CHAPTER THREE
Jones had his fingers in many, many pies outside of his consulting firm. He owned enough property to make Donald Trump jealous, and enough toys to send up red flags to the IRS. Had Dean not already been looking at Jones after taking down Thomas Daniels and finding Jones’s name in Daniels’s records, the IRS would have launched their own investigation. But Jones had been audited twice in the last eight years, and the IRS could not find anything illegal.
His longtime friend, a U.S. Treasury Department analyst, had told him, “My gut tells me the guy is dirty, but every path I follow somehow ends up legitimate. I’ve been working on this for months and I’m no further along. You’re the whiz kid. Maybe you can find what I’m missing.”
Dean didn’t always like his reputation; it put him in a place with few friends and lots of people waiting for him to screw up. But he did see patterns of illegal behavior in the numbers that others missed, including computers. It was the human element. Putting the information together in different ways and factoring in human psychology, coupled with the personality of his target. That experience, and intuition, couldn’t be replicated by a computer.
This was the first time Dean had met Xavier Jones in person, and he wasn’t wasting a moment. Already he had better insight into his character and personality. Clean to a fault. Sanitary. Uptight that strangers were in his house touching his things. Extremely confident that the FBI would find nothing incriminating, irritated and arrogant at the same time. There was nothing personal-no photos, diplomas, or awards of recognition. If he had any of these things, they were hidden from guests.
“I’m happy to assist in your investigation, Agent Hooper,” Jones said, “but I’m afraid you aren’t going to find what you’re looking for.”
“What am I looking for?”
Jones shrugged, his smirk arrogant. “Who knows? A businessman does well, and the government thinks I don’t pay my fair share. I can assure you, Agent Hooper, my tax returns are squeaky clean.”
And that, Dean knew, was his biggest obstacle. As far as he could figure, Jones was paying his taxes. Jones’s main business enterprise was his consulting firm-he lobbied both state and federal governments on behalf of a huge number of clients, mostly the big-money players like city government, Indian gaming, and labor.
Jones glanced at the armed goon standing at his side and Dean said in a preemptive move, in case Callahan didn’t see the weapon strapped to the goon’s belt, “You do have a permit for that gun.”
The hulking man stepped forward. His tattoo bulging
Jones stopped his bodyguard with a glance. “He doesn’t need one. He lives here.”
“And did he bring the gun into Mexico?”
“You’re beginning to irritate me, Agent Hooper.”
“Just want to make sure your gorilla doesn’t make any sudden moves.”
The gorilla comment made the goon scowl.
“You may leave now, Agent Hooper.”
“I’d love to, it’s certainly past my bedtime, but the subpoena states that you are required to turn over all financial documents immediately to my office. Agent Callahan will go with you and provide a receipt for everything we confiscate. We’ll also require your hard drive and any other computers, flash drives, or disks you have.”
Anger and annoyance crossed Jones’s face. He didn’t like being told what to do. So Dean pushed, refraining from showing too much satisfaction. He loved his job.
“We can wait for your attorney if you like, but I’m not leaving until we have everything we came for.”
“You’re fishing, Agent Hooper. I’m not giving you anything. My attorney will be fighting this subpoena in court first thing tomorrow morning.”
Dean showed a concerned, understanding expression. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Jones, but you can’t refuse to comply with this subpoena. The judge agreed that to leave the documents in your possession could potentially cause said documents to disappear or be altered. We have the authority to seize everything in this warrant now, and I only offered to wait for your attorney as a courtesy.”
A fire lit Jones’s eyes and Dean caught a glimpse of the criminal underneath the facade of a respected businessman. Cold, calculating, and criminally brilliant. Dean saw his own head on a platter held by Jones, and that pleased him. He was getting to this guy, which was the whole purpose of this exercise.
Dean kept a level head and let Jones quietly fume. Patience was, fortunately, Dean’s strong suit. Jones quickly got himself under control, showing Dean that while he was a narcissistic racketeer and suspected human trafficker, self-preservation was at the top of his list. He wouldn’t slip up because he lost his temper. He was too sharp for that.
Yet Jones’s methodical approach to business might also be his downfall. Criminals like Jones need to keep all of their accounts balanced, all the dollars counted and recounted. Dean could use that. Already, after ten minutes in Jones’s presence, he had new ideas to pursue using Jones’s financial history as the foundation for his case. Watching his reaction had proven hugely beneficial, as Dean had suspected.
Finding ICE Agent Sonia Knight involved with this character could prove to be a real break. She might see something he didn’t because she knew far more about the money trail in human trafficking than he did.
Sonia Knight had testified in no less than five major human trafficking cases in the last two years. Dean had watched one hearing on closed-circuit television after Knight’s squad had taken over an FBI case and arrested a husband-and-wife team who lured women from China to be domestic servants. Only “servant” meant “slave” to those who held the contracts. The women, here illegally, were stripped of all their papers and identity, and then subjected to forced sex, long hours of labor, and no pay-all “earnings” were used to repay the “fee” to bring them to America in the first place. They were kept in line with threats and their illegal status. Sonia’s team had uncovered the operation and took all the players out. It was a major coup for ICE. Sonia’s written report on how the investigation played out was now used as part of ICE and FBI undercover training.
Dean had long admired Sonia Knight, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control her. A case like Xavier Jones required delicacy.
Jones said to his gorilla, “Watch them closely. They take nothing that isn’t explicitly on this warrant. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Jones.”
“I’ll be in my bedroom.”
“I’ll join you,” Dean said. No way was he letting Jones out of his sight until Callahan had everything in their possession. “Call in the rest of the team, Sam. It’s going to be a long night.”
Dawn broke over the Sierra Nevadas, tracing the mountains in bright orange. Any other person would have paused to stare at the awesome vista, but Xavier Jones had no use for pretty scenery. He’d been quietly fuming at the way his possessions had been handled by the FBI. Pawing through his personal belongings, touching his clothing-everything would have to be laundered.
He wasn’t surprised when his phone rang before six A.M., not thirty minutes after the FBI left. Nor was he surprised that it was Marchand.
“I heard about your trouble.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“It had better not be.”
His anger at what the FBI had put him through simmered. They would find nothing in his records; did they think he was an idiot? They were fishing, nothing more, but the knowledge that they had a grand jury giving his finances a rectal exam infuriated him. He was quite good with his money and he knew no one had talked. Everyone
