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Authors: Fern Michaels
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lot of people change their names for a variety of reasons. That doesn’t necessarily make them criminals. What is it you think Jonathan has done?”
“Do you want the long or the short version, Miss Baker?” Lawrence asked coolly.
Lucy brought her hands up to massage her temples. “I want you to tell me everything,” she whispered.
Lucy almost jumped out of her skin when the reply came firm, hard, and cold. “Murder, drug dealing, money laundering. None of which we can nail him with. The list is very long. Your boyfriend is a very arrogant, respected, sophisticated businessman. He has his fingers in a lot of different pies. His legitimate enterprises are a front for a very sophisticated money-laundering operation that no government has been able to penetrate until now. In the last five years we suspect he’s moved three billion, that’s billion with a b, through his legitimate businesses.
“Where did you get the money to buy that ten-million-dollar house in the Watchung Mountains, Miss Baker?” Agent Mason demanded.
All Lucy could do was gape at the agent. “What ten-million-dollar house? I’ve never been anywhere near the Watchung Mountains in my life. This house you’re sitting in right now is the only property I own.” Before she could blink, a property deed was thrust under her nose.
Lucy skimmed the contents. Her throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. “This isn’t mine. There must be some mistake. It’s not mine,” she said again, this time more forcefully. “I don’t care what that deed says.”
Agent Lawrence stared at Lucy with a jaundiced eye. “Mr. Banks leased that property for a number of years. It’s his home base. It’s where he goes when he’s here in the States. A little over a year ago, he bought the property outright and transferred the deed into your name. Without a doubt, it is a valuable piece of real estate. The security system alone is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. The whole place is loaded with motion sensors, laser trip wires, and tremor plates. Terrorists and drug dealers use devices like that. Now, to our way of thinking, if you’re a normal person who just safeguards his privacy, that’s one thing, but systems like the ones installed on that property make us wonder what Mr. Banks is hiding. Or what you’re hiding since the property is in your name. In addition, there are a half dozen very-high-end vehicles parked in the six-car garage. Six-car garage,” the agent repeated sourly. “They’re all in your name, too. A Bentley, a Mercedes, a Porsche, a Rolls-Royce, a Lamborghini, and a 1965 restored Mustang convertible. Not to mention the fleet of cigarette boats he has stashed in Florida. They’re in your name, too. Those cigarette boats raise your net worth considerably.”
“I don’t care. They aren’t mine. I don’t even know what a cigarette boat is. I think I heard the term once when I watched Miami Vice on television, but that’s all I know. I didn’t know about the cars until this moment. I drive a BMW. I make payments every month. It’s a leased vehicle, for God’s sake. I’m telling you the truth.” Lucy cringed at the desperation in her voice. Fear, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, rushed through her.
“What about these?” Special Agent Connors asked. Lucy watched in horror as brokerage statement after brokerage statement slid out of the manila folder Connors had been holding. Goldman Sachs, Prudential, Merrill Lynch, Smith Barney, Charles Schwab, and a few more she couldn’t read because they were upside down. “Your name is on every single one of these accounts. The account total in case you’re interested, is 21 million dollars. These statements make you a very wealthy lady, Miss Baker.”
A scream built in Lucy’s throat. “They aren’t mine! I can’t even begin to comprehend 21 million dollars. Check the signature. I never opened any of those accounts. It’s all a big mistake. You can check my
“Do you want the long or the short version, Miss Baker?” Lawrence asked coolly.
Lucy brought her hands up to massage her temples. “I want you to tell me everything,” she whispered.
Lucy almost jumped out of her skin when the reply came firm, hard, and cold. “Murder, drug dealing, money laundering. None of which we can nail him with. The list is very long. Your boyfriend is a very arrogant, respected, sophisticated businessman. He has his fingers in a lot of different pies. His legitimate enterprises are a front for a very sophisticated money-laundering operation that no government has been able to penetrate until now. In the last five years we suspect he’s moved three billion, that’s billion with a b, through his legitimate businesses.
“Where did you get the money to buy that ten-million-dollar house in the Watchung Mountains, Miss Baker?” Agent Mason demanded.
All Lucy could do was gape at the agent. “What ten-million-dollar house? I’ve never been anywhere near the Watchung Mountains in my life. This house you’re sitting in right now is the only property I own.” Before she could blink, a property deed was thrust under her nose.
Lucy skimmed the contents. Her throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. “This isn’t mine. There must be some mistake. It’s not mine,” she said again, this time more forcefully. “I don’t care what that deed says.”
Agent Lawrence stared at Lucy with a jaundiced eye. “Mr. Banks leased that property for a number of years. It’s his home base. It’s where he goes when he’s here in the States. A little over a year ago, he bought the property outright and transferred the deed into your name. Without a doubt, it is a valuable piece of real estate. The security system alone is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. The whole place is loaded with motion sensors, laser trip wires, and tremor plates. Terrorists and drug dealers use devices like that. Now, to our way of thinking, if you’re a normal person who just safeguards his privacy, that’s one thing, but systems like the ones installed on that property make us wonder what Mr. Banks is hiding. Or what you’re hiding since the property is in your name. In addition, there are a half dozen very-high-end vehicles parked in the six-car garage. Six-car garage,” the agent repeated sourly. “They’re all in your name, too. A Bentley, a Mercedes, a Porsche, a Rolls-Royce, a Lamborghini, and a 1965 restored Mustang convertible. Not to mention the fleet of cigarette boats he has stashed in Florida. They’re in your name, too. Those cigarette boats raise your net worth considerably.”
“I don’t care. They aren’t mine. I don’t even know what a cigarette boat is. I think I heard the term once when I watched Miami Vice on television, but that’s all I know. I didn’t know about the cars until this moment. I drive a BMW. I make payments every month. It’s a leased vehicle, for God’s sake. I’m telling you the truth.” Lucy cringed at the desperation in her voice. Fear, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, rushed through her.
“What about these?” Special Agent Connors asked. Lucy watched in horror as brokerage statement after brokerage statement slid out of the manila folder Connors had been holding. Goldman Sachs, Prudential, Merrill Lynch, Smith Barney, Charles Schwab, and a few more she couldn’t read because they were upside down. “Your name is on every single one of these accounts. The account total in case you’re interested, is 21 million dollars. These statements make you a very wealthy lady, Miss Baker.”
A scream built in Lucy’s throat. “They aren’t mine! I can’t even begin to comprehend 21 million dollars. Check the signature. I never opened any of those accounts. It’s all a big mistake. You can check my
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