you in?”
“Not yet,” said Stillman. “The company traces the check it issued to the first Alan Werfel a week earlier. It was drawn on Wells Fargo in San Francisco. It was endorsed by the artistic but fake Alan Werfel and deposited in an account at Bank of America.” He nodded to himself. “This is, not surprisingly, a new account. But it’s a different branch of the same bank that Alan Werfel uses, and the check is to Alan Werfel from McClaren’s, so it won’t bounce. This keeps them calm, and they only put a hold on the three million they can’t cover with his other accounts.”
“Where is the money now?”
“It traveled. On day two, the fake Alan Werfel starts moving it fast. He gets a check to a real estate company for a new house. This is one of those certified, guaranteed, immediate-pay cashier’s checks for closing escrow. This one is for seven million, six hundred thousand. He gets another check to an insurance company on the same basis: who wants to accept ownership of a seven-million-dollar house with no fire insurance? It’s expensive. A hundred grand. Another hundred for earthquake. He also pays two hundred to a contractor as an initial payment for remodeling, four hundred to an interior decorator for antique furniture and shipping, two-forty to a landscape architect. On day five, he pays a million six to an art dealer for paintings. In fact, this guy manages to move ten million, two hundred and forty thousand before noon on day five. Then he takes a one-year lease on another house to live in while his is being fixed up: ten thousand a month for a total of one hundred twenty. He pays a probate lawyer three hundred thousand for settling his father’s estate. He even pays for the funeral—twenty grand, plus twenty-five for the caterer.”
“For a funeral?”
“An imaginary one, sure. Why be cheap? That must be the going rate, because it didn’t raise any flags. That left the account with a million two ninety-five. He transferred a million two to an account at Union Bank with a notation on the check that it was for the rest of the remodeling, and closed the B. of A. account with ninety-five grand in cash. Presumably for tips.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
“That’s it. All before McClaren’s knew enough to stop payment on the first check. Of course, each of the imaginary companies had its own account at a different bank. That bought them more time to move it before it could be tracked down.” He paused. “What I’m interested in is this money at Union Bank.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, it hasn’t been pulled out as checks to businesses that don’t exist. It’s set up as a checking account owned by a woman named Lydia King.”
“So?”
“The original amount was twelve million. The account was a million, two hundred thousand. It’s ten percent.” He glanced at Walker. “The account was set up after all the other money had been successfully moved, as though they were waiting for that to happen before they paid Lydia King.”
“Are you saying it was a bribe to Ellen Snyder? That she’s off somewhere living as Lydia King?”
“I’m not ready to make any bald pronouncements just yet,” said Stillman. He opened another folder and paged through it. “She didn’t go into the bank and get herself on the security tapes, so I can’t tell you who Lydia King is. She just wrote checks and converted them all over creation. She wrote small checks to other women, who took the money in cash, and she used checks to buy things that can be converted: gold coins, some good jewelry, traveler’s checks, money orders, foreign currency.”
“So what makes this money different? They made up businesses, and they made up a person.”
“The person paid for things I think are overhead: Hermès luggage at fifteen hundred dollars a bag, human-hair wigs, women’s clothes, a few plane tickets to other cities where she was converting the money. It goes on and on, in a dozen different
“Not yet,” said Stillman. “The company traces the check it issued to the first Alan Werfel a week earlier. It was drawn on Wells Fargo in San Francisco. It was endorsed by the artistic but fake Alan Werfel and deposited in an account at Bank of America.” He nodded to himself. “This is, not surprisingly, a new account. But it’s a different branch of the same bank that Alan Werfel uses, and the check is to Alan Werfel from McClaren’s, so it won’t bounce. This keeps them calm, and they only put a hold on the three million they can’t cover with his other accounts.”
“Where is the money now?”
“It traveled. On day two, the fake Alan Werfel starts moving it fast. He gets a check to a real estate company for a new house. This is one of those certified, guaranteed, immediate-pay cashier’s checks for closing escrow. This one is for seven million, six hundred thousand. He gets another check to an insurance company on the same basis: who wants to accept ownership of a seven-million-dollar house with no fire insurance? It’s expensive. A hundred grand. Another hundred for earthquake. He also pays two hundred to a contractor as an initial payment for remodeling, four hundred to an interior decorator for antique furniture and shipping, two-forty to a landscape architect. On day five, he pays a million six to an art dealer for paintings. In fact, this guy manages to move ten million, two hundred and forty thousand before noon on day five. Then he takes a one-year lease on another house to live in while his is being fixed up: ten thousand a month for a total of one hundred twenty. He pays a probate lawyer three hundred thousand for settling his father’s estate. He even pays for the funeral—twenty grand, plus twenty-five for the caterer.”
“For a funeral?”
“An imaginary one, sure. Why be cheap? That must be the going rate, because it didn’t raise any flags. That left the account with a million two ninety-five. He transferred a million two to an account at Union Bank with a notation on the check that it was for the rest of the remodeling, and closed the B. of A. account with ninety-five grand in cash. Presumably for tips.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
“That’s it. All before McClaren’s knew enough to stop payment on the first check. Of course, each of the imaginary companies had its own account at a different bank. That bought them more time to move it before it could be tracked down.” He paused. “What I’m interested in is this money at Union Bank.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, it hasn’t been pulled out as checks to businesses that don’t exist. It’s set up as a checking account owned by a woman named Lydia King.”
“So?”
“The original amount was twelve million. The account was a million, two hundred thousand. It’s ten percent.” He glanced at Walker. “The account was set up after all the other money had been successfully moved, as though they were waiting for that to happen before they paid Lydia King.”
“Are you saying it was a bribe to Ellen Snyder? That she’s off somewhere living as Lydia King?”
“I’m not ready to make any bald pronouncements just yet,” said Stillman. He opened another folder and paged through it. “She didn’t go into the bank and get herself on the security tapes, so I can’t tell you who Lydia King is. She just wrote checks and converted them all over creation. She wrote small checks to other women, who took the money in cash, and she used checks to buy things that can be converted: gold coins, some good jewelry, traveler’s checks, money orders, foreign currency.”
“So what makes this money different? They made up businesses, and they made up a person.”
“The person paid for things I think are overhead: Hermès luggage at fifteen hundred dollars a bag, human-hair wigs, women’s clothes, a few plane tickets to other cities where she was converting the money. It goes on and on, in a dozen different