CON TEST: Double Life (21 page)

“
So, what brings you in?” Paul asked, and straightened documents on his desk.

“
Everything brings me in,” he responded in a slow, distracted tone.

“
Let’s take it from the top,” Paul mused. “Isn’t that what you movie people say?”

“
Paul, please. Save the satire. My debit card was eaten by one of your machines and I’d like to know why?”

“
Take it easy, Fortune.”

“
Don’t tell me to take it easy!”

“
Let me take a look. What’s your account number?” he asked, ignoring William’s sarcasm. He figured that the guy was obviously having money problems. That would get any man’s panties in a bunch.

“
As my banker you should know that it is 3629736638996,” William said, leaning over the desk.

“
Let me make a call,” Paul said after looking at his monitor.

“
Why, Paul?”

“
It seems that your account was closed and all of your money has been transferred to an account in...”

“
Where, Paul?” William slammed a hand on his desk.

“
Luxembourg!”

“
Luxembourg, as in the damn European nation smaller that Rhode-fucking-Island?”

“
Yes, right outside of France.”

“
Paul, you had better figure out how 6.4 million dollars was wired around the globe.” William stood and towered over Paul. “I think I am going to be sick. Where’s the rest room?”

Everyone in the customer service area stared at William as he stomped to the men’s room. Their nods seemed to mock him. The heartburn had approached a murderous Fahrenheit degree. He felt the pulse in his heart beat like an infant learning to beat on their high chair with a rattle. Everything boiled down to one thing: Justice Lorenzo.

* * *

Paul suddenly felt as if he was trapped in a Fed-Ex package being shipped to Antarctica. The air around him was icy as he made his calls to the appropriate higher figures within the bank structure. With each call he peeled pages off his note pad quickly jotting all of the details of the calls. He occasionally paused long enough to examine his notes with the analytical flair of an artist enveloped by their canvas.

William returned to his seat. Both men looked at each other and searched for a sign of weakness. There was none. They both had wide eyes, like an animal’s in the night. The situation lopsided. So unfair. Paul had nothing more to do, but deliver the news. William had to live with it.

“
Let me be frank.”

“
Please, I want it like it is.”

“
It appears that yesterday the funds were transferred to the nation on the advice of an investment banker that you mentioned. In speaking to my assistant who helped you, you were adamant about making the transfer despite me not being here.”

“
You’re implying that I waltzed in here and rationalized a reason to transfer in excess of 6 million dollars not only to another bank, but out of the country?”

“
Precisely.”

“
Then you and your assistant should, and will be fired.”

“
Excuse me? I’ve had it up to here with your--”

“
I’m serious,” William said, interrupting him. “Neither of you are as smart as you ought to be. Do you seriously believe that bullshit? Would I be sitting before your precious little eyes right now had I made that transaction yesterday? Would I have used the damn ATM card, you idiot?”

“
There’s surveillance. The bank VP is bringing it down now.”

* * *

William was irate as he left the bank, but he acted fearless. The theft was done expertly. Justice had an unfair advantage over him. He had obviously paid the bankers to fabricate documents and surveillance of him. He was actually proud of the job. The men worked fast and proficient, too. William had only found out an hour earlier that he experienced bank trouble. And they were prepared for him. That was far too fortuitous. Nothing happened that fast in the modern world of banking without planning far in advance. Except he was dealing with the illusive, manipulative, Justice Lorenzo. The room reeked of the maggot. William realized what had happened and calmed down. It was not the lamebrains fault in the bank. He was practically amused. Everything spiraled out of control quickly, and he would catch up.

THIRTY-FIVE

W
illiam walked into his office building after taking the last of his pocket change to pay the tow man. The dealership promised to reimburse him for the tow, as well as the car rental. He was in his quiet office thanking God that no one was there. Solitude was what he needed. That was necessary to soothe his misery.

He sat on the camel-haired sofa, kicked off his shoes, and pondered. He contemplated everything that had happened. Hopefully his thought process was adequate to deal with the arcane situation. That would be embarrassing if he could not. He would, though. Despite what it took. Even if he had to cheat and begin utilizing fictional tactics. He was good at that, and he would use his strengths.

He closed his eyes, and turned on his highest watt mental bulb. Suddenly, he looked at the telephone.

Don’t even think about
, he told himself.
She would think of you as a paranoid schizo. After all, Justice was a petty thief. How in the hell did he manage to work me out of 6.4 million dollars?

William stared at Lundin’s beautiful eyes in a photo on his desk. To hell with it. He decided that he was going to call. Coming forward with such colorful information had to do more good than bad. He had to establish that this was a situation that he could get a handle on. He did not need her panicking, nor frightened that her life was at stake in this little game of pin the tail on the jackass.

He strode over to his desk slowly and then sat at his desk. He reached for the telephone receiver with one hand and dialed Lundin’s office number. The telephone rang as he swiveled in his chair. He swung hoping that he was not setting himself up for an argument. He could not stop debating with himself. Lundin’s answering machine picked up. He hung up, as he was not leaving that sort of message on her office machine. He dropped the phone into the cradle and pondered some more. Strangely, his mind was riveted by completing his manuscript. That was what the chair did to him.
How dare I think of Justice Lorenzo? Wait! Is the fictional Justice and the human Justice the same?
He did not have an answer to that question. Or did he? The answer was a simple one. Fiction and non-fiction were not the same.

With thoughts of Lundin passing, his heart skipped a beat. A needed skip. He had to deal with his financial situation, but he had a safe with about $25,000 in it. He took some paper out of his pocket and gave them a once over. He looked at the 352 international country code written down and couldn’t believe that he was calling the Bank of Luxembourg in Luxembourg, Luxembourg. Hopefully that city was nothing like the American city that was so nice that it was named twice. William shuddered at the idea of making a call to Luxem-damn-bourg.

The call was answered by a French speaking operator. He introduced himself in French, glad that the operator spoke the language of the neighboring nation. He asked for an English translator, and was told that they didn’t have one. William spun in his chair in disbelief. He could not fathom a bank not having translator for English in any banking organization.

Using his best recollection of high school and college French, he began to explain what had happened and the purpose of his call.

“
M. Fortune, j'ai regardé le numéro de compte que vous m'avez donné. Il semble que ce compte appartient à quelqu'un d'autre.”
Mr. Fortune, I've looked up the account number that you gave me. It appears that this account belongs to someone else.

“
C'est ce que je vous l'ai dit au début de cette conversation. J'ai été victime de l'autre personne, ce voleur d'identité. Le nom est justice Lorenzo. Il m'a volé et je voudrais déposer une plainte et avoir le compte bloqué jusqu'à ce que l'enquête est terminée.”
That's what I told you at the beginning of this conversation. I've been victimized by the someone else, this is identity thief. The name is Justice Lorenzo. He robbed me and I'd like to file a complaint and have the account frozen until the investigation is complete.

“
Monsieur le Président, je crains qu'il y ait un mot de passe sur ce compte. Sans elle, je ne suis pas libre de discuter de ce compte, malgré ce que vous décrivez. Surtout, un compte avec plus de quinze millions de dollars en elle.”
Sir, I am afraid that there is a password on this account. Without it, I am not at liberty to discuss this account despite what you're describing. Especially, an account with over fifteen-million in it.

Fifteen, um, that’s peculiar
, William thought.
Madame, j'ai désespérément besoin de vous accorder une attention très proche de moi. Je suis un romancier populaire américaine. Je suis actuellement à la rédaction d'un voleur d'identité petite. Dans ce roman, et quatre autres, j'ai écrit une impression de base bleu à commettre des crimes frauduleux. Quelqu'un a décidé d'utiliser cette impression bleue de me voler mon argent. Et je veux revenir! Je vous supplie de m'aider à le faire
.” Ma'am, I desperately need you to pay very close attention to me. I am a popular American novelist. I am currently writing about a petty identity thief. In this novel and four others, I have written a basic blue print to engage in fraudulent crimes. Someone has decided to use that blue print to steal my money. And I want it back! I implore you to help me do that.

“
Vous devez fournir le mot de passe, ou je mets fin à cet appel
.” You must provide the password, or I am terminating this call.

“
Puis-je avoir le superviseur
?” May I have the supervisor?

“
Je suis le superviseur
.” I am the supervisor.

“
Il doit y avoir quelqu'un en face de vous, madame
.” There has to be someone ahead of you, ma'am.

“
Monsieur, j'ai besoin d'arguments substantiels pour acheminer votre appel à un cadre de niveau supérieur
.” Sir, I need substantial reasoning to route your call to an upper level executive.

“
Un Américain appelle et vous informe que son riche dollar américain a été frauduleusement par câble à votre pays. C'est un enfer d'une raison
.” An American is calling and informed you that his rich American dollar has been deceitfully wired to your country. That's a hell of a reason.

“
C'est une déclaration plutôt pompeux. Pourquoi ne pas vous rappeler quand vous avez le mot de passe? Ou un de vos policier américain, riche de vous aider avec la question. Avoir une belle journée américaine
.” That was a rather pompous statement. Why don't you call back when you have the password? Or have one of your rich American policemen assist you with the matter. Have a great American day.

William palmed the telephone and threw it violently at the wall opposite his desk. That felt great, but did not have the intended effect. Rather than the phone crashing disastrously into the wall, propelling glass from a framed picture everywhere, it took flight out of the door as it was opened by Lundin. Her head turned and watched the phone flip and then flop onto the corridor carpet. She stepped over a few pieces, and slammed the door behind her, leaving the phone in the hallway.

“
Boopsie! That was a mistake. I am sorry. That was not intended for you,” he said and jumped out of his seat and rushed over to her.

He reached for her and she stepped away from his touch. He was taken aback by her reproach. He didn’t need any drama with her.

“
Lundin! That was a mistake. I’m frustrated and glad that you’re here. I just tried your office. Got your answering machine. We have a lot to talk about,” he said to her earnestly.

“
You got that right,” she said with a hand on her hip. She had a manila envelope in her hand that she slapped into his chest. “You can start by talking about these,” she said sarcastically.

THIRTY-SIX

“
W
hat the hell is this?” he asked her with equal sarcasm.

“
I would love to know myself,” she said, pacing around him to the window that overlooked Wilshire.

William opened the manila envelope and looked at the contents oddly. He suddenly wished that he lived in an era before the camera was pioneered. He gave the photos of him with Monica and Keisha at the Ritz in San Francisco a big smile. He had no way to explain the photos, but he would do the best that he could. He was a bull shitter by trade, and could handle that.

He trudged over to Lundin, transformed into a sagacious man, and said, “Lundin, I can explain these.”

“
Then you better start,” she snapped.

“
You better have a seat,” he suggested.

“
William, I do not want to have a seat. Nor can I stomach your charm right now. Just please explain the photos,” she said, flipping the pictures into the air one-by-one. The eight photos spiraled into the air before hitting the floor.

“
Lundin a lot has been happening,” he said, and bent to pick up the photos. “And these are not me,” he added, and waved the photos in her face before slamming them onto his desk.