Nick took a seat on the couch and opened his briefcase. The honeymoon is now officially over, he mused. He placed his copy of the NZZ on the table before him and reviewed the facts as reported.
Yesterday, the Gotthardo Bank, a universal bank of roughly USB's size with its headquarters in Lugano, reported to the Swiss federal prosecutor, Franz Studer, that after a lengthy internal investigation, it had discovered evidence of gross impropriety on the part of one of its own executives. For the past seven years, one Lorenz Rey, a senior vice president, had been surreptitiously working for the Uribe family of Mexico to launder money and assist in the international transfer of funds emanating from the sale of illegal narcotics. Rey claimed that only he and two junior members of his department were privy to all details of the account, and thus fully cognizant of the criminality of the acts performed on behalf of their client. Documents given to the federal prosecutor's office indicated that the bank had laundered over two billion U.S. dollars for the Uribes during the past seven years. Included were receipts given the Uribes for cash deposits, made at Gotthardo's Lugano head office, totaling more than eighty-five million dollars, an average of one million dollars per month. Rey further admitted to willfully concealing evidence of the client's activities from his superiors at the bank in exchange for lavish gifts from the Uribe family, including vacations to the Uribe family resort in Cala di Volpe, Sardinia, as well as to Acapulco, San Francisco, and Punta del Este.
A regular Marco Polo, thought Nick.
Franz Studer announced the immediate freezing of the Uribes' accounts pending a full investigation and hailed the Gotthardo Bank as being at the forefront of Switzerland's internal efforts to police the illegal activities perpetrated by foreign criminals. No criminal penalties would be sought against the bank, said Studer.
A front-page photograph showed Rey being led in handcuffs from the D.A.'s office. He had dressed well for his swan song. He wore a stylish three-piece suit and sported a gambler's kerchief, which fell carelessly out of his breast pocket. Worse, the man was smiling.
Nick was hardly a seasoned expert on banking practice. He didn't need to be to realize that if one client had made transfers and deposits totaling more than two billion dollars over a seven-year period, a lot more than three people were going to know about it.
First off, movements in the portfolios of larger clients were examined monthly. Banks liked to curry favor with their larger clients and were constantly on the lookout for increases in funds deposited, facilities granted, or transactions undertaken on their behalf. Letters of solicitation were sent regularly. Encouragement was given that the client's funds would be well cared for, and so on and so forth. An entire protocol existed for the proper wooing and pampering of the wealthy client.
Second, even the humblest portfolio manager can't help bragging about his client's growing presence at the bank. Wasn't he in some small way responsible for the growth in revenues stemming from his client's increased deposits? Shouldn't he benefit in some way? Lorenz Rey, a senior vice president of the Gotthardo Bank, aged thirty-eight, did not look like a selfless monk. Unless, of course, the Franciscan order had taken to wearing Brioni suits, solid gold Rolex wristwatches, and diamond pinkie rings.
Finally, just the act of depositing one million dollars in banknotes every month would beg the attention, if not inspire the conversation, of the bank's sharp-eyed logistical staff. The same portfolio manager arriving at the cash window two, three, maybe four times each month with an armful of greenbacks, always on behalf of the same client, year after year, would be as conspicuous to any and all members of the bank as a woman walking stark naked into its lobby and asking directions to the Basel Zoo.
Nick had trouble suppressing a hoot of laughter as he studied the article. If nothing else, the Gotthardo Bank should be applauded for the brazenness of their claims. And as if to prove the sum total of Nick's suspicions, the paper reported that at the time it was frozen, the Uribes' account held seven million dollars. Here, observed Nick, is an account through which two billion dollars has been laundered, invested, transferred, what have you, and on the day it is closed, it holds what in the currency of the drug trade is pocket change. Chance? Luck? Coincidence? Hardly.
The Gotthardo Bank was buying its freedom from continuing inquiry. The price, seven million dollars and the careers of several replaceable flunkies. The Uribes would be upset; less so when the bank made good on their frozen deposits with a quiet deduction from the institution's hidden reserves.
Nick shifted his gaze to the Chairman, who was engrossed in conversation with Sepp Zwicki. So, Kaiser was upset that the Gotthardo Bank had given up the Uribes so early. He had taken a sizable chunk out of Schweitzer's ass for having passed on some faulty information. Twice, Schweitzer had screwed up, said Kaiser. What other error had recently drawn the Chairman's wrath?
What interested Nick most was the reason for Kaiser's rage. He wasn't pissed off that the Gotthardo Bank had worked with the Uribes- a name that for decades had been linked to organized crime. He showed no concern that Gotthardo's admission might damage Switzerland's reputation for secrecy. His anger was fueled solely by the fact that they had done it now. The Chairman was no fool. He knew damn well that the Gotthardo Bank's admission would only increase the pressure on USB to fork over one of its own. In this game, no one was innocent. And no one guilty. But somewhere along the line you had to pay your dues to keep your place at the table. Gotthardo had paid and was now relatively safe from further prosecution. USB could afford no such luxury.
Wolfgang Kaiser hung up the telephone and motioned for Nick to join him. Nick quickly folded the newspaper and walked to the Chairman's desk. On it lay copies of the three Swiss dailies, as well as the Wall Street Journal, the Financial Times, and the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. Each was opened to an article discussing the Gotthardo Bank investigation.
"A splendid mess, isn't it?" asked Kaiser. "The timing couldn't be worse."
Nick didn't have a chance to respond. Beyond the closed doors, Rita Sutter's normally calm voice rose to a plaintive wail. A chair was overturned and a glass shattered. Nick sprang from his chair. Kaiser rounded his desk and made for the entryway. Before either could take more than three steps, the double doors were flung open.
Sterling Thorne marched into the office of the chairman of the United Swiss Bank. Rita Sutter followed, clutching at the American's long arm and admonishing him to stop, repeating over and over again that no one was allowed into the Chairman's office without an appointment. Hugo Brunner, the chief hall porter, trotted in behind them, head hanging low like a hound who had failed his master.
"Madam, you can let go of my shirtsleeve if you'd be so kind," Thorne said to Rita Sutter.
"It's all right, Rita," soothed Wolfgang Kaiser, though his eyes conveyed a different message. "We mustn't be impolite to our guests, even if they arrive without an appointment. You can go back to your desk. You too, Hugo. Thank you."
"This man is a… a… barbarian," shouted Rita Sutter. She relinquished her grasp on Thorne and, giving him a nasty scowl, stalked from the office. Hugo followed.
Thorne shook loose his sleeve. He walked to Wolfgang Kaiser and introduced himself as if the two had never met.
Kaiser shook his hand, wincing as if to say "Spare me this garbage." "This is a bank, Mr. Thorne. Normally we expect even our most valued clients to schedule appointments. We're not a fast-food establishment where one can simply drive through."