Sparring Partners(92)
“And who knows where it’s hidden?”
“I do. I put it there, at the direction of my employer, Bolton Malloy. He wanted a fairly aggressive evasion scheme.”
“And how long will the fees continue?”
Diantha said, “Based on an estimated annual return of four percent, the income stream should last for at least eleven more years.”
“And where will these payments go?”
“To the law firm that earned the fees, Malloy & Malloy. Once the current mess is cleaned up, we will declare all income and play it straight.”
“Okay, but the law firm appears to have some rather significant problems right now, if you don’t mind my saying so. I just read the newspapers. Is it fair to ask how long the firm will survive?”
“Fair enough. I can assure you the firm will survive until all of the tobacco money has been received.”
“Eleven years?”
“Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Doesn’t matter.”
“And you admit that you’ve known about this evasion?”
“I didn’t know the specifics and never saw the money, until this year. I’d like to remind you of the immunity agreement.”
“Got it.” Ms. Mozeby took a deep breath and managed a forced smile. She glanced to her right and her left and said, “Very well. When do we see the records?”
Old Stu held up a thumb drive and said, “They’re all right here. I can go over them with you. Take about an hour.”
“Great. Let’s get to work.”
(48)
The following weeks turned into a nightmare for Diantha. For sixteen hours a day she rarely left the windowless office in the basement of her home. Presiding over the implosion of a sixty-year-old law firm was an impossible task that she was not prepared for. Who was? Where was the handbook on how to handle disgruntled clients, desperate associates, demanding judges, missed deadlines, shrinking fees, cash shortages, unreasonable bankers, frightened secretaries and paralegals, a monstrous social media backlash, the ever-obnoxious press, and lawyers circling like buzzards ready to pounce on the carcass? Amid the chaos, she was constantly distracted by the investigations into the Malloys’ crimes, as well as the IRS probe into Bolton’s tax shenanigans. She stayed at home because she felt safer and did not want to risk being tracked down by Rusty or Kirk, or their lawyers. Both the offices of F. Ray Zalinski and Nick Dalmore desperately wanted to chat with her and resorted to sending investigators to her home. A security guard hired by Jonathan ran them off.
She did talk to lawyers, and plenty of them. Houston Doyle called every other day with an update. Kirk and Rusty had lawyered up in a big way, and it would be weeks or months before a trial date was set. Doyle did not anticipate going to trial, but no meaningful plea negotiations would begin until months passed and the lawyers got fat. She could not comprehend the horror of walking into a crowded courtroom and testifying against her two longtime colleagues, and Doyle repeatedly assured her that it would not happen. He was confident that, in the end, they would plead to thirty months and be sent to a nice federal pen.
She dreamed of that scenario. The longer they were without their licenses, the longer the firm accumulated the tobacco money.
And she, Diantha Bradshaw, was the firm.
She talked to Justice Department lawyers representing the IRS and was pleased with the progress of the investigation. Because of Stu’s fastidious records, the money was not hard to find. Early in December, she was advised, confidentially, that Bolton Malloy would soon be indicted on five counts of tax evasion.
She talked to dozens of lawyers with cases pending against the Malloy firm and begged for time. She talked until she was tired of the sound of her own voice.
Sleep was fitful and there was never enough of it. She had no appetite, though Jonathan continued to cook for her. Phoebe, her daughter, shamed her into doing yoga and riding a stationary bike.
She had to get away. When Phoebe’s holiday break began, the family fled to New York, then Paris, where they spent the Christmas season at their favorite hotel. From there they drifted by train to Zurich where a beautiful snowfall had just blanketed the city. Diantha met with some bankers. Back home, Old Stu moved some more money around. She met with a lawyer and established a private Swiss office for Malloy & Malloy in the heart of Zurich’s financial center.
They took another train up to the Alps, found a quaint hotel in Zermatt, and skied for a week. When they had enough of the slopes, they returned to Zurich with no plans to leave anytime soon. The family had made the unanimous decision to stay in Europe.
They found a spacious apartment on the fifth floor of a new building on the banks of the Limmat River. They leased it for a year and enrolled Phoebe in an international school.
From her narrow balcony, Diantha looked across the river to the gleaming office tower of F?deration Swiss Bank, the new home of her tobacco money.
She wanted to be close to it.