“A quarter mil, cash,” he replied. “I’ve given more than that, though.”
“I know,” Corrado said. “You’ve paid a lot for that girl.”
“Yeah.” Vincent sighed loudly on the line. “We all have.”
When those words hit him, Corrado shook his head. Trafficking in persons for servitude. Those words on his indictment made sense. Intentions hadn’t mattered, and often never do.
DAY SEVENTEEN
Expert witnesses.
Corrado’s attention wavered as the prosecutor questioned an accountant on the stand. They were going through his financial records one transaction at a time, trying to find a large sum of money they could prove was acquired illegally. Corrado was quite bored, knowing they would find nothing substantial. As far as he was concerned, a few dollars here and there didn’t count.
“Objection!” his lawyer interrupted the line of questioning. “I fail to see why it’s important to note how much Mr. Moretti spent for bathroom supplies in July.”
“Overruled.” The judge motioned for the prosecutor to continue.
More questions. More prying. More desperation. Corrado glanced at the jury, who appeared just as bored. Juror number six turned to him at that moment. He caught her eye, expecting her to look back away, but she didn’t. She stared, studying him, a look of curiosity in her eyes.
“Objection,” his lawyer said again. “I fail to see the relevance in any of this.”
The judge sighed. “Overruled.”
It went on for two excruciating hours before the prosecution finished. Mr. Borza stood then. “Based on your calculations, what’s the total amount of money that went unreported at Luna Rossa last year?”
“Uh, $15,776.49.”
Corrado cringed. More than a few dollars.
“Seems like a lot,” Mr. Borza said, verbalizing his thoughts. “But we’re talking about a club that made more than three million dollars last year, correct?”
“Yes.”
“This unaccounted for money equals what, half of one percent?”
“Fractionally more than that, but yes.”
“So more than ninety-nine percent of Luna Rossa’s revenue is right there in black and white. That half of one percent is the equivalent of blaming a man for losing a few pennies when he broke a dollar at the store. That’s hardly what I’d call an elaborate money laundering scheme.”
“Objection!” the prosecution declared. “He’s trying to distort the math.”
“Sustained. Move on, Mr. Borza.”
The ruling didn’t put off the lawyer. He had gotten his point across. “Could this half of one percent merely be a mathematical error?”
“It’s possible.”
“So there may not be any missing money at all.”
“Objection!”
“Overruled.”
“It’s possible,” the accountant said. “It’s usually why taxes are audited during a series of years for consistency and accuracy, since mistakes happen.”
Mr. Borza smiled as he sat back down. “Mistakes happen. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
DAY TWENTY-TWO