Rebecca prepared for the day as usual. Out of bed extra early, a workout in the home gym, breakfast prepared to a tee as usual by the maid, a shower, and then up to change. John had just come out of the shower. He still possessed the hard lean body that had attracted her a dozen years before. As she donned conservative, but expensive lingerie followed by a dress suit, he reminded her that his plane would be leaving in 2 hours, so they had to hurry.
As she put on her make-up and put up her hair, she remembered the love making session of the night before, the usual before one of his many business trips abroad. She had faked an orgasm to get him to stop pumping and cum. She felt slightly guilty, but then brushed it off as a necessary part of life. It was like their whole existence of late-everybody smiled at the appropriate time, and said the right things, but it all rang hollow.
Descending into the kitchen again, Maria was feeding the boys, 12 and 10, otherwise ready for school. John gave them the obligatory line about their behavior when he was gone and then he and Rebecca fed baggage into the trunk, climbed into the Mercedes, and headed for the airport. On the way, they talked about the mundane-the countries he would be in this time, the vacation planned after school was out two months hence, upcoming events in the boy's lives, yadda, yadda. Then the turn-off. He gave her a perfunctory kiss, dug the baggage out of the trunk, and watched as she sped off heading for work.
After parking in her spot, she nodded to the girl at the front desk and ascended the elevator to her office. Her secretary was already at work: Type A efficiency personified in an attractive middle aged, body. "Good morning, Mrs. Dunbar," she said as usual. Rebecca nodded at the greeting, opened the door and entered her office. The blinds were already open and coffee was brewing in the kitchenette that served her office and the boardroom from the other side. The calendar for the day was reviewed, morning e-mails read and she went to work before her first meeting of the day. That was followed by a conference with some important customers and lunch with her executives. There they discussed a new strategy she had been working on to increase sales even more. The details were handed over to marketing to work out, with a preliminary report due in a week.
It was after six before she left her office building, a gnawing in her stomach reminding her that the salad at lunch hadn't amounted to very much. The Mercedes glided through traffic, she stopped at the bank to deposit some cash, and then into the upper middle-class home that was theirs. The boys were pretending to do homework while Maria bustled around the kitchen.
Rebecca entered her office, removed her jacket, poured a drink, and started through the mail. Credit card offers, country club membership renewal, a letter from the IRS-the IRS, that made her sit up. She opened the letter and read the summons. She and John were to meet with an agent a week from Thursday, time and location given. She frowned, wondering what it was all about. They were to bring income statements, documentation of charitable contributions, and documents relating to John's business, which had lost money for the past 5 years. He was to be gone for 3 weeks, so he wouldn't be back for the meeting.
She picked up the phone and called him. Finally getting though, as it was in the middle of the night in Dresden, she explained the situation to him. He didn't seem to think there was any problem, just routine, and he was sure she could handle it without him. Everything was in the files provided yearly by their accountant. She wasn't so sure, but was buoyed by his confidence. The IRS missive was pushed aside as Maria called her for dinner.
The days flew past with the work on new contracts her company was negotiating. Before she knew it, it was Thursday. She had taken the morning off so she didn't have to leave so early. She loaded the files requested into the car and headed for the Federal Office Building. Entering at 8:45 for her 9:00 appointment, she went through security, and was directed three floors up and to a nice office at the end of the hall. A very attractive secretary received her and asked her to be seated. 9:00 came and went. She fidgeted in her chair, glancing at her watch every few minutes. She got up and asked the secretary when the agent would be ready. She was informed that as her appointment was set up for 9:30, it should be starting shortly. Rebecca looked at her notice and started to say something, but thought better of it, and returned to her seat. Finally at 10:05 a tall, well-tanned man entered the office and went through the door. It couldn't be the IRS agent, she thought, since a government hire wouldn't be able to buy that suit.
Five minutes later she was summoned into the office to be greeted by the suit. He was perhaps 50, with piercing eyes and an amiable smile. It was not at all like the bean counter she expected. For his part he just paused a moment and took her in. Her hair was dark, pulled back to leave bare an attractive neck. An expensive dark blue suit set off well-toned legs encased in hose Her face was determined with a full mouth and expressive eyes. She had long fingers with diamond and wedding rings. The skirt had a slit in the front and she tried to bring it together after crossing her legs. She tried again, unsuccessfully, and then ignored the leg above the knee as he glanced down at it, appreciatively.
"Thank you for coming in today, Mrs. Dunbar. My name is Kyle Laughton. Mr. Dunbar won't be joining us?"
"No, he is in Europe on business. If we can move things along, I have been waiting for over an hour," she said bruskly. I have brought the materials you requested."
"Good. Let's get a few things out of the way. You and your husband are both 35 years old. Your address and SS numbers are accurate?" She nodded. "You are President of Royal Manufacturing with 120+ employees. Your husband has his own company called Ex/Im Consulting at your home address."
"Yes, that's true."
"I see you have paid proper Social Security taxes on Maria Sanchez, your housekeeper."
"Yes, we try and obey the laws."
"Do you have an appraisal for the painting you donated to the museum 2 years ago?"
Rebecca dug around in the folders and produced the document in question. He considered it for a moment. "Yes, they are a reliable firm-we will happily accept their assessment of the painting's value."
She relaxed a bit at his statement. Maybe this would go better than she thought.
He handed her the appraisal. "Your income was about $435,000 last year."
"That is close, yes"
"You make frequent bank deposits of cash in the 8 different banks and 2 Credit Unions where you and your husband each have accounts. As a matter of fact, I notice that you and your husband made an average of $2,000 in cash deposits every business day last year. It all stayed under the radar of the money laundering regulations and so was never reported. That amounted to about $43,000 a month and came in at $520,000, plus change, for the year. That was pretty amazing, given the fact that your husband lost $80,000 last year, and you didn't need to borrow any money. "
"I...I'm not sure," she responded slowly, trying desperately to think of something that might account for the cash deposits. "We might have dipped into our savings," she said lamely.
"Actually, you had such a good year, you moved a goodly sum of money to your account in Banco Santander Central Hispania in Spain, as you have for the past 5 years."
Her heart sank. How was anyone able to track their transactions, and what could have triggered this man's interest. Everything had gone so well for so long, that she had just accepted it as the way things were.
"From Banco Santander, you transferred the money to Dresdner Bank CZ, and from there to your account in Bank Vontobel Cayman. Shall I give you the account number of the Grand Cayman bank?"
She was crushed. But there was still a chance she could get out of the country. She had been told that the U.S. Government couldn't get at money stashed off-shore. He could see that glimmer of hope reflected for a moment in her eyes, and smiled to himself.
"Now let's see. Your husband works with a dozen different foreign businesses. Most of his pay is deposited directly into the Grand Cayman account. Nice to keep those things away from Uncle Sam's greedy hands, isn't it? My records show many such deposits over the past 5 years, and none of it showed up on your income tax forms."
Rebecca had fallen into a stupor, and just nodded. This was all going too fast for her to comprehend. He had her where he wanted her, and was ready to pounce.
"I imagine you know that the U.S. government has no jurisdiction over accounts in Grand Cayman."
She looked at him quizzically.
"Let me tell you a little about myself. I am sort of a freelancer, who does odd jobs for the bureau, although most of my time is spent with my own business ventures throughout the world. I take on 4 or 5 cases a year of my choosing for the IRS. My connections allow me access where there is none allowed through normal government channels. The CEO of Bank Vontobel Cayman in Grand Cayman is a close friend, and the managing director, Andreas Weck, has frozen your assets there as a personal favor. Your bank accounts here are frozen as well, by the way-that is where I was before we met. The ones in Europe aren't worth the bother. From your case, I will earn 40% of what the government recovers in back taxes, fines, and interest-at least $4 million. I have special talents that are highly compensated. The government prefers that to getting nothing."
