To avoid being caught, crooks with dirty money from illegal sources would instead make several smaller cash deposits. That was called structuring the deposit.
Georgina had spotted a pattern of structured deposits in four accounts opened less than a month ago in the Los Angeles area. She'd picked up her computer printout and trotted down the three flights of stairs to Compliance on the seventh floor.
And who did she have to deal with? Simon, who else! She'd already made a fool of herself with him in the lobby that morning, and now he gave her a condescending smile, behaving as though the whole thing was something she'd dreamed up as an excuse to go and talk to him. It was only after becoming shrill and throwing her weight around that Georgina managed to convince Simon's boss in Compliance to file a SAR, a Suspicious Activity Report, about the transactions.
Becoming shrill and throwing her weight around wasn't one of Georgina's favorite management techniques, but sometimes nothing else would work.
When she entered the apartment, Georgina cranked up the air conditioning and stripped off the snappy little Yves St Laurent suit Annabel had helped her choose. Her skin felt clammy, and the tension of the day had dulled her appetite. A dip in the pool was just what she needed. It would be quiet in the garden, as it was already getting dark outside.
After rummaging inside her wardrobe until she found her sturdy black bathing suit, Georgina changed and took the elevator down. The little white bikini wasn't being abandoned, she promised herself. It was just being given a short vacation.
Her steps slowed in dismay when she approached the pool. She wouldn't have the place to herself after all. A girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen floated in the water, helped by a pair of thin tubular buoyancy aides, one in shocking pink, one in fluorescent green. The girl's eyes were closed and her long dark hair undulated around her head like a cloud of seaweed. The two-piece bathing suit with high legs and a tank top made her look coltish, the way girls do when their limbs have spurted in growth but their body has yet to follow.
Georgina discarded her bathrobe on a chair and lowered herself in the water as quietly as she could. It was no use. The girl opened her eyes and begun to splash with her arms, until she'd drifted close enough to talk.
"You must be new.” There was a note of friendly curiosity in her voice.
Georgina nodded. They were at the deep end. Her feet didn't reach the bottom, and she had to tread water to keep afloat. The air was cooler than she'd expected. A little layer of mist rose out of the water and enveloped them.
"I'm Andy,” the girl said. “Andy Patissier."
Georgina's brows drew together, but she forced her expression back to neutral. There was no point in interfering. The little girl would find out soon enough that when you grew up, it stopped being fun to be saddled with a boy's name. Georgina been called George through high school, and had struggled to shake it off when she went to university.
"What's your name?” the little girl persisted.
"My name is Georgina.” Georgina paddled with her arms to keep her head above water. “And you're right, I am new. I moved in on Friday."
"Do you want one of these?” Andy pulled a bendy foam tube from under her arms.
"Can you float with just one?"
"Sure. Here, take it.” The girl tossed the pink sausage in the water between them.
Georgina wrapped the bendy foam around her waist and held it in place with both hands, testing the impact with a few cautious bounces. Although the float was small, it was buoyant enough to keep her on the surface.
"This is great.” Georgina flipped on her back and closed her eyes, breathing deeply and concentrating on the lapping sounds that the water made against the edges of the pool.
"How old are you?” Andy's voice drifted in from a distance.
"I'm twenty-eight,” Georgina said absently. “How old are you?"
"I'm thirteen."
Georgina gave a little nod. “That's a good age.” The movement made ripples over her skin that soothed away the lingering tensions.
"Are you married?” Andy asked.
Georgina held up her left hand which bore no rings.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Not at the moment,” Georgina told the girl. “Do you?"
"No,” Andy said with a tone of regret. “My dad says I'm too young."
Georgina held back a smile. “I should think he's right."
"You talk funny.” Andy made it sound like an accusation.
This time Georgina let the smile out. “So do you."
"My mom's French Canadian."
Georgina said nothing. She paddled with her feet, until she felt herself starting to glide along.
"Why do you talk funny?” Andy asked with a hint of impatience. “Is your mom foreign too?"
Aren't we a nosy little bugger
, Georgina thought as she swirled her body in a lazy circle. Then she came to a stop and craned her head, directing her gaze at Andy. “No,” she said flatly. “My mom's dead."
Andy's dark eyes scowled at her. Then the girl's face crumpled. Remorse filled Georgina and she opened her mouth, trying to think of something to say that would repair the damage. Before she managed a single sound, Andy's expression grew hard.
"I wish my mom was dead too.” Each word was hurled out in anger.
Georgina bolted upright, sinking deeper into the water. “Andy! Why do you say that?"
The girl lowered her eyes but her voice remained harsh. “Because my mother's a good-for-nothing dope-head who shouldn't have been allowed to have children in the first place.” It came out like a speech she'd memorized.
"Who says that?” Georgina asked gently as she paddled closer.
"Everyone.” Andy blinked a few times and clenched her lips between her teeth. Then she turned around and splashed her way over to the edge.
"I have your floating thingy,” Georgina said, raising her voice to carry the distance between them.
"That's all right.” Andy heaved herself out of the water. “You can give it back to me tomorrow. I'm here most evenings.” She tiptoed along the poolside to a group of plastic chairs and shook out an enormous navy-blue towel. Then she turned and strode across the lawn toward the far building.
So that's why they hadn't come across each other before, in the elevator or in the parking garage, Georgina thought. Andy lived in the other block on the opposite side of the pool.
"Hey, Andy,” Georgina called out after her. “I'm from England. That's why I talk funny."
A slim arm shot out from the bundle of navy blue and rose high up in the air for a parting wave, but the child didn't turn around.
Georgina sat at her office desk, staring at the pad in front of her, admiring the ornate doodles that covered the entire page. Simon from Compliance had just been on the phone, prattling on for fifteen minutes to say something very simple. Georgina understood why he'd taken so long, since it was never easy to admit to being a shit, which was essentially what Simon had called to do.
Jefferson Myers, the Head of Compliance based in London, had received a copy of the Suspicious Activity Report that Georgina had insisted upon filing. He'd congratulated Simon on his diligence. In a typical male manner, Simon and David Pearlman, the section head who was Simon's boss, had colluded to take the merit.
We thought it would be better to keep your name out of it,
Simon explained over the telephone.
Departmental segregation of responsibilities and all that
. Georgina listened with gritted teeth. She was no good at office politics, which meant that to have got to where she was, and to stay there, she had to be twice as good at her job. She let out a defeated sigh as she put the phone down.
At least she finally had a few moments to herself. She discarded the pen she'd used for doodling and picked up a yellow Papermate pencil. She twisted out the lead and turned over a clean page on her pad.
Reaching across the desk, she pressed a button on the intercom. “Annie, could you make sure nobody comes in without buzzing me first. I'm going to have some confidential papers spread out on my desk."
"You've got it,” Annabel's voice crackled over the intercom.
"Thanks. Let me know when you're leaving."
"Will do."
Georgina pressed the button to cut off the speaker and pulled the pad closer. She printed ‘Project Seduction’ in neat block letters at the top of the page, and then swept the room with a nervous glance. Fortunately her office wasn't one of those goldfish bowls, and on the tenth floor there was no need to worry about anyone peeking in through the windows.
Assured of privacy, Georgina shifted her attention back to the notepad. She drew a little circle. Then she drew a horizontal line that measured a couple of inches. At the end of the line, she drew another circle. Then she added another short line, and another circle. By the time she finished, she had two sets of circles connected with lines.
The first line was the deliverables and the associated weekly deadlines.
Flirting.
A date.
Kissing.
Making out.
Sleeping together.
She underlined ‘sleeping’ to emphasize it was meant literally. She intended to be encased in a sturdy nightgown.
Nudity.
Sex.
That was the last entry. Georgina counted the weeks and realized with horror that she had set herself the task of having sex with Rick Matisse in only seven weeks from now. In a flurry of panic, she rubbed out the last three milestones and wrote them further to the right, inserting ‘flowers’ in between ‘making out’ and ‘sleeping together'.
That was better. It added a challenge. The other milestones simply required Rick Matisse to accept what was dished out in front of him. Flowers required some initiative from his part.
Georgina read through the list once more. Her heart pounded, and she hadn't even done anything yet. All she had done was write down a few words. She flipped the pencil upside down and erased ‘sleeping together'. That calmed her. Sleeping together was scary. That would last all night. With nudity and sex, she could have it over quickly, and then she would be alone and safe again.
Then she realized the overall timeline was back down to seven weeks. With a cry of distress, Georgina moved on to the second set of circles. Those were the tools she planned to use to achieve the deliverables.
More make-up
Highlights in hair.
Provocative clothing
Provocative behavior.
Her mind raced back to the bikini incident. Even in the privacy of her own office her cheeks burned with shame. With a few angry jabs she crossed out all four items.
Georgina pressed her lips together in frustration. Her IQ was supposed to be astronomical. She ought to be able to think up some ideas. How difficult could it be to seduce a man?
Different. That's what she'd offer. A Neanderthal like Rick Matisse would be used to the kind of bimbos she had thought of trying to become. She would be a contrast. Classy, cool, ethereal. She'd intrigue him, fascinate him, beguile him.
With renewed enthusiasm, Georgina wrote out a fresh sequence under the heading ‘Means to Achieve the Goal'.
Highlights in hair.
That was a compromise, since her hair
was
mousy.
Feminine clothes but classy.
Shorten skirts and look sexy.
Find opportunities for displays of physical attributes.
Her waist was tiny and her bottom was pert. She'd find occasions to drop things down and bend over to pick them up. Perhaps she'd buy one of those cropped tops that left her midriff bare.
And her legs were good. She noticed it every time she got a ladder in her tights and inspected them in the mirror to see if she could get away with the damage until the end of the day. She'd get some skimpy shorts, and paint her toenails red. And maybe she'd get an ankle bracelet, although it would probably scratch her skin and drive her crazy.
Her lips curved into a nervous smile. She had a game plan. All right, so she had never to her knowledge intrigued or fascinated or beguiled anyone before, but there was always the first time for everything.
What she'd written so far took care of the first four weeks. What should come next?
Personal grooming.
She'd exfoliate and moisturize like mad. And instead of shaving her legs, she'd buy one of those nasty gadgets that pulled the hair out by the roots. She'd even book a bikini wax, which according to Cosmopolitan was as painful as childbirth, although mercifully a wax job only lasted a few seconds.
Then what?
Learn about sex.
She wrote it down. It came against week six, which meant that she needed one more weekly action. She added ‘seductive behavior’ by the last circle on the right.
How would she learn about sex? Georgina frowned and tapped her fingernails against the desk.
Blue movies. She'd watch a couple of those. It ought to give her the basics, although she had no idea how she would ever muster up the courage to walk into a video store and ask for a blue movie. Perhaps she could check into a hotel again. They had had erotic channels blasting out night and day.
It had never really bothered Georgina that she'd reached the age of twenty-eight without ever having sex. Grandma Ethel would have disinherited her for any liaison before wedding bells, and wedding bells had never been on her agenda. And in the past two years, since Grandma Ethel died, Georgina had been too busy with work to think about men.
A new environment offered an opportunity for a new start, and this was an ideal time to do something about her personal life.
With a flick of her wrist, Georgina tore the page from the pad and folded it, and then slipped it into the side pocket of her briefcase. Her plan was complete. The next step was to put it into action.
Georgina parked in the underground garage and climbed out, lugging her briefcase in one hand and hauling her handbag over her shoulder. Her thoughts drifted away from the seduction project plan as she clicked the remote locks on the car. The bank was paying for the AVIS rental for three months, and the second month was almost over. Soon she'd have to decide what to buy. As she was already used to the Chevy Cobalt, it would keep things simple to get another one. She'd ask Annabel to take care of it tomorrow. Same model, same red color.