She noticed that he was beginning to sweat again and his voice had tightened. This wasn’t where she had thought they were going. “And why not?”
“There’s a limit to the amount of money I can take out of the account electronically.”
“You can access the account through the Internet, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You can transfer money out of the account, yes?”
“Yes, but like I said, it’s restricted.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can only withdraw up to $25,000 per day.”
She saw his left foot begin to shake. He was scared, and she began to think he might be telling her the truth. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s how we set it up. We never had that much in the account until last year, so it was never a problem.”
Ava picked up the Barrett’s file from the kitchen table. She leafed through it, taking out the monthly statements and the attachments, and read them more closely than she had upstairs. Patrick watched her, confused about what had just transpired.
After ten minutes she said, “There was a withdrawal eighteen months ago of $335,000, and then another ten months ago of $200,000, and then a third just three months ago of another $400,000.”
“How many are there for $25,000 or less?” he said.
“Admittedly, a hell of a lot more.”
“Anything under $25,000 I did electronically. I was sending money to George’s accounts in Atlanta and Bangkok and to my account in Seattle. Those other three withdrawals I did in person.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to the BVI. I went to the bank. I presented a written request for a certified cheque along with my American passport and one other form of photo ID, usually my driver’s licence. They drew up a release form and I signed it. They photocopied my passport and driver’s licence and dated the copies, and I signed those too. Then they gave me the cheque.”
“Who does that anymore?” she said.
“The account was opened before Internet banking took off,” he said. “And Barrett’s is a conservative bank. They’re paranoid about money laundering and gave me a hard enough time just opening an account.”
“What if you dropped dead?”
“George has the power of attorney, and that is recorded at the bank. He would need to show up and go through the same shit I did.”
“Can’t you request a change in the amounts?”
“Only by doing it in person.”
Seto was telling her the truth. She knew he was — there was no reason for him to lie. But that didn’t help quell her anger: anger about making too many assumptions, about thinking the deal was closed, about having dared google Tommy Ordonez. She had jinxed herself. She had broken one of her own rules and now she was paying for it. The only mistake she hadn’t made was to tell Andrew Tam his money was on the way.
“Patrick, look after him for me,” she said abruptly. “I have to go upstairs for a minute.”
He looked at her questioningly but she was already halfway out of the kitchen.
She went upstairs and checked in on Anna on her way to Seto’s office. She was curled on the bed, crying softly to herself. Ava closed the bedroom door so she wouldn’t have to listen.
The computer was still on. Ava typed WATERRAT and the screen opened up. Then she tried to access the Internet and was told it wasn’t currently available. She waited. On the fourth attempt she finally got online.
She went to the Barrett’s Bank’s home page and clicked on ACCOUNTS. She input the account number and then the password. The S amp;A bank account came to life. She checked the balance: $7,237,188.22. There was a list of options for her to pursue, and one of them was WIRE TRANSFER. She clicked on RECIPIENT DETAILS. She was going to type in Andrew Tam’s bank information until she realized she had left her notebook downstairs, so she typed in her own bank data. Under amount to be sent she requested $50,000. Then she hit the send button. The request was immediately flagged.
Ava appeared calm and focused when she walked back into the kitchen.
“What the hell happened to you?” Patrick asked.
“I have a problem,” she said.
“I guessed.”
“I need to think about it for a while.”
“I have good ears if you want to talk it through.”
She was about to dismiss the idea when she realized that she was going to need help no matter what she decided to do, so she might as well bring him on side sooner rather than later. “Let’s go into the living room,” she said.
They sat side by side on the leather couch, which smelled of cigarette smoke, and she told Patrick about her problem. The only thing she didn’t — and wouldn’t — tell him was the total amount of money involved.
“It sounds to me like you’re going to have to take him to the BVI if you want to get that money back,” he said. “Or spend the next few months transferring $25,000 a day, though I can’t even begin to imagine the things that could go wrong with that idea.”
“It has to be done quickly or chances are it won’t get done. Is there any other choice?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’m screwed,” she said.
“How’s that?”
“As I said, the quicker you move, the better your chances are to succeed. In my business you strike when guys like Seto are vulnerable, scared, and within your control. The longer the process takes, the more they begin to think they can find a way out. But how do I get him to the BVI without getting their Customs or police involved? All he has to do is open his mouth and scream bloody murder. And believe me, it will occur to him — if I can get him there. He’ll talk himself into thinking he can get away with this. He’ll figure if he can lose me, he has enough money to hide somewhere we can’t find him. We always do find them in the end, but the problem is that the money is often gone by then.”
“And if you can get him there, how do you deal with the bank?”
“There’s no point worrying about the bank unless I can get him to the BVI.”
“You need to talk to the Captain,” Patrick said.
“What can the Captain do?”
“I’m going to call him,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She sat in the kitchen while she waited for Patrick to return. Seto kept rotating his head as if he had a stiff neck. She felt like snapping the fucking thing.
The front door opened and Patrick stepped back inside. “I have to go meet with the Captain. I’ll be back in a while.”
(27)
Patrick didn’t come back until after ten o’clock. Ava hated the thought of the two men discussing her business without her. The longer he was gone the more irritated she became, and by the time the door opened again she was really angry. Patrick walked in with the two men from outside Eckie’s, the cops who had taken Ng.
“You and I are going to see the Captain,” he said. “The boys will look after things here until we get back.” He saw the look on her face and said, “I tried to call. Your cellphone was off.”
She realized he was right about the phone, and bit back an irritable remark. Then she picked up the Barrett’s file and forced it into her kitbag. She wasn’t leaving anything behind for them to look through.
“What did he say?” she asked as she climbed into the Toyota truck.
“Who?”
“For God’s sake, Patrick, you know who.”
“He said he wanted to see you, that’s all. I explained the difficulty and he said he wanted to see you. Nothing more than that.”
“So this could be for nothing?”
“I can’t say for sure, but normally the Captain doesn’t waste his time on nothing.”
She felt a twinge of hope. “Where are we going?”
“The doughnut shop. It’s close by.”
The entire area was in utter darkness except for the odd flicker of a candle or flare from a flashlight. The shop, though, was lit up like Times Square. The massive figure of the Captain filled its window, a plate of doughnuts in front of him.
“I’ll wait here,” Patrick said as he parked the truck.