeymoon.”

Obviously frustrated, Anderson pursed his lips, turned to Sanchez and shook his head. “Let’s go. We’re wasting our time,” he hissed.

Schnieder stood and followed them to the door. “I’m very sorry I could not be of more help. If you care to leave a card, I’ll call you if I learn anything which might help.”

Anderson gave his card to Schnieder, then left with his partner.

Mary Sanchez stopped several feet outside the bank’s front doors. “Hey Charlie,” she said, then lit a cigarette. “Stay in the shade. Let’s talk.”

Anderson leaned against the building beside Sanchez.

“What did you think of our friendly banker?” Sanchez asked.

Anderson turned and spit on the pavement. “Fucking ice man. We could put that son of a bitch on a rack and still get nothing out of him.”

“I think he knows a hell of a lot more than he’s telling us, don’t you?”

“No question. I bet my pension he knows exactly where Servito’s money is, and he’s giving it his personal attention.”

CHAPTER 5

Mike’s return to his office in North Toronto was a defining moment in his unique career. At last he was free to resume his duties as the president and owner of an extremely successful company. His staff stood and gave him a long, standing and loud ovation when he hobbled into the reception area on crutches. After spending more than an hour drinking champagne and telling them the details of his life-threatening excursion to Caracas, he proceeded to his office and immediately placed a call to Paul Conrad, the president of Golden National Oil Inc. Conrad liked Mike from the day they met. He saw a lot of himself in Mike. He had taken a chance on Mike years earlier by giving him a sweetheart gasoline contract. The generous credit terms gave him the financial horsepower to launch his business. The price escalation clause had later rewarded him beyond his wildest imagination. He waited patiently for Conrad’s secretary to connect them.

“Congratulations, Mike,” Conrad said. “I’m delighted to have you back in the saddle.”

“How did you know?”

“Dan Turner called me this morning and told me the whole story. He’s maintained close contact with me ever since you left the country… So what are you going to do for excitement now?”

Mike chuckled. “Watch the grass grow. I’ve had all the excitement I need for a long time.”

“You might have that opportunity. You might even enjoy the luxury of boredom now that the business has settled down to a dull roar.”

“In that connection, I want to thank you and Golden National for supplying my company in my absence. I appreciate that more than you could possibly know.”

“It was nothing. We had the extra gasoline available. More importantly, we need people like you in the business.”

“Thanks to you I’m still in it, and thanks to a fortunate break, I’m about to get married.”

“Congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Her name is Karen. You don’t know her but her former husband stole a hell of a lot of your company’s gasoline.”

“Well I’ll be damned! Where did you meet her?”

“Long story. Karen and I go back a lot further than her husband and the gasoline business. For one reason and another it took us a lot longer to get together than it should have.”

“Put me on the list. I wouldn’t miss it. Will it be in Toronto?”

“I’m not sure, but we’ll send you an invitation as soon as we pick a time and a place.”

“I’ll be there, wherever and whenever… By the way, did you ever find out what Servito did with all his money?”

Mike privately scolded himself for being unprepared for Conrad’s question. Again he had cause to question his motives for keeping the fruit of Servito’s crimes. Until now, his worst transgressions had been nothing more than white lies. Now he was a co-conspirator in a three hundred million dollar scam. The excitement of it intoxicated him. His compulsion to continue it worried him. He adjusted with a measured and oblique statement. “Sure we did. We also discovered the streets of Caracas are paved with gold.”

“Please let me know if you hear anything. A chunk of that money belongs to Golden National.”

“I will and I’ll talk to you again soon,” Mike said, then hung up. He lowered his head and pushed his fingers through his wavy blond hair. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said aloud.

CHAPTER 6

New York. Friday, July 18, 1980.

Standing beside their bags and wearing faded jeans, T-shirts, and well worn sneakers, Mike and Karen King had just emerged from a cab near the entrance to the Plaza Hotel. Mike, tired and unshaven for twenty-four hours, paid the driver and hurried to the front door. He approached the portly doorman who was dressed neatly in an olive colored suit, long-coat, and matching top hat. “Excuse me. I’m looking for a man named Louis Visconti. Would you…”

“Are you Mister King?” the doorman interrupted with a broad smile.

Mike nodded.

“Mister Visconti’s been expecting you. He’s right in there,” the doorman said, pointing to a man standing just inside the glass front doors. “He’s the good looking young man in the beige suit. Will you be staying at the hotel this evening?” he asked, his arm raised to summon a bellboy.

Mike stuffed a ten dollar bill into the doorman’s shirt pocket. “No. We’ll be leaving after we have lunch with Mister Visconti. I would appreciate if you’d store our bags until then.”

The doorman winked, smiled and nodded, then Mike and Karen proceeded to the lobby.

Visconti flashed his irresistible white smile and extended his right hand to Mike. “Hi. I’m Louis Visconti. I saw the doorman pointing to me and knew you had to be Mike King.” He shifted his focus to Karen and was instantly captivated by her beauty. “Hello,” he sang, his grey eyes penetrating her clothing.

“Louis, please meet my wife, Karen,” Mike said with a disapproving scowl.

Visconti grasped Karen’s hand with both of his own. “Pleasure to meet you, Karen,” he said, then motioned toward the lobby with his left arm, his eyes still riveted on Karen. “I took the liberty of making reservations. Would you like to follow me?”

Mike and Karen followed Visconti through the lobby and into the ornate dining room. They stopped at a beautifully decorated and windowed alcove.

“I hope you like this. We can dine in comfort here,” Visconti said, then pulled out a chair for Karen. “From what little information Alfred gave me about you, I assumed you would appreciate the privacy.”

Karen liked Visconti’s appearance and demeanor, but had difficulty determining why. Strangely, she felt attracted to him. The complete big city package, Visconti was slick, clean, sharp, and super suave. He exuded confidence.

A waiter materialized carrying menus. “Would you like to order lunch now, Mister Visconti? Or perhaps you would like to relax for a while with a beverage?”

Visconti turned to face his guests. “What’s your pleasure?”

“White wine, please,” Karen ordered.

Mike placed his hand on the waiter’s forearm. “Bring us the whole bottle. We’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?” Visconti asked, puzzled.

“Karen and I were married yesterday.”

Visconti flashed another of his irresistible smiles. “Congratulations,” he declared, then turned again to face the waiter. “Peter, bring us the best in the house, chilled.”

The waiter nodded. “Just give me a few minutes, Mister Visconti,” he said, then hurried from the table.

“So, you were married yesterday. Any plans for a honeymoon?” Visconti asked, then eased himself into the chair next to Karen’s.

“When we’re finished here, we’re going to get lost in Europe for a while,” Mike answered.

Visconti glanced at Mike, then at Karen. “I envy you guys,” he said, displaying a perceptible expression of sadness. “I see happiness and anticipation in your eyes.”

“Are you married, Louis?” Karen asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Visconti frowned and shook his head. “Marriage and I didn’t get along too well. I experimented with one and paid the price in misery. She was a wonderful girl, but couldn’t cope with my life style.”

“The fast lane in New York?” Karen asked.

“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.