Sharks by Matt Rogers (best book series to read TXT) 📕

mind,’ Cohen said, ‘could you enlighten me as to where it’s being sent? I’m afraid Keith was a man of secrecy.’

Deborah nodded and crossed one leg over the other. She folded her hands over the knee on top, then began.

‘You have small denomination cash,’ she said. ‘Lots of it. Mostly tens and twenties. Am I correct in assuming that hasn’t changed?’

Cohen leant forward in his seat and unzipped one of the duffels. It was messier than King anticipated, and the denominations were smaller, but it was all the same thing in the end. Instead of neatly bundled hundreds, the bag was full to the brim with crumpled tens, twenties, and the occasional fifty. They were big bags. It had to be at least a few hundred thousand dollars in total, across the three of them. Nothing to scoff at, especially if it came in with regularity. And the unkempt nature of the cash hinted at something grimier — the bills reeked of desperation. King pictured addicts all over the city handing over their last few measly dollars for a hit of smack, or johns handing ageing prostitutes a crumpled twenty for a quickie.

There was untold suffering in these bags.

Deborah said, ‘Right. Business as usual. Now, obviously you can’t deposit this cash because it’d trigger every alarm in earshot of the IRS. Especially given your … public position. But Lagoon gets these sorts of denominations all the time. In fact, every minute of every hour of every day. We have hordes of tens and twenties coming in like clockwork, so an amount like what’s between us right now isn’t even remotely suspicious.’

Cohen nodded. ‘I figured as much.’

Deborah said, ‘It comes to us, and then we send it offshore.’

‘Where?’

‘A bank in Freeport.’

Silence.

Deborah said, ‘The Bahamas.’

‘Right.’

‘We can do that discreetly. You’d be surprised what’s legally possible when you work with tax havens. It’s a grey area, obviously, but isn’t it all?’

Cohen nodded.

Deborah said, ‘From the Bahamas, it comes straight back here. It’s disguised as an offshore loan. So it’s just your money circling back to you, but thanks to bank secrecy laws we can make the middle stretch awfully unclear. It looks like a bank in the Bahamas is expanding their customer base by loaning overseas, when really they’re sending our money straight back. And from there, we take those “offshore loans” and invest them in brick-and-mortar businesses here in the U.S. We can do that through blind trusts and fictitious corporate fronts. It’s all stupidly complicated, but that’s what we’re here for. You hand your money to us, it “officially” becomes our money, we do all that tricky behind-the-scenes work we’re so good at, and you get it back in a growing portfolio after it’s been around the world and come back, washed and squeaky clean.’

Cohen nodded. ‘And the fee?’

‘Ten percent,’ Deborah said. ‘A whole lot better than the taxes you’d pay if you tried to do it on your own, not to mention the scrutiny you’d face. Because, if I’m being honest, you wouldn’t know your way around a blind trust if you spent years studying it.’

‘I’ll pretend to be offended,’ Cohen said.

‘You’re good at what you do,’ Deborah said. ‘And we’re good at what we do. We successfully washed a shade over thirteen point five million dollars for Keith, and if nothing disturbs the supply chain we’ll do the same for you within two years. Any questions?’

‘I have one,’ King said, startling them both. ‘What’s the name of the bank in Freeport?’

Deborah hesitated, shifting in her seat. She looked mighty uncomfortable. She said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but aren’t you here for security purposes?’

‘The name of the bank,’ he repeated.

‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information.’

‘I mustn’t have made myself clear.’

He ripped a sleek black SIG Sauer from a concealed appendix holster and aimed the maw of the barrel square between her eyes. A fat suppressor was screwed to the gun.

She nearly fainted.

11

Cohen jerked in his seat and made to reach for his waistband but King smacked him in the nose with the back of his free hand, breaking the delicate bone.

Cohen’s hands flew to his face and King used the opportunity to reach over and rip his service weapon out of its holster and toss it across the room. Then he shoved the lieutenant, face bloodied and eyes squeezed shut, back into his seat.

He turned his attention back to Deborah.

For a third time, in the same calm tone, he said, ‘The name of the bank.’

She hesitated, only for a moment.

He slipped a finger inside the trigger guard. ‘Deborah, you’ve got one second before I shoot you in the head. This isn’t a bad dream. This is real.’

He could see the gears turning in her head.

Give it away and get killed by my bosses, she was thinking, or die here.

When it came to being executed, later was always better than now.

She said, ‘Métier Bank International.’

‘Métier?’ He spelled it out, letter by letter.

She nodded when he finished.

‘Who do you do business with at Métier?’ he said.

‘It’s their branch in Freeport,’ she said. ‘So all their staff. But all of Métier is owned by a major Bahamian Trust Company.’

‘And who owns that?’

‘I swear on my life I don’t know.’

‘Because you haven’t looked?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Ignorance is bliss.’

She didn’t answer.

The easy path, he thought. Why does everyone succumb to it?

He said, ‘I think you’ll find this hard to ignore.’

He swept his aim to the right, but he didn’t take his eyes off her when he pulled the trigger and put a bullet through the side of Dean Cohen’s head. Blood and brain matter coated the far wall from the exit wound, but King only caught it in his peripheral vision.

Deborah didn’t scream.

They don’t usually scream.

It’s usually so shocking, so loud and chaotic and horrific and violent, that making any noise at all is the last thing on their mind.

Especially if they’ve never seen it before in the flesh.

She sat there like a skeleton with skin, her complexion as pale as