mama.”
The subway usually lulled him to sleep. Not now. He was speeded.
J-boy was gonna be an uncle.
Sooooooo ill.
Needed time to digest.
Had to slam those swine before Paola had the baby.
Had to haul in a massive harvest before Paola gave birth.
Her child was gonna get all the advantages a flush uncle could give.
Her child was gonna get an uncle who’d punished those who’d hurt the Salinas Barrio family.
47
Money-laundering schemes were difficult, but JW’d done his homework. New rules and regulations were constantly being instituted-EU directives, commissions, and reports. Collaboration between banks, financial institutions, and credit card companies. Stricter reporting requirements, increased cross-checks, more questions. The EU pressured the Financial Supervisory Authority. The Financial Supervisory Authority pressured the banks. The banks pressured the clients.
Impossible to stay under the mandatory reporting requirement when the amounts got too big. The banks coordinated their systems; a deposit into a certain account at one office showed up everywhere. Electronic registries connected any suspicious transactions.
But JW was a laundry master. He’d made connections, mastered trust, manufactured solutions. His Swedish companies each had point persons at different banks and their own accounts with credit. Smiles and explanations about a cash-heavy industry in English antique furniture ought to do it. As long as they believed he was conducting credible business, it was all good.
A hundred grand was packed in his Prada bag when he was on his way to see his two contacts, one at Handelsbanken, the other at the SEB bank.
It’d been a week since he’d gotten back. The system was pure genius. Dirty cash in and two ways to get it out to the island. The first way-through invoices to British companies for phony marketing costs, all payable to his island company’s bank account. JW’d gotten the idea from the 2005 Ericsson bribery scandals. The smart thing was, of course, that he wasn’t messing with shady deposits, but payments. It looked better, didn’t raise eyebrows-an English furniture buyer needs to be marketed in England. His bank contacts would consider it completely natural. And, the second way, in order to diversify his methods-by packing thousand-kronor bills and snail-mailing them to the Isle of Man. Then he had someone there collect the package and deposit the money in the island company’s account. It was more dangerous, but you couldn’t travel on your own with that much cash. The metal detectors’d react right away to the metal threads in the bills.
The Swedish banks wouldn’t suspect deposits that were payments for something. He’d made the invoices himself. Not even a full-time graphic designer could’ve made more authentic-looking logos for a British marketing agency. He was so damn pleased.
The hard cash turned electronic through the payments made in Sweden or the deposits on the island. The accounts on the island were controlled by his companies. Confidentiality cut off all search routes to the companies. The money was his, undetectable to anyone here. And then, the island companies lent money to his company in Sweden. That was how his finances were actually replenished. Totally clean, white cash. Because the glory of it all was that anyone could be rich on borrowed money. Big Brother wouldn’t wonder. The interest rates and repayment requirements were set at market standard. Were even deductible.
At Handelsbanken, he took a queue number, then stood reading the text rolling on the screens. The market was going up. JW’d already bought some shares: Ericsson, H amp;M, and SCA. A good mix. Ericsson, the telecom stock that’d risen over 300 percent. H amp;M, the company that soared even during times of recession. And SCA, the serene security of timber. Spiced it up with two smaller companies, one IT company that manufactured routers, one biotech company that developed anti-Alzheimer’s medicine. Stocks were another filter to purify filthy change. Capital gains from the stock market were taxed, considered normal, weren’t questioned. Incorporated into the system. A future step in the money-laundering carousel-maybe he’d get in touch with a broker to tumble dry even bigger sums.
What’s more, the stock market gave him good talking points with his buds. The boyz and stocks, like Abdulkarim and coke. The bigger the money, the greater the buzz.
JW eyed the line; it was worse than at the Skavsta Airport check-in. The fifty thousand kronor he’d taken from the Prada bag burned in the pocket of his Dior coat. JW thought, If anyone stabs me, the wad of bills will catch the blade and save my life.
He thought about the packaging farm in the English countryside. Chris, the guy who ran the place, was still just an underling of the soccer hooligans who were really in charge. He’d been a part of something really big for the first time in his life. It felt so incredibly good and so ridiculously difficult not to tell Sophie anything.
It was JW’s turn at the counter.
He stepped up.
Became aware of his hand sweat.
Tried to smile.
“Is Annika Westermark available?”
The cashier smiled back. “Sure. Would you like me to get her for you?”
A miscalculation by JW. He’d hoped to go into Annika Westermark’s private office in order to give her the cash there. Not have to heap it up on the counter.
Annika Westermark appeared behind the glass dressed in a dark suit in conservative banker style, just like the last time he’d met her and told her about his furniture business.
JW leaned forward. “Hi, Annika. How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you. How are you?”
JW piled on the entrepreneurial small-business-owner style. “Hell yeah, things’re rolling. This month has been very successful, which is really awesome. I’ve had three interior designers buying a scary number of sofa groups.” He laughed.
Annika expressed polite interest.
JW’d already explained to her previously that the payments were for marketing costs in England. Prepared her-his whole business with English antique furniture was built on the right purchases being made in Great Britain, which is why heavy marketing was necessary. She seemed to get it.
He handed over the bills, fifty grand in a plastic folder, while he held the fake invoice in the other hand. Slipped it under the protective glass.
Annika took out the bills. Licked her finger-gross-and counted them. One hundred five-hundred-kronor bills. She looked at the invoice.
Was she suspicious?
She mmm’ed.
JW tried to chitchat. “It doesn’t feel all too good walking around with a whole month’s worth of earnings in your pocket.”
She pushed him a slip of paper.
“There you go, your receipt.”
All was cool. She didn’t care, gobbled his story right up. A fifty-thousand-kronor cash deposit-nothing strange about that. What she didn’t know was that he was planning on depositing another fifty at SEB, and he’d snail-mailed fifty more. In two days, his island company would be 150 grand richer.
He thought, Will she react next month when I come with 250 in payment? Time would tell if it would work.
He thanked her and left.
Norrmalmstorg square, flanked by law firms, felt like an arena. Everyone just had to see how he radiated- what a winner he was.
