Before Corbin could respond, Beckett started up again. “You know, there’s another problem with your plan.”
Theresa tensed up immediately.
“Doesn’t your plan guarantee that at least one guilty person will go free? After all, you can’t charge the real criminal with the crime after you frame somebody else for it. . unless you’re planning to start charging multiple people with the same crime? If that’s your plan, why not drop the whole charging charade? Just lock up the people you don’t like.”
Theresa glared at Beckett. “You are so frustrating,” she said icily.
Beckett chuckled. “I really am.”
Theresa walked toward the door, but stopped at the threshold. “Even you, Beckett, need to admit too many bad people escape justice because of technicalities.”
Beckett smiled good-naturedly. “Which technicalities would you like to eliminate?”
Without another word, Theresa stormed off down the hallway.
“Some day she really will punch you,” Corbin said, as he returned to his seat, “or run you over with her car.”
“That’s ok, I heal fast.”
Beckett pulled the letter Stuart had brought him from his inbox. The envelope was marked “personal.” It was from his former boss in New Jersey. As Beckett read the letter, his complexion became ashen, his breathing became labored, and his shoulders slumped. A few moments later, he crumpled the letter up and tossed it into his garbage can.
“Good news?” Corbin asked.
Beckett ran his hands through his hair before answering. “I’m not getting my promotion. . I can go back to my old job, but there won’t be a pay raise. . I’m going for a walk.” He never looked at Corbin.
Chapter 2
A testy Beckett returned to the office the following morning. The letter from his old boss weighed on him. Private school for two kids was expensive. His house was expensive. His wife refused to leave New Jersey. Commuting drained his finances, not that he could afford this job anyway. All of these problems would have been solved if he had gotten the promotion in New Jersey, but now he knew that would never happen. He had a serious problem, and as far as he could see, Corbin had the only solution. But that didn’t make him feel any better about committing a crime. It was wrong, he told himself, but maybe it was necessary.
“What’s your plan?” Beckett demanded, as he hung his winter jacket on the coat rack.
Corbin hesitated; Beckett’s foul mood would make this an uphill battle. “You sure you want to talk about this now?”
“Why not?”
Corbin paused. “All right. You know those ‘introductory’ checks they send you when you get a new credit card, the ones they want you to use to transfer your balances over?”
“Right.”
“You can use those to get cash advances.”
“Right.”
“The plan is simple. We apply for a large number of cards, open bank accounts, deposit the ‘introductory’ checks into the accounts, withdraw the money, and vanish.”
“Oh, that is simple,” the cranky Beckett said mockingly.
Corbin refused to take the bait. “Simple plans are the best plans.”
“I suppose you’ve thought about how much can go wrong with this plan?”
“We can talk about this later if you need to take a Midol or something.”
Corbin and Beckett glared at each other for several seconds. Finally, Beckett shrugged his shoulders and said, “Go ahead.”
“First, we need a third person.”
Beckett immediately became agitated. “Where do we get this third person?!”
“I have someone.”
“The more people you add, the greater the chance of us getting caught!”
“This guy is reliable. You can trust him,” Corbin said calmly.
“Trust him?!” Beckett laughed. “I don’t even trust you!”
Corbin let Beckett take a few short breaths before responding. “We need a third. If you can’t handle that, then we can stop right now. Do you want to hear this or not?” Corbin asked without emotion and without breaking eye contact with Beckett, who found it difficult to meet Corbin’s gaze.
“This has prison written all over it,” Beckett complained. His eyes darted between Corbin and the floor.
Corbin waited silently.
“This isn’t some joke! If I’m not satisfied this thing will work, I’m out! I need a guarantee I won’t get caught. I have a family, responsibilities. I can’t go to jail!”
“I wouldn’t suggest this if I thought any of us could end up in jail,” Corbin said, still without emotion. “I’ve worked out every aspect of this, not only how to avoid getting caught, but also how to avoid prosecution if we do get caught. If we do this right, it can never be traced to us and, even if it could, they can never prosecute us. You and I have the knowledge to pull that off. Now, do you want to hear what I’ve got or do you want to get back to living out your life in this dead-end job for a half-ass paycheck?”
Beckett dragged his hand over his chin. “Go. Continue. But I’m not committing to anything yet!”
“Fair enough. On date X, you and this third guy travel to a big city with a lot of banks. You travel by train, using cash to buy the tickets. I’m thinking Philly, but New York works too. We just need a city with lots of banks concentrated in a small area. On this trip, you and he obtain prepaid cell phones, open mail boxes, and open bank accounts.”
“How do we open bank accounts? You can’t just open an account as Joe Blow. Banks want identification, social security numbers, details like that. I’m not using my name and your friend better not use his name, because if they find him, they can find me, and I’m not going to jail for this.” Beckett’s voice rose as he spoke.
“Are you done?” Corbin asked calmly.
Beckett squinted at Corbin.
“We’re going to create fake documents. We’ll have phony drivers licenses, phony socials, phony leases and phony utility bills. One for each account.”
Beckett scratched the back of his neck. “How many accounts are you talking about?”
“As many as my friend can open.”
“If he can’t open enough?”
“Then we open more on a second day.”
Beckett ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled deeply. He looked downward. “That’s a lot of documentation. Keeping track of it will be difficult.”
“That’s your job. You’ll have a duffel bag containing all the documents and phones, organized into packets. You manage the bag so my friend doesn’t need to worry about keeping everything straight. Also, you stay outside the banks so no one inside sees a duffel bag overflowing with fake IDs and account paperwork from a dozen other banks.”
“That would look suspicious,” Beckett said to himself, still staring at the ground. “Can you make these documents?”
“Of course.”
Beckett looked up at Corbin. “I’ll want to see them first.”
“Naturally.”
“After your friend opens the bank accounts. .?”
“You and he return to Washington by train. You give me the duffel bag. I’ll apply for credit cards. A month later, my friend goes back to Philly, New York, wherever, and gets the cards from the mailboxes. We fill in the intro checks and deposit them. A week later, I take my friend back one more time and we withdraw most of the money.”
“Aren’t there limits on how much you can withdraw at any one time?”
“That’s why we need lots of accounts.”
Beckett furrowed his brow. “So why do you need me?”
“You manage the duffel bag.”
“Why can’t you manage the duffel bag?” Beckett asked.
“Because I’m the alibi. While you’re gone, I’ll run interference for you. I’ll send e-mails from your computer. I’ll tell people they just missed you. I’ll even put a cup of coffee on your desk. I’ll also tap your computer every twenty minutes to keep your screensaver from coming on. That way, Kak’s log will show both of us being here all day except for lunch. At lunch, I’ll go to Fiddeja’s and order something that looks like the meal you and I normally order. I’ll put it on your card, and I’ll keep the receipt. The waitress knows us and won’t look at the card I give her or the signature I use. That gives us written proof that you and I had our usual lunch that day.”