Two agents from the American FBI, who were apparently taking the lead in the case, accompanied the Fedpol and Interpol agents also present. I hid behind Sebastian, out of the way of everyone’s curious glances. Leaning up against the bookcase in his office, I stood with my arms wrapped around my middle while Sebastian half sat on the corner of his massive desk. He raked his fingers through his hair in a gesture I knew meant he was stressed.
“We’ve intercepted a number of calls between an Iranian national living in Beirut, and Mr. Charles Hightower––one of your clients,” said one of the American agents, a heavy-set woman in her mid fifties. She introduced herself by last name only, Vasquez. Her partner, a much younger woman, a tall blonde that seemed to take her fitness training very seriously, introduced herself as Lewis. Agent Vasquez’s astute, green eyes contradicted the bored expression she wore. Sebastian offered them a seat but neither of them took one. Lewis stood by the door while Vasquez paced.
“This is not about tax evasion, is it?” asked Sebastian, a resigned note in his voice.
Agent Lewis answered, “Afraid not.”
Sebastian’s barrister, David Bernard, turned away from the wall of windows he’d been gazing out of. There was a cool, confident air about him that reassured me, as if he’d popped out of the womb wearing the impeccably sharp navy suit he had on and a briefcase in hand.
“Mr. Horn wishes to help in any way he can of course––however, as you already know the bank thrives on discretion.” The implication hung in the pause. He locked his arms behind his back and waited.
Placing her hands on her hips, Agent Vasquez’s expression hardened. “This isn’t a simple case of money laundering.” Another pause. Mr. Bernard was a sphinx. Vasquez’s eyes met his squarely. “We have reason to believe the money is being funneled to multiple terror organization.”
The silence in the room was suddenly as dense as mud, the gravity of the situation descending heavily upon the three of us that weren’t privy to what the FBI and Interpol had uncovered.
David didn’t miss a beat, countering with, “If word gets out that we let you rummage through the books there will be hell to pay, a mass exodus of every high net worth client the bank services.”
Agent Vasquez barreled full steam ahead. “We can do this the hard way.”
“Agent Vasquez, is it?” At her brief nod, David continued, “I relish the opportunity to flex my legal muscles in court, in which case precious time will be wasted, and in the process your investigation severely compromised.” Agent Vasquez was about to interrupt when David continued, speaking over her. “However, this is not what my client wishes to do. He has gone to great lengths to investigate this matter, and is prepared to hand over all the evidence he has obtained with only a few minor stipulations.”
“Which are?” Lewis chimed in.
“We expect you to freeze and confiscate only Mr. Hightower’s accounts and any associates directly involved in the case. All else will fall under an immunity deal. Any evidence naming the bank remains sealed. And in the event that it becomes public, a statement will be issued clarifying that Horn & Cie was instrumental in alerting the authorities.”
Vasquez’s glare turned languid, held steady for a beat. “I’d have to check with Washington, but I don’t anticipate it being a problem.”
“As soon as I we have that in writing, we will be happy to hand over all of Mr. Hightower’s transactions with the bank, along with other material Mr. Horn’s private security team has uncovered. There’s also the small matter of the repeated attempts on Mr. Horn’s life.”
Lewis and Vasquez exchanged knowing glances. “Yes. We’ve picked up the driver of the truck. He’s in our custody.”
“My wife was killed,” Sebastian served this up quietly. That got everyone’s attention. Although his tone was vacant, his eyes weren’t. Aimed at a spot on the floor, they were haunted, the ghosts of his past resurrecting all the guilt we’d worked hard to burry.
The helplessness I felt at the moment nearly brought me to my knees. Because there was nothing I could do to comfort him, nothing I could say that wouldn’t ring false. India had been killed because someone wanted Sebastian dead. In his mind, he might as well have held a gun to her head.
“When you took over stewardship of the bank, you made someone very nervous.”
His eyes climbed back up. I could see his mind working backwards, chasing leads down dead ends and pivoting in another direction. Until he finally hit on something. A deep v carved itself in his brow as the memory came rushing back. His eyes slamming shut for a brief moment, he said, “I requested an audit by an independent accounting firm shortly after I took over the bank.”