Geneva Connection, The (31 page)

Kent ordered another glass of wine—a large one— and thought about what he might do with his life if and when he could ever put the Tritona mess behind him. He really wanted to continue investing. It had been his life, and he was good at it. He didn’t have any hobbies or passions outside of work.
My whole life’s a fuck up.

Staring out of the window, in the distance, a train ran across Waterloo Bridge. Then, a minute later, another passed in the opposite direction.
That’s it!
The solution had been staring Kent in the face—the HS1 rail investment CBC had just closed. Merriman’s team didn’t yet have the original documents in relation to this new deal. It hadn’t even been completed when Kent was pulling the documents together for Whitlock. Why let that ungrateful bastard, Merriman, grab the asset? What value was it to him? Already, he had enough evidence against the cartel with the files Kent had given him. What difference would one more asset make?
None.

He swirled the last of the wine around his glass as his mind wandered. Kirkland had mentioned earlier in the day that Kent had been appointed a director of the holding company used to acquire HS1. Maybe he could use that position to transfer ownership from Tritona’s SPV to one of his own family trusts. Certainly, he had the power to sign it over under the investment management agreement. Once the cartel’s people noticed it was missing, they’d assume Merriman had seized the asset along with all the others. And, as for Merriman, he would know nothing about the deal, anyway; he’d never been given the documents. There was no way for him to pick up it was missing, not unless Kent told him.
It’s ingenious. The perfect, victim-less crime.
He gulped down his drink and ordered another to lubricate his thinking.

The following morning, Kent was back at Oakham’s offices to continue the file review. He spent a few hours collecting documents for Merriman then asked for the HS1 file. On it was a record of the cash transfers from Tritona’s various offshore accounts and a thick section on the ownership structure, including an intermediate Tritona holding company, the SPV on whose board Kent was now a director. That company was held by a new Tritona trust. Several corporate layers below the holding company, was the actual HS1 rail operating company. There were enough layers of impenetrable corporate fog to throw off any prying eyes.

Kent examined the investment paper setting out the acquisition’s financial structure. There was debt finance from a syndicate of lenders amounting to thirty-six billion pounds. The loans sat in an intermediate holding company, below the vehicle on whose board Kent was a director. Tritona had provided equity finance of forty billion pounds, taking the total financing to seventy-six billion pounds.

He looked up at the door to make sure no one was there then quickly filled in the necessary transfer paperwork. It only required the signature of a properly authorized director, of which he was one, to put Kent’s scheme into action. At the stroke of a pen, one hundred percent of Tritona’s forty billion pound equity capital investment in HS1 passed from the SPV to Sarah’s offshore trust in Guernsey. Kent had long kept most of his wealth in Sarah’s name in case he was ever sued; at least they could protect their assets that way.

When he was finished with his review work tonight, he decided he’d take the whole HS1 file away with him and keep it with him at the hotel. With a bit of luck, it wouldn’t be missed for some time—hopefully, not until long after the seizure of the cartel’s assets, when Oakham’s team would assume it was taken by the DEA. If it was noticed before, then he’d simply say he was still reviewing it. Whatever happened, no one from Oakham could be allowed to see the transfer he’d just made.

Kent didn’t do much work for the rest of the day; he was too busy perfecting his plan. He calculated that the forty billion pound equity investment would generate income of three point two billion pounds each year, as the financing structure stipulated an eight percent running yield. He planned to set up the payment details for this once he was back at CBC. Normally, during the first few days following completion of a new investment, the CBC team would need to set up payment arrangements with the management team at the investee company. That way, the operating company would know where to transfer interest and dividend payments as they became due. The HS1 management team would have no idea in this case that the recipient bank account was the one used by Sarah’s trust in Guernsey. The team would have no reason to doubt the payee information provided by CBC. They’d do as they were told. One day, the investment might even be sold. Kent would be happy if all it did was repay the forty billion pound original investment cost, but it was likely to do better than that in the long run.

Kent had just ripped off both the cartel and Merriman, and neither of them would be any the wiser. The moment Kent had put his signature to the transfer document, he’d become one of the ten richest people on the planet, at least on paper.

The next few days were spent going back and forth to the Marriott’s gym, dropping off documents and collecting the fake substitutes to put onto Oakham’s files. The whole process was finished just four days before the FCA’s scheduled visit. When he returned to Cambridge on the Thursday afternoon, Tara told him she’d just received a telephone call from the regulator’s office canceling their visit and apologizing for any inconvenience.

Inconvenience. The threat of their visit had allowed unfettered access to the HS1 file.
Thank God for Doug Wright.

Chapter 46

I
T
W
AS
E
IGHT
P.M
. in Washington D.C. when Merriman drove up to the entrance gates and let down his driver window. The armed guard asked him for details of whom he’d come to see and for two forms of photo ID before scanning his car for explosives. Nothing was taken as read. All visitors to the Department of Homeland Security’s D.C. headquarters were carefully screened before being allowed through the security gates. Merriman was allowed through and instructed to park his vehicle in a specified space. When he entered the building, he had to show his ID once again before being escorted to a monitored waiting area, where he took a seat.

There, he faced a blank wall. The only things breaking up the monotony of the decoration were a photo of the sitting president and the American flag. As he sat, he thought about the significance of the next hour or so. This would be the making of his career, the moment he entered the big leagues. If only his parents were alive to witness this moment. His father, in particular, would have been so proud.

“Madam Secretary is now ready to see you, Mr. Merriman,” said a smartly dressed intern as she collected him. He followed her along the corridor, staring at the walls. Hanging on them were portraits of all former presidents. At the end of the passageway, he entered a spacious, bright office with a large mahogany desk next to a French window. On one side of the room were two sofas. He sat on one of them and waited. One day, not so far into the future, he’d hold a similarly powerful position in central government and would enjoy an office like this.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mark,” Ann Laudel said as she returned to her office. Secretary Laudel was only the second person to head up the Department of Homeland Security. Like Merriman, still in her thirties, she was young to hold such a senior position in a key government department. She was also ambitious and was never one to miss a moment of success in front of television cameras. “I was being prepped for the press conference.”

Merriman stood and thrust out his hand. “Good to see you again, Madam Secretary.”

“Are you all set for the conference?”

“Yes. Ready to go. I sent over my presentation this afternoon. Were you happy with it?”

“Yes. It reads well. Obviously, I’ll introduce the session and round up at the end, but the meat of this evening’s press conference is your presentation. Shall we go up?”

“I’m all set.” Merriman tightened the knot in his tie.

Laudel led Merriman from her office, up a flight of stairs and through to a large conference room. It was packed with journalists and TV camera crew. The room grew quiet as Laudel and Merriman walked out and approached the podium.

Laudel was smiling from ear to ear. “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to the Department of Homeland Security and to our press conference.” Cameras flashed and the live television broadcast started. “I’ve said it many times before, one of the most significant threats to the US and the American way of life is the proliferation of illicit drugs and the associated violence. In recent years, the vast majority of drugs on our streets have entered the US across the southern border with Mexico. Today, one massive drug cartel, the Caruana cartel, controls an estimated ninety percent of organized drug activity in this country. It’s the most successful and most threatening organized crime group ever faced by the US. Tonight, we are announcing a significant success in our fight against this evil organization. As a result of what we are about to announce, all Americans will be much safer from the threat posed by the illegal narcotics trade. I’d now like to hand over to Mark Merriman, who is the Head of Intelligence at the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

Merriman stepped forward to the microphone. “Thank you, Madam Secretary. Good evening, everyone.” The cameras flashed as he launched into his presentation. This was his moment. He inhaled deeply, puffing out his chest and holding in his stomach muscles. “Secretary Laudel has already stressed the magnitude of the threat to the US represented by the Caruana cartel. To give you some idea of the size and strength of this criminal organization, if it was listed on the New York Stock Exchange it would figure in the top-five public companies in this country.” He looked around the room as he paused for effect. Journalists scribbled furiously while others relayed the information quietly over their cell phones.

He continued, “Historically, we’ve focused our activities on securing the physical border to the south and confiscating drug shipments when we’ve identified them. Unfortunately, this had only limited success. The plain truth is we can’t monitor the whole of the border all of the time. There will always be shipments that escape our net, no matter how much resource we devote to this problem. In recent months, we shifted the emphasis of our intelligence activities, devoting more attention to the proceeds of illicit drug sales. We started by seizing physical shipments of cash crossing the border back into Mexico and escalating our electronic surveillance, so as to trace the movement of the cartel’s funds once they entered the international banking system. Today, we are able to announce a major breakthrough.” He paused to drink some water, but his real objective was to raise the level of anticipation in the audience.

“In the last few hours, we have seized cartel assets to an estimated value of four hundred billion dollars.” He paused again to allow his audience to absorb the figure. “We believe this represents some ninety percent of the Caruana cartel’s assets. In effect, we’ve killed off this threat to our nation’s security by chopping off its head. Without access to its massive financial resources, the cartel is no longer able to acquire and distribute illicit drugs, nor is it able to control its vast network. We’ve seized the rewards of the last ten years’ work by this criminal organization. It has been emasculated, if you will.”

The press pack applauded. Laudel joined Merriman at the microphone in order to share in the glory of the moment in front of the live TV cameras. “We’re happy to take any questions,” she said. Twenty hands went up at once. Laudel pointed at one of them.

“Can you say anything about the nature of the assets which have been seized?”

Laudel nodded to Merriman. “More information will be made available tomorrow, but the assets comprise mainly shareholdings in quoted and unquoted companies and some real estate holdings,” replied Merriman. “To many, these assets would’ve appeared completely legitimate, having been laundered through a complex network of corporate structures by the cartel and its advisers. The cartel’s leadership would’ve assumed these assets were beyond our reach and completely at their disposal.”

Laudel pointed at another journalist. “How were you able to identify these assets if they appeared completely legitimate?”

Merriman continued, “Through tireless intelligence gathering. A major breakthrough occurred when we were able to obtain critical information from a member of the cartel’s own senior leadership team. I’d prefer not to say any more about this, for obvious reasons.”

“What will happen to these assets now?” asked another journalist.

“They’ll first be recorded and over time they’ll be sold. The proceeds will be retained as federal revenue for the benefit of the American people,” replied Laudel.

Three and a half thousand miles away, Kent was watching the live broadcast on a satellite news channel at home with Sarah. Merriman had called him earlier in the day to let him know the announcement was imminent. At least Merriman had kept his word and had pointed to a senior cartel insider as the source of the information leading to the seizure of the assets. The cartel’s attention would be focused inward when looking for clues as to who’d talked. There’d be no reason to suspect CBC or Kent.

Kent began to think through what he would say to his partners once he’d received the all clear from Merriman to discuss it with them. Right now, none of them would know anything about the cartel or the significance of the press conference currently being held in Washington. Kent dreaded having to tell his partners that the assets managed by CBC were now the property of the US government. How was he going to break it to them that CBC was now dead, and they’d all soon be out of work?