Mortal Bonds Read Online Free Page B

lawyers and accountants have come up bust. You’ve got Blake here, and his musclemen, who can probably twist any arms that need twisting. What do I bring to the table?”
    Virgil was unfazed. He had his answer all prepared. “Two things. First, you have a unique perspective—one that cannot be easily learned.”
    I was a crook. Had been. Past tense. I tried not to let the reference rankle. But Virgil surprised me.
    “You have seen this kind of thing from both sides, and you have had some success in uncovering obscured monetary trails.” He smiled as though assuring me it was a compliment. “And second,” he continued, “people will talk to you. At your level in this business, there are not three degrees of separation between any two major players. And those who know something may not know that they know it. Neither threats nor torture will work. They may tell you things that they would never say to an SEC lawyer. Things that would be meaningless to their spouse. Bits and pieces that will only have meaning to a man with your background.”
    It was a long shot—a Hail Mary pass. The numbers were blinding. A one percent finder’s fee would set me and the Kid up for life. But I needed a paycheck, not another “maybe, someday, down the road.”
    “I guarantee nothing and I get paid up front. I don’t work weekends, because I spend that time with my kid.”
    “Not a problem.”
    “Five thousand a day plus a one percent finder’s fee. I’ll get started tomorrow, but I have a few things scheduled over the next week. You’ll have me full-time by Wednesday.”
    Virgil gave a slight frown. “But you will begin immediately?”
    I nodded. “You only pay me for when I’m working.”
    He shook his head. “Do not misunderstand. I am not questioning your professional behavior, but there is some urgency to this affair. I hope you understand that. If the Feds find the money first, we have no bargaining power.”
    “Which leads me to the big question. What do I do when I find it? It’s hidden now; I don’t know that it stays that way after I go poking around in all the back closets. It will be hard not to draw attention to myself.”
    “Again, not a problem. But we do need to get to the money first. Then we can make our bargain with the authorities, turn it over, and all go on with our lives.”
    The size of the deal had startled me, but this was a deeper shock. Right up until that moment I had assumed I was dealing with fellow crooks. It had never occurred to me that Von Becker’s son was willing to hand over three billion dollars to the courts, for the chance of clearing his family name. I wasn’t so sure I entirely believed it.
    Virgil saw the look on my face.
    “I am not a saint, Mr. Stafford. I know what three billion dollars can buy. But what it can’t buy is freedom from looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. If I can persuade the Feds—and the press—that I am serious about making amends for my father’s actions, then I can go about my business. My children will have sleepovers at their friends’ houses. My wife can go back to volunteering as a docent at the Met. My brother gets to play with his boat. My sister, who was the only one of us not to abandon our father—she visited him in jail almost every day—is now a virtual prisoner herself, unable to step outside the compound here. She gets her life back. Do you understand?”
    I did. Maybe not one hundred percent, but I got it. I often felt just the same. Anything for a quiet life. And he had a point. Handing over three billion dollars of the money his father had stolen would win him kudos in the press. He could negotiate a clean slate from the regulators. He would go from being the son of a pariah to becoming a role model. From Page Six innuendos to front page applause. It was a smart move.
    “And, of course, I get to run the whole firm before I turn forty,” he acknowledged with a sly smile.
    Of course.
    “As for the performance