Authors: James Grippando
A
t nine o'clock Monday morning, Andie had a meeting at the U.S. attorney's office in downtown Miami. Littleford was with her at the table in a windowless conference room. They were silent observers, along with two other prosecutors from the criminal division. The chief prosecutor for the major crimes section sat in the middle, the FBI agents to his left, and the prosecutorial team to his right. The chief did the talking for the government. Savannah Betancourt wasn't there, but her lawyer was on the other side of the table. He did more talking than anyone.
“The deal was no jail time,” he said.
The FBI appreciated Savannah's cooperation. After Ruban had told her that he was essentially trying to buy his child, Savannah was emotionally done with him. After meeting Mindy Baird and learning that Ruban had bedded a teenager, she was utterly disgusted. Savannah left him, went to her mother's, and contacted the FBI. Things got more complicated when she hired a lawyer. It was Savannah's attorney who had conceived the plan to stage her kidnapping. At first, the FBI had balked at the idea; they didn't need Savannah's help to capture Ruban. But they didn't know if he had more money stashed outside the house. If so, the best shot at recovering it was to lead Ruban to believe that Savannah was ready to run off to Antigua with him and whatever money he could get his hands on.
Her lawyer struck Andie as a pretty smart guy. His name was Jack Swyteck.
“A deal is a deal,” said Swyteck.
The chief measured his response. “No jail time on the front end of the heist is fine. But I have a problem giving her a pass on accessory after the fact. It's clear that she took an active role in hiding the money.”
“Savannah didn't hide any of the money.”
“She admits she did.”
“My client admits no such thing.”
“She wore a Rolex watch to her birthday party that was purchased with stolen money. It's the judgment of our prosecutorial team that she has not been forthcoming about what happened to that watch. For all we know, she has it stashed away somewhere.”
Andie showed no reaction, but the statement took her by surprise: that wasn't
her
judgment.
“She made her husband take the watch back to the dirtbag who sold it to him,” said Swyteck.
The chief checked his paperwork. “That's not what Ms. Betancourt told us.”
“Told you when?”
“The first interview with the FBI,” he said, glancing toward Andie.
“That was before she hired me as her lawyer.”
“I realize that. Nonetheless, here's the 302,” he said, handing a copy to the lawyer. “It's all right there in black and white.”
Andie watched from across the room as Swyteck read. As per standard FBI procedure, Andie had conducted the initial interview while another agent took notes. A “302” was an FBI agent's written record of what a witness said, created by the agent from the agent's notes; it was not a verbatim transcript or statement signed by the witness.
Swyteck looked up from the document when he finished. “Nowhere in this 302 does it say my client kept the Rolex.”
“It doesn't say she made her husband take it back, either,” the chief said.
“Maybe she was never asked that question.”
“It's the kind of thing she would have mentioned even if not asked.”
“Maybe she did say it, but the interrogating agent simply failed to write it down.”
“I don't think so,” the chief said.
Swyteck looked over at Andie, one-half of the FBI's presence in the room. She said nothing, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with the way the prosecutor was presenting the 302.
Swyteck accepted her silence and addressed the group as a whole. “If the FBI would join the twenty-first century and record interviews, we wouldn't be having this disagreement.”
Littleford spoke up. “It's not the Bureau's policy to electronically record witness interviews.”
“And the FBI is also the only law enforcement agency in the modern world that adheres to that policy.”
“We do things differently.”
“Yes, you do,” said Jack. “And we all know that the reason the Bureau doesn't record interviews is Title 18 of the United States Code, section 1001, which makes it a felony for anyone to make a false statement to the FBI. If there's no verbatim record of what the witness actually said, whatever words the agent deigns to write in the 302 become, in effect, the witness's words. Whatever words the agent deigns to omit from the 302 become the witness's omissions. The witness can never contradict anything that the agent writes or chooses not to write in the 302 without facing the threat of felony charges under section 1001. Pretty nifty system you've got going there. Very J. Edgar.”
“That is a complete distortion,” the chief said.
“Is it? Wellâexcuse me one second.” Swyteck grabbed his iPhone and dictated a message, staring straight at the section chief as he spoke: “Reminder to self: Write op-ed for the
Miami Herald
regarding abuse of 302s by the U.S. Attorney's Office for the Southern District of Florida.” He put the phone away. “Sorry about that. Anyway, where was I?”
The chief assistant glanced toward the prosecutorial team to his right, then toward the FBI agents to his left, but his eye contact with Littleford lasted longest. Without words, recorded or otherwise, the two agencies seemed to come to an understanding that Savannah Betancourt wasn't worth the fight.
“I think we were all about to agree on no jail time,” said the prosecutor.
The meeting ended around ten. Andie and her boss headed across the street to the Cuban coffee shop on the corner. The sun was shining warmly, the streets were utterly flat, and it felt nothing like the chilly walks that Andie and her old boss used to take down the steep hill from the Seattle field office to the Starbucks on Spring Street. But Miami was her new home, and Andie was getting used to it. They ordered two espressos at the counter and then found a table by the open window.
The FBI had recovered the money at the Betancourts' house and at Pinky's warehouse, as well as the hundred thousand that Ruban had taken from Sully. They'd actually believed Jeffrey Beauchamp when he swore on his mother's soul that he couldn't remember how much he'd given to his godfather for safekeeping, which was all he had left. In all, close to three million was unaccounted for.
Andie stirred a little spoonful of raw sugar into her demitasse. “Do you think we'll find any more of the money?”
“Nope,” said Littleford.
“You think Savannah knows where any of it is?”
He thought about it. “I really don't believe she does.”
Andie tasted her coffee. “How is she paying Swyteck?”
“Good question.”
“He must be expensive.”
“They're all expensive.”
“But he strikes me as better than most. That can't come cheap.”
“I suppose.”
“Is he strictly criminal defense?”
“You're awfully inquisitive about this guy.”
“No, I'm not.”
“I'm picking up a certain vibe that you're hoping he might specialize in something other than criminal defense.”
“I'm just talking.”
“This case will be closed soon enough. If you'd like to meet him, I'm sureâ”
Andie coughed on her expresso. “No.
No.
Not at all. I'm just saying he's a good lawyer.”
Littleford smiled. “The lady doth protest too much.”
“Now you're being ridiculous.”
“His father was the governor of Florida. That was long before you moved here. The old man was a good guy, always supportive of law enforcement. Jack, on the other hand, made a name for himself defending death row inmates.”
“Great. One from the dark side.”
Andie glanced across the coffee shop and did a double take. Swyteck took a seat at the counter. He didn't seem to notice Andie or her boss by the window, even though they were close enough to hear him order a
café con leche
in Spanish. Really
bad
Spanish. Littleford caught Andie looking.
“You know, I'm good here sitting by myself,” said Littleford. “There's an empty seat at the counter. Why don't you go over there and say hello to him?”
“You can't be serious.”
“Hey, he can't be any worse than my wife's cousin.”
Andie smiled, then shook her head. “It's pointless. FBI agent, criminal defense lawyer? How could that turn out to be anything but disaster?”
“You're probably right. Never work.”
“Exactly,” said Andie, glancing over once more. “That would
never
work.”
A
ll stories, I suppose, are to some extent inspired by actual events. For me, it's usually a collection of personal experiences and observations that twist and turn in my mind for months or even years before they can finally be woven into a seamless work of fiction. Every now and then, however, real-life events hit me like the proverbial lightning bolt, and from that spark of inspiration springs a complete work of fiction that seems almost to write itself. I'm grateful to the Honorable Paul Huck, U.S. District Court Judge for the Southern District of Florida, for cluing me in to the “actual events” that inspired
Cash Landing
.
As always, I'm also grateful to my editor, Carolyn Marino, and my agent, Richard Pine, both longtime friends who have guided my writing career from the very beginning. My beta readers, Janis Koch and Gloria Villa, have left their mark on more than a decade of my work. I still make plenty of mistakes, but they make me a better writer.
Finally, my deepest gratitude is to my wife, Tiffany. Thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams, and for encouraging our children to follow theirs.
JAMES GRIPPANDO
is a
New York Times
bestselling author of suspense.
Cash Landing
is his twenty-third novel. James Grippando was a trial lawyer for twelve years before the publication of his first novel in 1994 (
The Pardon
), and he now serves as counsel to Boies, Schiller & Flexner LLP. He lives in south Florida with his wife, three children, two cats, and a golden retriever named Max, who has no idea he's a dog.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.
Black Horizon*â
Blood Money
*â
Need You Nowâ
Afraid of the Dark*â
Money to Burnâ
Intent to Kill
Born to Run*â
Last Call*â
Lying with Strangers
When Darkness Falls*â
Got the Look*â
Hear No Evil*
Last to Die*
A King's Ransom
Under Cover of Darknessâ
Found Money
The Informant
The Pardon*
And for Young Adults
Leapholes
*A Jack Swyteck novel
â Also featuring FBI agent Andie Henning
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other names, characters and places, and all dialogue and incidents portrayed in this book are the product of the author's imagination.
CASH LANDING
. Copyright © 2015 by James Grippando. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN: 978-0-06-229545-3
EPub Edition June 2015 ISBN 9780062295477
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