CHAPTER 71

Mike and Karen stepped from the hot sunlight and opened one of the heavy glass and bronze front doors of the Banco International Venezolano. More than a hundred people had preceded them and were already lined up at the tellers’ windows. Mike grasped Karen’s hand and stared into her eyes. “I’m serious about this, babe!” he said with a warning expression.

“But what if—”

“There are no ‘what if’s! That money nearly cost us our lives! We’re going to keep it and the feds can go straight to hell! They didn’t give a damn whether we were guilty so long as they had someone to blame. They knew they couldn’t touch your husband, so they took the scraps of proof he provided… just enough to hang us with. I’m not greedy, Karen. But I’m sure as hell not interested in funding those bastards.”

Karen saw the same determined expression she remembered from when Mike had convinced her to fly to Venezuela. In spite of her concerns for the implications, the thought of keeping her husband’s millions had an extremely large measure of appeal. Her frown gradually melted to a grin. “What the hell!” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “It isn’t as if we stole it.”

Mike scanned the vast interior of the modern structure and saw a diminutive Venezuelan hurrying toward them. He was dressed in an over-sized, olive green suit and walked with a perceptible limp. When he came within ten feet, he stumbled to his knees on the polished marble floor. “Is very much bad way to meet you,” he said, righting himself with Mike’s assistance and looking very embarrassed. He smiled and extended his hand. “You are Mr. King?”

Mike nodded.

“My name is Manuel Blanco. I am Mr. Schnieder’s assistant. He is waiting for you. Please come.” He led Mike and Karen to the opened doorway to Schnieder’s office.

Schnieder sprang to his feet and moved around his beautiful, handmade desk to welcome his new clients. He smiled, displaying his glittering array of gold teeth. He shook Mike’s hand vigorously, and then Karen’s. “Welcome, my friends. Please come in and have a drink.” He turned to Blanco and nodded, indicating that his presence was no longer required. Blanco left, closing the door behind him.

Schnieder hurried to the bar in the far corner of his office and poured four brandies. After chugging one, he returned to his desk with the remaining three. He gave one to each of his guests, and then returned to his chair with the third. Mike and Karen seated themselves in the comfortable, tan leather chairs facing Schnieder’s desk. “Now my friends, we have much to talk about,” he said, flashing another golden smile.

“Before we start, Alfred, Karen and I need to clarify an extremely important point,” Mike said.

“Yes?” Schnieder’s golden smile vanished.

“How much secrecy can we attach to this meeting?” Mike asked, focusing on Schnieder’s beady green eyes.

Schnieder stared at his swirling brandy while spinning the stem of his glass between his index finger and thumb. He looked up at Mike. “The utmost. Many years ago, when I came to Venezuela from Germany, I learned very quickly that secrecy is of paramount importance in the banking business. I learned that if one wants to survive in it, one must be discrete with his clients and their holdings.”

Relieved by Schnieder’s answer, Mike took a large gulp of his brandy. “How much do you know about the methods Jim Servito employed to acquire his fortune?”

Schnieder squinted at Mike and shook his head. “It is neither my duty nor my intention to discuss with you or anyone the activities of a former client. That is privileged information.”

“Then you wouldn’t be prepared to act as a witness for us?” Mike asked. Although he was already certain of the answer, he felt deeply disappointed to see his expectation come true.

Again, Schnieder shook his head. “Definitely not. I am, however, compelled to discuss with you and Karen the disposition of his considerable fortune. First, I must ask you—where is young Phillip?”

“He’s at his father’s home. Two of Servito’s former maids are looking after him… His mother and I have told him that it’s our intention to return every dime of his father’s money to its rightful owners.”

Schnieder raised his graying eyebrows, his facial wrinkles broadcasting disappointment and every one of his sixty-four years. “Is that really your intention?”

“No. We intend to keep it, but we don’t want the boy’s youth to be corrupted by the money.”

Schnieder relaxed. “Then how would you like me to deal with the money?”

“Exactly how much is there?” Karen asked.

Schnieder opened a drawer on the right side of his desk and removed a folder. He examined several pages, and then turned to Karen. “It’s quite difficult to give you a precise answer to that question at any specific point. The amount is constantly fluctuating. Conservatively, however, I estimate its current value at three hundred and twenty-five million.”

Mike and Karen shared a glance, and then Karen turned to Schnieder. “Why does it fluctuate?” she asked.

“A small portion of the fortune owns shares of companies. As the fortunes of those companies fluctuate, so too does the value of their shares. The stable and more predictable component of the fortune is its holdings of U.S. government T-Bills and bonds. The constant flow of interest income increases the value of the fortune as we speak…”

“How do we perpetuate secrecy?” Mike asked. “I want the memory of the money to die a natural death.”

“To perpetuate the secrecy, you might want to consider removing yourselves from a direct connection.”

“How could we do that?”

“We could arrange for Phillip to own an anstalt. The anstalt could then be the owner of the trust.”

“What’s an anstalt?” Karen asked.

“When tracking evaded taxes, the American feds usually look for direct ownership or control of the money itself, or assets purchased with it. On a personal income tax form, the taxpayer is asked to disclose such ownership or control. If one owns an anstalt, one could truthfully answer those questions without revealing a connection to the trust.”

“How?”

“According to the laws of Liechtenstein, an anstalt is a person. Its owner, irrespective of nationality, may direct the person to do whatever he or she wishes. Nowhere on the income tax paperwork is there a place where the feds ask the taxpayer if he or she owns a person.

“That’s incredible!” Mike said, shaking his head in amazement.

Schnieder took the opportunity to wax philosophical. “It’s really not incredible to those even slightly familiar with homeless money, largely the fruits of crime. This enormous quantity of renegade money has limited the ability of governments to generate sufficient tax revenues from domestic sources to balance their budgets. Hence, they run deficits and accumulate debts. In order to attract sufficient funds from offshore sources, they have learned to be tolerant of certain games. They know a lot of the money they are borrowing is hot, but they wink at it, realizing they have no palatable alternative. If they refused to borrow hot money, interest rates would shoot into the stratosphere.”

“Setting up an anstalt sounds like a good program,” Mike said, looking at Karen for approval.

Karen nodded.

“Splendid! I’ll have our attorney prepare the necessary forms. Perhaps before you leave Caracas, you could come here and sign them.”

“What forms?” Karen asked with a concerned expression.

“Nothing serious. The forms just give us the authority to proceed. Once signed, they will remain in our confidential files. You will have nothing to worry about, short of a cataclysmic financial disaster.”

“What on earth does that mean, Alfred?” Karen asked, suddenly even more concerned.

“I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I did not mean to do that. My duty as an officer of this bank and executor of your late husband’s estate is to advise you that, for as long as I retain that position, I am ultimately responsible for the fortunes of the estate, both good and bad. If I continue to pursue conservative and prudent investment strategies, you should never have a reason to worry.”

Karen persisted, a hard gaze in her eye. “I still don’t understand. How could it ever be a problem?”

“Let me illustrate the point by using a hypothetical example. Assume I managed a trust of a million dollars for you, Karen. Suppose I decided to place the funds in a very high-risk investment. If it proved to be a good investment, you would be very happy and so would I—we would get good returns for the investment. If, however, it was a poor investment, we would both be unhappy, for you would lose the money with the investment. Perhaps all of your original investment. My strategy, from the very beginning of my relationship with your husband, has been to employ his money in only the most conservative and low risk investments, however, so the likelihood of losing the money in this way is practically nil.”

“I understand,” Karen said, only slightly relieved.

Schnieder stood and returned to his bar. “More brandy?” he asked as he refilled his own glass.

Instead, Mike stood and extended his hand to Schnieder. “Thank you for everything, Alfred. Your personal attention to our little secret is very much appreciated.”

Schnieder stood and took the man’s hand. “It is not necessary to thank me, Mike. The pleasure is all mine.” He turned to Karen and reached for her hand, as well. “I wish you much happiness, my dear.”