“There’s no such thing.”
“Jake, it’s just window dressing.”
“We don’t need it. I’m as official as it comes, I do our taxes. All Ellen has to do is sign her name to the return.”
“Don’t get all bent out of shape, honey. We might be gilding the lily, but if it helps me get nominated, why not? The issue isn’t the accuracy of our record-keeping, but whether we’re up to shenanigans.”
Jake shuddered.
“You can’t give a stamp of approval to your own bookkeeping or tax returns. It has to come from someone independent. If it’s too much work, Ellen can do everything. Is that better for you?”
“No, I want to do it,” Jake answered quickly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get the papers together and have them FedExed to Ellen for Wednesday morning. All she’ll have to do is write her phony-baloney letter, okay?”
“That would be great, thanks. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Talk later. I’ll be home late tonight. The powers-that-be want to powwow about the nomination. Can you deal with dinner for Ryan?”
“Sure, take care,” Jake said, hanging up. He found himself staring at their online bank account, which had logged him out. He had to pay the blackmail or Deaner would keep torturing Ryan.
Jake sweated under his jacket, thinking about that check in the safe.
Chapter Twenty-five
Jake clicked through the Gardenia Trust spreadsheet on his computer, trying to figure out how to get the money from company or client funds, but he couldn’t find a way. The check in the safe couldn’t be used because it was made out to Gardenia, and even as the company’s principal and sole owner, he couldn’t cash it or deposit it into his own account. It could only be deposited into Gardenia’s holding account, and from there, it couldn’t be wired to any personal account, much less offshore. Gardenia’s bank, Pennsylvania National Bank, would simply refuse to do it, because it would run afoul of FDIC regulations, which was only one of the layers of rules and regulations. Gardenia was also a state-chartered trust company, so they were also governed by FNRA and the SEC, because they were also an RIA, an alphabet soup of laws.
Jake rubbed his face, trying to understand his position. He couldn’t use his personal funds because the FBI would see, and he couldn’t use Gardenia money because he couldn’t get it. The problem was that the FBI would be able to see the balances in any existing accounts, but that gave him an idea, because it meant that they couldn’t see the balances in any accounts that didn’t exist right now.
Jake reached for his phone and scrolled down to Harold Ackerman, his banker at Pennsylvania National, in charge of all of Jake’s personal accounts, as well as Gardenia business accounts. He pressed in the number and Harold picked it up after the first ring. “Harold, I need a favor. Confidentially.”
“You got it. How can I help?”
“I need a personal line of credit for $250 grand to be opened today.”
“No problem, Jake. You have the balances to back that up. You want it in your name, or yours and Pam’s?”
“Just mine, and I need it wired to an offshore account by eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, at the absolute latest.” Jake knew it would be an unusual request, but he also knew that Harold wouldn’t ask any questions. Anybody who dealt regularly with high-net-worth individuals knew that they had expensive secrets like gambling debts, mistresses in fancy apartments, and the occasional cocaine habit. Jake hated the thought that Harold would believe one of those things were true about him, but his reputation didn’t mean more to him than Ryan’s life.
“I can do that. A wire transfer takes fifteen minutes, if I set it up now. The money’s not the problem, the paperwork is. You know how it goes.”
“Tell me about it.” Jake understood. It would’ve sounded topsy-turvy to anybody who didn’t know how banking worked, but he knew better. Harold could put his hand on $250,000 faster than he could get the stack of forms through the bank bureaucracy.
“I’ll set it up, and get it out first thing tomorrow morning. Wire room’s open at nine. It’ll be done by nine fifteen.”
“Okay. Thanks much.” Jake pressedEND, relieved. It was a good plan and he thought it would work, at least in the short run. Since the personal line of credit didn’t exist until now, it wouldn’t show on his and Pam’s current bank statement, which they would be disclosing to the FBI. Jake would have to replace it by their next quarterly tax return, but he could do that with some gains from stock dividends or other trading. It would take fancy footwork, but he wasn’t a financial planner for nothing.
Jake’s phone started ringing in his hand, and he looked at the screen. It showed a picture of Pam again, the photo taken on Myrtle Beach, in happier times. He picked up and pressedANSWER. “Hi, honey. You forget something?”
“I’m worried.” Pam sounded tense. “I thought you told me that Ryan went to Western Civ today.”
“He did.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“How do you know that?” Jake asked, dismayed.
“I checked the Parent Portal.”
