The subdivision wasn’t huge, but the houses certainly were. Mostly stucco with pools and lush landscaping, the compounds were surrounded by towering brick fences that marked each property’s perimeter. They kept out everyone and everything, including prying eyes.
Raul eased down the street until he was almost opposite Kelman’s home. On the sidewalk just outside the wall sat a tiny shack. It housed a series of guards whose primary task seemed to be visiting the maid next door. The only break in the brick came where the driveway intersected the fence. A set of double gates, made of iron and highly ornate, led inside to a garage. Raul knew the layout of the house and yard.
He had been inside twice.
Driving by slowly, he glanced toward the guardhouse. The guard was inside. Asleep. Raul circled the block, then parked, along with a line of waiting mothers, in front of a nearby school. Kelman would be out sooner or later.
Within a very short time, a horn sounded inside the gates, and the guard jumped up to open them. A shiny green Jeep-without any scratches-slipped through them a second later. Raul let several cars by, then he pulled into the street and followed a safe distance behind the Jeep.
Twenty minutes later, both vehicles pulled up outside the Banco Nacional.
Raul watched as Kelman exited the Jeep and headed up the sidewalk. He walked with a purposeful stride and rudely brushed off the Quechua, who had the misfortune to approach him with her palm outstretched. The bright spring day sparkled as he entered the bank through the side door, the door that led directly to Emma’s office.
EMMA’S HAND shook as she disconnected the line, then reached out to redial her own office number. Felicity answered after three rings.
Emma spoke quickly. “Felicity, when you called that bank in El Paso to check on the Santos account, what exactly did they say?”
The secretary answered in Spanish, and Emma interrupted her impatiently. “In English, Felicity, please!”
Ignoring Emma’s request, the young woman spoke a second time, still in Spanish. “You have a visitor, Ms. Toussaint,” she said. “I’m telling you in Spanish because he’s sitting right here. He’s very unhappy that you are not in your office.”
“Who is it?”
Instead of giving his name, the secretary described the man. She clearly didn’t want to let him know she was talking about him. “He’s older,” she whispered, “with short gray hair. He looks…intense.”
“Did he give you his card?”
“Sí.”
“Is it William Kelman?”
“Sí, sí, exactamente.”
Emma closed her eyes. God, why had he come in now? When she wasn’t even there. When everything was going wrong. She wanted to cry that the timing was bad. On the other hand, if there was a problem with Raul’s account, she had a feeling Kelman’s dividend could more than make up for the difference.
Taking a deep breath, she spoke rapidly. “When we hang up, tell the gentleman I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Offer him coffee or wine or whatever he wants, but for God’s sake don’t let him out of there. Do you understand?”
“Sí, sí.”
“Okay, now tell me about the bank in El Paso. In Spanish, please.”
“I called them, and they said there were no funds in the account, that it often ran close. They expected a deposit by the end of the day.” Her voice turned fearful. “Did I do something wrong?”
“You told me they said everything was fine.” Emma spoke through clenched teeth.
“That’s what they said.” The girl sounded near tears. “They said it would be fine, so that’s what I told you.”
“In the future, I need the details. I need to know exactly what they say, all right? Not your interpretation.”
Crestfallen, yet clearly relieved, Felicity answered, “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Good. Now please give Mr. Kelman the message, then I want you to call Raul Santos and tell him I need to speak with him. Set up a meeting at any time and place he wants, but make it today. If he asks, tell him I need to firm up some details about his trade.” She paused. “I really need to talk to him, Felicity, so I don’t care how he wants to arrange it. Just make sure I get to see him today. I have to.”
A second later, Emma hung up the phone, then ran to her closet, tearing off the robe she had on and grabbing the first dress her hand fell on. In five minutes, she was flying down the stairs and in another ten, after a wild taxi ride, she was opening the door to her office.
William Kelman rose when he saw her, his blue eyes flicking over her in a silent appraisal.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.” Trying to appear calmer than she was, Emma crossed the room and held out her hand, smiling.
“I had no idea you were coming in.”
“I didn’t, either,” he said. “But I’ve decided to open my account, and I want to do it now.”
“Great.” Emma tilted her head toward her inner office. “Come in and we’ll get started.”
She was dying to find out if Felicity had contacted Raul, but Emma didn’t stop to ask the secretary. She led Kelman into her office and sat down behind her desk.
Before Emma could even catch her breath, Kelman lifted a black leather briefcase and placed it directly in the center of her desk. Popping it open, then turning it around, he revealed the contents. It was packed with bundled currency-one-hundred-dollar bills-and the case was full.
Dumbfounded, Emma sat in her chair and said nothing. She was accustomed to large deposits, but not in cash, and immediately she wondered if the money was legitimate. Anyone who transported more than ten thousand dollars in or out of the U.S. had to file a report with the customs service. A 4790-a Currency Monetary Instrument Report. Unless Kelman had filed one, which somehow she doubted, he’d smuggled the money in.
Without saying a word, he reached down to the side of his chair and picked up a second case Emma hadn’t noticed before. This one held a jumble of paper. Each piece had a different design on it. Ornate with spidery lines and official-looking print, she recognized them immediately. They were stock certificates.
The number of shares, printed on the front of each certificate, ranged from one hundred to one thousand, and she knew the companies that had issued them. Anyone would. They were blue chip all the way. With fingers she had to consciously steady, she picked one up, flipping it over to read the back. It had been endorsed and was perfectly negotiable. She let it flutter back into the case.
Millions. Many millions.
The bonus she’d make from this deposit would be enough to cover an attorney and start proceedings against Todd. Her children’s voices rang in her head, the clear sweet sound so real she wanted to weep.
Emma raised her gaze to Kelman’s face and prayed she looked more composed than she felt. “Is this your deposit?”
“Yes, it is.” He met her look with an open expression. “And before you even ask, I can assure you this money is clean, Ms. Toussaint. There’s not a thing wrong with it. I’ve traveled back and forth to this country for many years, and I’ve brought some cash with me each time I’ve entered. I declared this every time I left the States, and you can check on that, if you like. The CMIRs are on record.”
Emma nodded slowly as he spoke. “Then I’m sure there’s no problem. Deposits of foreign currency are perfectly legitimate in Bolivia. We’ll apply it directly to the account, and it will be immediately accessible. My secretary will handle it and give you a receipt for the total.”
With a pounding heart, she reached for her phone to ring Felicity, but Kelman’s hand snaked out and stopped her. Her eyes shot to his. His touch was as cold as his stare.
“We have something to discuss first.”
He released her and her heart took an extra beat as she moved her hand away from the phone. It was hard to resist the urge to rub the spot on her wrist where his touch still lingered.