“You’re forgetting something, Vance; they still have a great deal of leverage against you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your investment with Barone.”
“I will deny that. They have no contract, nothing with my signature on it. All I have to do is take the loss of the million and a half dollars I invested, and then wash my hands of them.”
“It’s not going to be as easy as that, Vance.”
“What are they going to do? Report me to the IRS? They can’t do that without implicating themselves. If the IRS began to investigate me, I would just deny everything. The only way they could tie me to Barone is on Barone’s testimony and, in the unlikely event that he gave it, it would be his word against mine.”
“Vance, let me tell you, nobody ever achieved happiness by lying to the IRS. If they believed Barone’s story—or more likely, an anonymous tip—they could make life very difficult for you.”
“How?”
“Have you ever heard of a tax audit?”
“I’ve been audited three times; on each occasion they had to accept my return as filed, and on one occasion they actually had to refund nearly fifty thousand dollars. Let them try again, if they like.”
“It’s not going to end there, Vance; first of all, the reasons for the audit would somehow find their way into the press, and then your coveted privacy would be gone. At least half the people who read about it are going to believe you’ve done something illegal, which, of course, you have.”
Vance furrowed his beautiful brow, but said nothing.
“Moreover, if Ippolito and Barone want to sink you, they’ll do more than just make an anonymous phone call; they’ll give the IRS chapter and verse on your foreign investments. They’ll fax them copies of the offshore bank statements; they’ll do whatever is necessary, and you may be sure that none of the documents will make any reference to Barone or Ippolito. It will be your word against theirs, all right, but the evidence will all point to you, not them.”
Vance was looking really worried now.
“You have to understand that the day you gave them that money, you kissed it goodbye.”
“But they did actually produce a return on my investment,” Vance protested.
“Which you gave back to them to reinvest, right?”
“Well, yes.”
“So, in fact, you gave them a million and a half dollars, and you’ve never actually collected a dime in earnings from it.”
“Well, not yet, I suppose.”
“Not ever, Vance. Somewhere along the line, Barone would have come to you, very apologetically, of course, and told you that the market in whatever your investment is had crashed, and you’d lost everything. He would sob that you’re not alone, he lost everything, too. He didn’t, of course, but that’s what he’d say. You couldn’t even take a tax loss, the way you could have if your investment had been legitimate.”
Vance looked slightly nauseous now. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “It was an investment, not a gift.”
“It was a scam, pure and simple, Vance.”
Now anger flicked across the gorgeous suntanned face. “The sons of bitches,” he said quietly.
“Makes you want to get back at them, doesn’t it? They’ve kidnapped your wife, robbed you, humiliated you, and tried to extort your investment in Centurion right out of your hands. And that would be only the beginning, if they’re allowed to get away with it. Eventually you would end up as their creature, a puppet controlled by Ippolito, with Sturmack on the sidelines stroking you and telling you everything was really all right. Centurion would be gone, all those talented people would be out of work, and some of them would never work again. Lou Regenstein would be ruined, your career would be fatally damaged. In the end you’d be lucky to get a TV movie of the week. And Ippolito would own you—lock, stock, and the barrel you’d end up wearing.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vance said wonderingly.
“Exactly.” Vance, Stone thought, is beginning to get the big picture. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
Vance shone the full force of his persona at Stone. “Whatever it takes!” he said slowly.
“Will you bare your soul to the IRS?”
?