Numbered Account

Kaiser was on the telephone. "Gottfurdeckel, Armin," he yelled, "you told me that Gotthardo would wait at least another two weeks before folding. They've known about that drunk Rey for years. Why go public now? This does not put us in a strong position. And Armin"- Kaiser paused, and his eyes found Nick- "this time ensure that your facts are correct.This is the second time in the last week that you've disappointed me. Consider this your last reprieve." He slammed down the phone and turned to his newest assistant. "Sit down, be quiet, and I will be with you in a few minutes."

Nick took a seat on the couch and opened his briefcase. The honeymoon is now officially over, he mused. He placed his copy of the NZZ on the table before him and reviewed the facts as reported.

Yesterday, the Gotthardo Bank, a universal bank of roughly USB's size with its headquarters in Lugano, reported to the Swiss federal prosecutor, Franz Studer, that after a lengthy internal investigation, it had discovered evidence of gross impropriety on the part of one of its own executives. For the past seven years, one Lorenz Rey, a senior vice president, had been surreptitiously working for the Uribe family of Mexico to launder money and assist in the international transfer of funds emanating from the sale of illegal narcotics. Rey claimed that only he and two junior members of his department were privy to all details of the account, and thus fully cognizant of the criminality of the acts performed on behalf of their client. Documents given to the federal prosecutor's office indicated that the bank had laundered over two billion U.S. dollars for the Uribes during the past seven years. Included were receipts given the Uribes for cash deposits, made at Gotthardo's Lugano head office, totaling more than eighty-five million dollars, an average of one million dollars per month. Rey further admitted to willfully concealing evidence of the client's activities from his superiors at the bank in exchange for lavish gifts from the Uribe family, including vacations to the Uribe family resort in Cala di Volpe, Sardinia, as well as to Acapulco, San Francisco, and Punta del Este.

A regular Marco Polo, thought Nick.

Franz Studer announced the immediate freezing of the Uribes' accounts pending a full investigation and hailed the Gotthardo Bank as being at the forefront of Switzerland's internal efforts to police the illegal activities perpetrated by foreign criminals. No criminal penalties would be sought against the bank, said Studer.

A front-page photograph showed Rey being led in handcuffs from the D.A.'s office. He had dressed well for his swan song. He wore a stylish three-piece suit and sported a gambler's kerchief, which fell carelessly out of his breast pocket. Worse, the man was smiling.

Nick was hardly a seasoned expert on banking practice. He didn't need to be to realize that if one client had made transfers and deposits totaling more than two billion dollars over a seven-year period, a lot more than three people were going to know about it.

First off, movements in the portfolios of larger clients were examined monthly. Banks liked to curry favor with their larger clients and were constantly on the lookout for increases in funds deposited, facilities granted, or transactions undertaken on their behalf. Letters of solicitation were sent regularly. Encouragement was given that the client's funds would be well cared for, and so on and so forth. An entire protocol existed for the proper wooing and pampering of the wealthy client.

Second, even the humblest portfolio manager can't help bragging about his client's growing presence at the bank. Wasn't he in some small way responsible for the growth in revenues stemming from his client's increased deposits? Shouldn't he benefit in some way? Lorenz Rey, a senior vice president of the Gotthardo Bank, aged thirty-eight, did not look like a selfless monk. Unless, of course, the Franciscan order had taken to wearing Brioni suits, solid gold Rolex wristwatches, and diamond pinkie rings.

Finally, just the act of depositing one million dollars in banknotes every month would beg the attention, if not inspire the conversation, of the bank's sharp-eyed logistical staff. The same portfolio manager arriving at the cash window two, three, maybe four times each month with an armful of greenbacks, always on behalf of the same client, year after year, would be as conspicuous to any and all members of the bank as a woman walking stark naked into its lobby and asking directions to the Basel Zoo.