Puzzle by Nora Phoenix
21
With the help of Donnie Smith’s mother—who was deeply ashamed of her son’s involvement in the assassination and had been more than willing to assist law enforcement—Ryder had gotten full access to the man’s financials. At first glance, there had been nothing out of the ordinary. No major debts, no sudden weird changes in income or debt, no wild splurges. A second more thorough review hadn’t revealed anything either.
Ryder had asked Corey to come over to his office so they could combine their brainpower and because Ryder had to be careful working on domestic connections, which Donnie Smith was. Sure, with the Al Saalihin/Hamza Bashir angle, he could defend himself focusing on this, but why make it difficult? And so Ryder and Corey had booted up their computers, sitting side by side, and went over everything together.
Thanks to the information found on that Proud Patriotic Nationalists website, they now knew what to look for. Donnie and whoever he’d been messaging with had been so stupid as to share a few specifics—enough to give them an idea of where to search. They’d opened a bank account for him where they’d deposited the money in. That way, they’d told him, the IRS couldn’t trace the money, which made no sense at all to Ryder.
“How does opening a domestic account keep the money hidden from the IRS?” he asked Corey, whose short, blond hair looked like he’d plugged his fingers into an electrical socket. The geek factor was high with him, and Ryder had felt a kindred spirit connection from the moment they met.
“It doesn’t. So why would they claim that?”
Ryder looked at the exchange from the website again. “They’re saying it’s not in his name. So did they make him an authorized user?”
Corey double-checked the information on his screen. “It doesn’t show up on his credit report, which it would have if it had been linked to his social security number.”
“They could’ve given him access without putting his name on the account. With online banking, that’s easy to do.”
“True. And with only twenty thousand dollars, setting up something complicated doesn’t make sense. It’s not like you’d open an offshore bank account for that amount.”
“But if he ever cashed that money, what did he do with it? It doesn’t show up anywhere on his own accounts.”
Corey slapped his forehead. “Of course he didn’t. They killed him before he could access the money. He never had the chance.”
“What if that had been their plan from the get-go and they never intended for him to have the money?”
“In one of his messages, he mentions he’ll check as soon as they’ve wired it, so they must’ve given him real log-in credentials.”
“And why wouldn’t they if they knew he’d never be able to use them and get to the money? They knew he was going to be dead before then. Which means…”
They looked at each other. “They probably gave him info to an account that’s still active,” Corey said, almost squealing with excitement.
“And it’s gotta be a domestic account. No way would they have given him access to a secret, offshore account. Donnie Smith might not have been the brightest bulb, but they wouldn’t have trusted him with that much information.”
“Agreed,” Corey said. “And there would’ve been exactly twenty thousand in there because why give him extra money? So let’s see what we can find in Kingmakers’ accounts.”
They went over every line of the financial information they’d obtained from Kingmakers, reasoning that the money would have to have been deposited somewhere in the weeks around the assassination. With the number of financial accounts Kingmakers used—undoubtedly a deliberate strategy to make it harder to follow the money—it wasn’t a quick task, but they kept looking.
“Here, what’s this?” Ryder pointed at a transfer of seven thousand dollars. “That’s a strangely round number.”
“Hmm, it’s going out from one of their main accounts to…a dormant bank account with Capital One, which is an online bank. I wonder if we can find more round numbers… Here’s another seven thousand.”
Ryder thought the same thing. People might not realize it, but transferring round numbers indicated a manual transaction. Automatic payments of, for example, credit cards or bills seldom consisted of perfect numbers. “Which leaves us with six left. All well below the ten thousand where the bank would report to the IRS.”
It took another ten minutes, but then they found the last transfer from yet another account but into that same dormant account, and lo and behold, the balance right after the assassination was…exactly twenty thousand dollars.
“They moved the money again after his death.” Ryder tapped on the date. “See? July 11, they transferred almost all of it, leaving only five hundred. Donnie Smith was murdered on July 10.”
“Holy shit, they barely waited until the body was cold.” Corey cocked his head. “Actually, Quirk dumped his body in the water, so I’m pretty sure it was cold. Although it’s the Caribbean, so it would depend on the water temperature, I suppose. Anyway, moot point, and I’m getting off track. Where were we?”
Ryder snorted, happy he wasn’t the only one who would get caught in weird thought tangents like that. “I wonder where they transferred the money to.” He refocused on the bank statements.
“I assume back to the accounts it came from.”
Ryder checked the last payment. “No, it was sent to an account at…Evolve and Trust bank.”
“So was the second payment…” Corey clicked away on his keyboard. “And the first. What account is that?”
“It’s not a known Kingmakers account, not according to the information we have. The name on the account is listed as John Smith. That’s gotta be a fake name.”
Corey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. Someone was shit out of creative inspiration. Let’s see if we can find more payments to this account.”
They did. Every two weeks for the last six-and-a-half years, money had been sent to this account from various Kingmaker accounts. Small amounts, some larger amounts, but never over eight thousand dollars, and the last payment had been only weeks before. “One million exact,” Corey said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It’s too low for El Sewedy. Unless he’s much cheaper than the going rate, but I doubt it.”
“True, but I can’t imagine them sending a higher amount than to one account. That would raise red flags at some point, even if spread out over lower payments.”
“Maybe El Sewedy is using multiple accounts to collect the money,” Ryder said. “Wait, Evolve and Trust? That’s a bank that’s used by Wise, the international money service.”
“That would allow El Sewedy to have a US bank account that Kingmakers could send money to without it being seen as a foreign transaction.”
“It would, and since he’s not a US citizen, the IRS wouldn’t care…and I doubt the UAE does. That’s an easy way to get money to him. But that means he’d have to have multiple accounts there to still spread the risk, all under fake names. How would we find those?”
Corey inhaled sharply as if to say something, but Ryder held up his hand. “Gimme a moment. I’m thinking out loud here. We’ll never find John Smith, not with a name that generic, and if he used similar names for the other accounts, we won’t be able to trace those either. But that money left the account at some point, presumably to a bank account El Sewedy owns, maybe with the Central Bank of the United Arab Emirates or in some foreign country with strong bank privacy, like Switzerland or Brunei, which wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for him.”
“So if we subpoena the records for this Evolve and Trust account, we should be able to trace the money right to El Sewedy.” Corey was beaming, bouncing with energy.
Ryder thought the steps out in his head again, but he couldn’t see any fault in his reasoning. “Yes. Even if he transferred it from there to yet another bank before depositing it in his final account, we should still be able to trace it. The Central Bank of the United Arab Emirates has promised to hand over information if we give them specific account numbers, but they refuse to say which accounts are associated with El Sewedy. This is how we could get there.”
“I’ll need to run this through Legal, but I’ll get on that right away,” Corey said, already packing up his stuff.
Ryder stretched as he yawned, then got up from his seat. “Thanks for coming over. I feel like we made progress.”
“We did.” Corey looked around, probably checking if he had everything, then leaned into Ryder. Before Ryder knew what was happening, Corey had kissed him on his cheek and was out the door with a happy “Bye now,” leaving him standing in utter befuddlement. What the hell had just passed?
“I see you two are getting along well.”
Ryder spun around. Branson was leaning against the doorpost. “What?”
“You and Corey.”
Wait, why did Branson sound so sharp? That wasn’t like him, Mr. happy-go-lucky. Maybe the stress about his dad was getting to him. “I suppose so, but why?”
Branson crossed his arms. “Because he kissed you? Or is that so normal you don’t even realize it?” Something flashed over his face. “You know what? Never mind. None of my business.”
He was right, of course, since what Ryder did with Corey was none of Branson’s business. And yet Ryder felt a deep urge to explain and maybe even defend himself. “I don’t know why he did that. He’s never done it before. But I’ll talk to him about it because…I didn’t like it.”
Branson stood straighter. “You didn’t?”
“No. I mean, maybe I’m making it into much of a bigger deal than I should, but…”
Understanding lit up in Branson’s eyes. “He kissed you without your consent.”
“He did. And I know I’m weird about that, but it matters to me. We live in this culture where somehow people have made it okay to kiss people without seeking permission, strangers even. The other day, I saw a video about moments of respect in sports, and this tennis player accidentally hit the umpire who sits by the net? Not sure what that’s called. But anyway, he hit that lady and then walked over and kissed her on the cheek. Everyone was cheering that on as a lovely gesture, and all I could think of was that she never consented to that. It’s not okay to do something so intimate without asking first.”
Branson had walked into the room during Ryder’s mini tirade, his brown eyes warm and understanding. “I’d never have looked at it like that before, but you made me think about consent in a whole new way. In case I never thanked you for that, thank you. It was something I needed to hear.”
Ryder studied him. Branson’s attitude had changed, though Ryder had trouble putting his finger on how exactly. “You’re different,” he said, hoping it wouldn’t come across as offensive.
Branson didn’t seem to take it the wrong way. He just looked at Ryder, his gaze gentle. “In what manner?”
“I don’t know. It’s not so much calmer as…less flashy? Like you’ve toned something down?”
Branson nodded, a smile showing on his lips. “I’m trying to be more myself. One thing I realized was that I was often playing a role, being the person I thought people wanted me to be.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is. And somewhere along the way, I became so good at it that I lost sight of who I am. I focused on what I thought I should be for so long that I forgot who I really am.”
“I like you much better as you. You’re far less tiring.”
Oops, that had come out much harsher than he’d intended, but Branson’s smile widened. “Thank you.”
“I thought I might’ve been too direct again.”
“Nope, not at all. I appreciate your honesty, your directness. I know you’ll tell me the truth, and right now, I need that.”
“Oh, well, in that case, you’re welcome. Anytime.”
They stared at each other, and Ryder’s eyes dropped to Branson’s mouth. He had such a nice smile…and perfect lips…and he was an amazing kisser. God, Ryder wanted to kiss him again, wanted to be pinned down with that strong body on top of his again. He wanted to feel every inch of that fat cock inside him, stretching him, wrecking him…
“Ryder…”
Branson’s voice was hoarse.
“Yeah?”
“You need to stop looking at me like that.”
Ryder swallowed, dragging his eyes away. "Like what?”
“Like you’re imagining me inside you again.”
How had he known? Then Ryder noticed his own body, his increased heart rate, his fast breaths, the warmth in his cheek…and his hard cock. Shit. “I’m… I’ll try.”
“Try harder. You’re sexy enough as it is without seeing how much you want me back.”
“We can’t.” That hadn’t even sounded remotely like he meant it.
“No, we can’t. Which is why I’m gonna walk away and pretend this never happened.”
Ryder watched him walk out, his body protesting fiercely. How could one night of fantastic sex have made him addicted to Branson Grove?
