were in their fifties, which trended old, but otherwise they fit the profile: neatly dressed, inconspicuous, law-abiding foreign nationals from Mexico, Central America, or northern South America (in this case, Guatemalans), with good language skills, established in the community (their daughter was enrolled in a Catholic high school, and they had a one-year renter’s agreement on their house). Smurfs are rarely armed, notably compliant, and never see or handle the powder: the money cells and the drug cells are kept entirely separate, for security reasons.
The woman carried a large Vera Bradley knockoff—the fashion among New England–area smurfs that year, thanks to its convenient interior pockets—so full of money, she had to remove banded stacks of cash to dig out her identification. Inside their home, in oversize blue cotton laundry bags next to the basement washer-dryer, Lash had discovered another three hundred K.
No law, federal or local, prohibits people from keeping $300,000 in the laundry area of their home. Because of this, Windfall’s arrest rate—their total “clearance” of successfully prosecuted cases—was relatively low. To prefer federal charges, Lash had to prove thata suspect was “structuring”—laundering illegal profits into unreportable sums—which required a significant paper trail, the lack of which was the whole idea of smurfing in the first place. The smurfs who were arrested almost never cooperated with the government, knowing that family members in their native country would suffer for their betrayal. (This was also why smurfs could be trusted never to skim profits from their cartel employers.)
But large sums of money suspected to be the fruit of illegal activity could lawfully be confiscated by the federal government and held until such time as the possessor could prove it was legitimately received or earned. The couple in this case offered no objection to the cash seizure, only requesting a receipt for the full amount, certified by an agent of the IRS: a piece of paper citing proof of law enforcement confiscation, the one thing that ensured they and their loved ones would remain alive.
Such moneys are never claimed, the bulk of the funds turned over to the Treasury’s forfeiture fund to be applied toward reducing the federal deficit—with 10 percent recycled back into financing Windfall. Over the past two years, Windfall had confiscated over $31 million in cash and assets in the six New England states. Because Windfall was self-funded and, in this way, self-perpetuating, Lash and his team enjoyed relative autonomy.
Going after the drugs themselves was a failure. It meant agents had to hustle harder than street dealers to make a bust, only to see the bad guys cycle through the criminal justice system as easily as the dollars they laundered. Street money was chump change, because once the product was out on the streets, the source money, the real money, had already been made.
Disrupt the Flow. That was Lash’s mantra. Get in Their Shit. The money Windfall had seized wasn’t enough to shake the foundations of the cartels—not yet—and admittedly, drugs weren’t physically being taken off the street. But Windfall’s diligence was beginning to exact a real toll on the suppliers, Lash was sure. They could always manufacture more product, but confiscated profits were gone forever. He was hacking away at their bottom line. Getting Windfallimplemented nationwide, which was his goal, might even change the face of the American drug problem—not defeat it, never defeat it, but weaken it, break it down, make it more manageable.
L ASH PULLED INTO A SPACE ON THE THIRD LEVEL OF THE PARKING garage. He exchanged his overcoat and coffee-and-cream scarf for a San Antonio Spurs hoodie. He used to wear a Celtics hoodie, but too many whites came up asking if he was Robert Parish.
He crossed into the adjacent Museum of Science, paid the entrance fee, and headed over to the blue wing, second
The woman carried a large Vera Bradley knockoff—the fashion among New England–area smurfs that year, thanks to its convenient interior pockets—so full of money, she had to remove banded stacks of cash to dig out her identification. Inside their home, in oversize blue cotton laundry bags next to the basement washer-dryer, Lash had discovered another three hundred K.
No law, federal or local, prohibits people from keeping $300,000 in the laundry area of their home. Because of this, Windfall’s arrest rate—their total “clearance” of successfully prosecuted cases—was relatively low. To prefer federal charges, Lash had to prove thata suspect was “structuring”—laundering illegal profits into unreportable sums—which required a significant paper trail, the lack of which was the whole idea of smurfing in the first place. The smurfs who were arrested almost never cooperated with the government, knowing that family members in their native country would suffer for their betrayal. (This was also why smurfs could be trusted never to skim profits from their cartel employers.)
But large sums of money suspected to be the fruit of illegal activity could lawfully be confiscated by the federal government and held until such time as the possessor could prove it was legitimately received or earned. The couple in this case offered no objection to the cash seizure, only requesting a receipt for the full amount, certified by an agent of the IRS: a piece of paper citing proof of law enforcement confiscation, the one thing that ensured they and their loved ones would remain alive.
Such moneys are never claimed, the bulk of the funds turned over to the Treasury’s forfeiture fund to be applied toward reducing the federal deficit—with 10 percent recycled back into financing Windfall. Over the past two years, Windfall had confiscated over $31 million in cash and assets in the six New England states. Because Windfall was self-funded and, in this way, self-perpetuating, Lash and his team enjoyed relative autonomy.
Going after the drugs themselves was a failure. It meant agents had to hustle harder than street dealers to make a bust, only to see the bad guys cycle through the criminal justice system as easily as the dollars they laundered. Street money was chump change, because once the product was out on the streets, the source money, the real money, had already been made.
Disrupt the Flow. That was Lash’s mantra. Get in Their Shit. The money Windfall had seized wasn’t enough to shake the foundations of the cartels—not yet—and admittedly, drugs weren’t physically being taken off the street. But Windfall’s diligence was beginning to exact a real toll on the suppliers, Lash was sure. They could always manufacture more product, but confiscated profits were gone forever. He was hacking away at their bottom line. Getting Windfallimplemented nationwide, which was his goal, might even change the face of the American drug problem—not defeat it, never defeat it, but weaken it, break it down, make it more manageable.
L ASH PULLED INTO A SPACE ON THE THIRD LEVEL OF THE PARKING garage. He exchanged his overcoat and coffee-and-cream scarf for a San Antonio Spurs hoodie. He used to wear a Celtics hoodie, but too many whites came up asking if he was Robert Parish.
He crossed into the adjacent Museum of Science, paid the entrance fee, and headed over to the blue wing, second
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