Chapter 19: The Offshore Account

The bank officer met us at midnight in the security office behind the Prescott Grand's lobby.

It was a narrow room full of monitors, with a table and four chairs and a coffee machine that did not work.

He had not taken off his coat.

"I'm sorry about the hour," he said.

"Don't be," I said. "Show me."

Eli took the chair beside mine.

He had dressed in the dark in yesterday's shirt, and he smelled of my own soap.

I tried not to think about that.

The officer laid three pages on the table.

The first was a statement from a private bank in Zurich.

The account was held by a foundation, and the foundation's name was printed in neat capitals at the top.

THE RAYMOND DANNER MEMORIAL FUND.

I read it twice.

"He named it after his father," I said.

"It was funded in nine transfers over three years. Two million dollars, almost to the cent."

"Of my money."

"Of your money," he agreed, "routed through Raymond Holdings."

I turned to the second page.

It was a record of outgoing wires from that account.

Seven of them, all sent yesterday afternoon, each for the same amount.

Two hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars.

Each had gone to a different private account in New York.

"Who are the recipients?" Eli asked.

"The names are in the third sheet."

I turned it over.

There were seven names.

I knew all of them.

Three were the vice presidents who ran my hotels in Chicago, Miami and Boston.

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