Enforcers were also assigned to all the witnesses that were going to testify in my case, so this made it impossible for my team to get close to any of them. All this, plus the fact that I had found a new best friend in Judge Davidson, meant that this case was not going to be a walk in the park. Not to mention all the evidence that will be presented by the prosecution. The odds of beating the charges weren’t in my favour, not in the slightest.
I knew that I was doomed—the charges the good judge had just read out were monumental. Yes, I knew this, but it didn’t stop me from getting up out of my not-so-comfy cell chair and replying with confidence, “Not guilty, Your Honour.”
I am Eddie Dominguez, friends call me Dom. To everyone else, I am Soap.
Chapter 2
Puerto Plata
Where: Puerto Plata
When: 1720 hours, Thursday, March 9, 1995
Currency: Dominican peso
Guillermo owned a small restaurant in the city of Puerto Plata, the ninth largest city in the Dominican Republic. He was married to Anna, and they had a daughter named Isabel. He and his family lived a very humble life, one that was far from that which he envisioned as a youth. He grew up in a poor family and had no choice but to work hard since childhood. His father was a fisherman who supplied an assortment of seafood to the local restaurants. Guillermo learned the fishing trade from his father, and he became very good at it. It was his years of fishing experience that allowed him to make the natural transition from fisherman to restaurant owner.
Guillermo woke up every morning and drove to the north coast, towing his sixteen-foot Otis Sealiner on the back of his pickup truck. The Sealiner was an old 1985 model. It wasn’t the prettiest thing, but the old boat got the job done. He would fish for three hours, between 5 a.m. and 8 a.m., pulling in a variety of fish, lobster, shrimp, and crabs. When he didn’t have enough for the day, he would stock up from the local market. Eventually, he didn’t have to do the fishing any more. He trained his staff to do the task, showing them the best techniques, and told them when it was best to set out to sea. Since he no longer had to go out to sea, all he had to do was supervise the daily operations at the restaurant.
Guillermo really wasn’t happy with his current standard of living. He always dreamt of being wealthy but didn’t know how to accomplish this. Proceeds from the restaurant only generated enough money to pay his staff and just about enough to make sure that the restaurant had an adequate number of supplies. After deducting business expenses, there was barely enough money left for him and his family to live on. The economy in Puerto Plata was partly based on tourism and agriculture. However, the bulk of the economy was centred around export. The economic stability of the region relied heavily on Puerto Plata’s seaport, and the rich people in the region had direct involvement in all aspects of port activities.
Puerto Plata was not exempt from the corruption that plagued similar cities around the world. The majority of its government officials earned their living collecting bribes and misappropriating government funds. Most of the illegitimate funds were derived from siphoning tax proceeds from port operations. The proceeds were then channelled into personal investments. Eventually, all the embezzled money was transferred into personal offshore accounts where they were virtually untraceable. Guillermo was willing to do whatever it took to become wealthy, but he didn’t have the connections that would give him the necessary access to Puerto Plata’s club for the elite.
Guillermo did, however, have a friend that happened to be a low-ranking officer of the port authority. The officer’s job involved inspecting cargo ships that arrived from overseas. His other tasks included performing administrative duties. His port officer friend would frequent the restaurant for Guillermo’s acclaimed asopao de camarones, which was a tasty shrimp and rice pottage. One evening, the officer made his usual stop at the restaurant and headed to the spot where Guillermo always sat. It was in a corner towards the back of the restaurant, near the kitchen entrance. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and then sat down on handcrafted, red-cushioned, wooden chairs. The square table was covered with a red-and-white plaid tablecloth with a white lace trim.
Guillermo called the waiter over and requested an ice-cold American-brewed Cerveza Americana for the officer. The officer loved American beer. Guillermo, on the other hand, ordered an El Toro Mexicano for himself—he preferred Mexican beer. They both drank and talked as they waited for the officer’s pottage. Whenever he visited the restaurant, the officer ordered the same meal, so no one ever asked what to serve him. The officer praised Guillermo for his hospitality.
“My friend, you are a good man. I have known you for a long time now, I come here almost every day, and you hardly let me pay for anything,” said the officer.
“It’s no big deal—what are friends for?” Guillermo replied.
Owning a restaurant in
