the wires.”
“I want to thank you for this,” Ava said. “You’ve been helpful.”
“Not a problem, except — can I assume you’ll try to contact Georges Brun and maybe the overseas bank?”
“You can.”
“You can’t mention that we gave you this information.”
“I won’t. And look, send the information to me as soon as you have it. Don’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
She stared at the Liechtenstein phone number. Everything she knew about Liechtenstein told her that the number was probably the bank’s and that Brun was probably a bank employee. Assuming that was true, she tried to come up with a plausible excuse for calling that would get Georges Brun or whoever else was at the other end of the line to speak to her. She came up dry.
Frustrated with herself, she went online and began to research Liechtenstein banking and company registration regulations. Maybe I’m overthinking this , Ava thought. Maybe the country’s reputation as a haven for offshore accounts has been overstated.
Half an hour later she gave up. Incorporating a company in Liechtenstein was as easy as buying milk at a corner store in Canada. There were officially more than seventy thousand registered holding companies in a country with a population of thirty-five thousand. And there were more than two hundred private banks to service those companies. Their reputation for secrecy was second to none, although they frowned on money laundering and were prepared to work with foreign government authorities if any fraudulent activity was suspected. Ava had no government credentials she could wave at them, and there was no hint of money laundering.
She then began considering the idea that the phone number was an actual company’s, not the bank’s. If it was, there would be a real name attached to the number she had. What the hell, she thought, it’s worth a try.
She dialled the number and a woman answered in a language that sounded like German. “I’m sorry, I only speak English,” Ava said.
“Liechtenstein Private Estate Bank,” the woman said.
So much for that plan, Ava thought. “Georges Brun, please.”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Never mind,” Ava said, and hung up.
She had no one else related to this case to talk to, or rather no one who would talk to her. Either way it made no difference. All she had left were the wire transfers, and she had no reason to believe they would contain information she didn’t already have.
( 12 )
The wires hadn’t arrived by seven thirty, and Ava was scheduled to join Uncle at eight at the Shanghai restaurant on the Kowloon side. Reluctantly she left her hotel and walked to the Star Ferry. This time she sat in the stern so she could look back at the magnificent skyline, which expanded as she moved farther away from shore.
Uncle was, as usual, already at the restaurant when she arrived. She hadn’t even sat down before he asked, “The banker called you?”
“Yes, and he was helpful.”
“Good. My friends want to know.”
Ava could only imagine what the banker had been told.
“What did you find out?”
“Nothing of any substance, but there may be some leads I can pursue.”
“So it is not over?”
“Not yet. Close, but not yet.”
He looked at the menu. “What kind of Shanghai food does your mother like?”
“Do they have drunken chicken?”
“Yes, and the stewed sea cucumber.”
“Steamed buns?”
“Of course.”
“Add a soup and that should be enough.”
“They have a Shanghai soup with pork, baby bok choy, and bamboo shoots.”
“Perfect.”
They talked idly while they ate. Ava’s last case had involved bringing two of Uncle’s men, Carlo and Andy, from Hong Kong to Las Vegas. Ava said some nice things about their contribution and asked what they were up to.
“Carlo has a bookmaking sideline, and Andy and his wife own a noodle shop near the Kowloon train station,” he said. “They were sorry they did not get to see more of Las
“I want to thank you for this,” Ava said. “You’ve been helpful.”
“Not a problem, except — can I assume you’ll try to contact Georges Brun and maybe the overseas bank?”
“You can.”
“You can’t mention that we gave you this information.”
“I won’t. And look, send the information to me as soon as you have it. Don’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
She stared at the Liechtenstein phone number. Everything she knew about Liechtenstein told her that the number was probably the bank’s and that Brun was probably a bank employee. Assuming that was true, she tried to come up with a plausible excuse for calling that would get Georges Brun or whoever else was at the other end of the line to speak to her. She came up dry.
Frustrated with herself, she went online and began to research Liechtenstein banking and company registration regulations. Maybe I’m overthinking this , Ava thought. Maybe the country’s reputation as a haven for offshore accounts has been overstated.
Half an hour later she gave up. Incorporating a company in Liechtenstein was as easy as buying milk at a corner store in Canada. There were officially more than seventy thousand registered holding companies in a country with a population of thirty-five thousand. And there were more than two hundred private banks to service those companies. Their reputation for secrecy was second to none, although they frowned on money laundering and were prepared to work with foreign government authorities if any fraudulent activity was suspected. Ava had no government credentials she could wave at them, and there was no hint of money laundering.
She then began considering the idea that the phone number was an actual company’s, not the bank’s. If it was, there would be a real name attached to the number she had. What the hell, she thought, it’s worth a try.
She dialled the number and a woman answered in a language that sounded like German. “I’m sorry, I only speak English,” Ava said.
“Liechtenstein Private Estate Bank,” the woman said.
So much for that plan, Ava thought. “Georges Brun, please.”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Never mind,” Ava said, and hung up.
She had no one else related to this case to talk to, or rather no one who would talk to her. Either way it made no difference. All she had left were the wire transfers, and she had no reason to believe they would contain information she didn’t already have.
( 12 )
The wires hadn’t arrived by seven thirty, and Ava was scheduled to join Uncle at eight at the Shanghai restaurant on the Kowloon side. Reluctantly she left her hotel and walked to the Star Ferry. This time she sat in the stern so she could look back at the magnificent skyline, which expanded as she moved farther away from shore.
Uncle was, as usual, already at the restaurant when she arrived. She hadn’t even sat down before he asked, “The banker called you?”
“Yes, and he was helpful.”
“Good. My friends want to know.”
Ava could only imagine what the banker had been told.
“What did you find out?”
“Nothing of any substance, but there may be some leads I can pursue.”
“So it is not over?”
“Not yet. Close, but not yet.”
He looked at the menu. “What kind of Shanghai food does your mother like?”
“Do they have drunken chicken?”
“Yes, and the stewed sea cucumber.”
“Steamed buns?”
“Of course.”
“Add a soup and that should be enough.”
“They have a Shanghai soup with pork, baby bok choy, and bamboo shoots.”
“Perfect.”
They talked idly while they ate. Ava’s last case had involved bringing two of Uncle’s men, Carlo and Andy, from Hong Kong to Las Vegas. Ava said some nice things about their contribution and asked what they were up to.
“Carlo has a bookmaking sideline, and Andy and his wife own a noodle shop near the Kowloon train station,” he said. “They were sorry they did not get to see more of Las
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