Before the Fall(45)

“Gentlemen,” said Ben, “this is Mr. Culpepper, the firm’s in-house counsel.”

“This is a casual conversation,” said Hex. “No need for lawyers.”

Culpepper didn’t bother shaking hands. He leaned his backside against the sideboard.

“Ask me about the candy,” he said.

“Pardon?” said Hex.

“The candy. Ask me about it.”

Hex and Bewes exchanged a look, as if to say I don’t want to. You do it.

Finally Bewes shrugged.

“What’s with the—”

Culpepper took the candy cane out of his mouth, showed it to them.

“When my assistant said two agents from Treasury were here, all I could think was—it must be f*cking Christmas.”

“Very funny, Mr.—”

“Because I know my old racquetball buddy Leroy Able—you know him, right?”

“He’s the secretary of the Treasury.”

“Exactly. Well, I know my old racquetball buddy Leroy wouldn’t send agents down here without calling me first. And since he didn’t call—”

“This,” said Hex, “is more of a courtesy call.”

“Like where you bring over cookies and say welcome to the neighborhood?”

Culpepper looks at Kipling.

“Are there cookies? Did I miss the—”

“No cookies,” says Ben.

Bewes smiles.

“You want cookies?”

“No,” says Culpepper, “it’s just, when your friend said ‘a courtesy call,’ I thought—”

Bewes and Hex exchange a look, stand.

“Nobody’s above the law,” says Bewes.

“Who said anything—” says Culpepper. “I thought we were talking about dessert.”

Bewes buttons his jacket, smiling—a guy with a winning hand.

“A case is being built. Months, years. Sanctioned at the highest level. And you want to talk about evidence? How about you’d need two tractor trailers to haul it all to court.”

“File a suit,” said Culpepper. “Show a warrant. We’ll respond.”

“When the time comes,” said Hex.

“Assuming you guys aren’t parking cars in Queens after I make a phone call,” said Culpepper, chewing on his candy cane.

“Hey,” said Bewes, “I’m from the Bronx. You wanna call a guy out, call him out. But make sure you know what you’re buying.”

“It’s so cute,” said Culpepper, “that you think it matters the size of your dick. ’Cause, son, when I f*ck someone, I use my whole arm.”

He showed them the arm, and the hand attached to it, at the end of which a single finger was raised in salute.

Bewes laughed.

“You know how some days you come to work and it’s a drag?” he said. “Well, this is gonna be fun.”

“That’s what they all say,” said Culpepper, “until it goes in past the elbow.”

*



That night at dinner, Ben was distracted. He reviewed his conversation with Culpepper in his head.

“It’s nothing,” Culpepper had said, dropping his candy cane in the trash after the agents left. “They’re traffic cops writing bullshit tickets at the end of the month. Trying to get their quotas up.”

“They said months,” Ben responded. “Years.”

“Look at what happened to HSBC. A f*cking wrist slap. You know why? Because if they gave them the full extent of the law, they’d have had to take their banking license. And we all know that’s not gonna happen. They’re too big to jail.”

“You’re calling a billion-dollar fine a wrist slap?”

“It’s walking-around money. A few months’ profits. You know that better than anyone.”

But Ben wasn’t so sure. Something about the way the agents carried themselves. They were cocky, like they knew they had the high card.

“We need to close ranks,” he’d said. “Anyone who knows anything.”

“Already done. Do you know the level of nondisclosure paperwork you have to sign to even work the front desk here? It’s Fort f*cking Knox.”

“I’m not going to jail.”

“Jesus, don’t be such a *. Don’t you get it? There is no jail. Remember the LIBOR scandal? A conspiracy worth trillions with a t. A reporter says to the assistant attorney general, This is a bank that has broken the law before, so why not be tougher? The assistant attorney general says, I don’t know what tougher means.”

“They came to my office,” Ben had said.

“They took an elevator ride. Two guys. If they really had something it’d be hundreds of guys, and they’d walk out with a lot more than their dicks in their hands.”

And yet sitting in a corner booth with Sarah and Jenny and her fiancé’s family, Ben couldn’t help but wonder if that was really all they’d walked out with. Ben wished he had videotape of the meeting so he could watch his own face, see how much he’d given away. His poker face was usually top-notch, but in that room he’d felt off his game. Did it come through in the tension around his mouth? A crinkle in his eyes.