The Clayton Account Read Online Free PDF

to Wall Street.
    Hector Perez came out of the Banker’s office and nodded in Speer’s direction, a commanding sort of nod, almost like a bow except that it managed to avoid any suggestion of deference. He held the door open and followed Speer in, closing it behind them before retiring to his usual corner.
    ‘Enrique,
que placer amigo
,’ Salazar beamed, coming round his desk to exchange a Latin embrace. ‘What a pleasure to see you.’
    ‘And you, my friend, as always,’ Speer reciprocated. ‘The boss has asked me to send you his most sincere greetings.’
    ‘You will, of course, convey mine in due course, I’m sure. Now, how can I be of service?’
    ‘I fear we shall need to make a substantial withdrawal,’ explained Speer.
    ‘Enrique! Why fear?’ laughed Salazar. ‘It’s your money, eh!’
    They both laughed, but behind the light-heartedness Salazar was making calculations. The Morales account was big, over one hundred million. ‘Substantial’ had to mean at least ten or twenty. Still, such was the nature of Salazar & Co’s business. They accepted the dirty money, cleaned it up and returned it legitimized to their rightful owners. En route they deducted their fee of 10 per cent, extremely reasonable in laundry operations; but then Salazar & Co dealt only with men of substance.
    And, of course, no interest.
    While money made its tortuous way from hot to cold, it parked here and there, sometimes for days, sometimes for a few months. Any notional interest earned was one of Salazar & Co’s
perquisites
. ‘In place of expenses,’ was how they explained it to those few clients who asked.
    Once the money was invested ‘clean’, the owners derived their full benefit. It became ‘under management’, and at that point Salazar’s fees dropped to 2 per cent a year. Cheaper than the nation’s finest Mutual Funds.
    ‘The figure our respected friend has in mind is fifty million.’
    ‘In one lump?’ asked the Banker as his mind continued to race. Morales had over seventy million under management, the rest was being cleaned. Fifty was a lot, but fresh income was coming in at not less than five million a month. Significant, but not likely to shake a firm with three-quarters of a billion under management at the last count.
    ‘Not necessarily one lump, but we need it within thirty days.’
    ‘That may require drawing mostly from money in transit. It would be subject to the usual 10 per cent.’
    ‘What’s Malaga got clean at the moment?’ enquired Speer, glancing at the file he had brought along.
    ‘Let’s see,’ said Salazar, tapping keys on his computer. ‘In dollars, we have … just shy of a million in Spain, two million in Montevideo, two-fifty grand in Grand Cayman.’
    Speer thought for a moment and scratched some figures on his pad.
    ‘Okay, Joe, leave the Caymans out. We don’t want to involve off-shores on this one. Get me forty-seven million, split between Spain and Uruguay. Plus your fee, that’s a total debit of fifty-one point seven, agreed?
    ‘Correct. Thirty days, then.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Should I know what this is for?’ enquired Salazar.
    ‘I don’t see why not.’ And Speer told him: about the Foundation, about Morales’ desire to give to his people.
    Salazar whistled, then almost immediately saw the point.
    ‘My admiration for our mutual friend increases daily,’ he said sincerely. He did not admit that he feared for the Morales account. Rumour had it that he was being cornered. That others – the Cali Cartel in particular – might be ready to move in for the kill.
    Once Speer had left, Salazar turned to Perez.
    ‘Where’s my son?’ he asked gruffly.
    ‘In his office,’ replied the watchdog.
    ‘Get him in here, now.’
    Three minutes later he was there, looking flustered, wondering what next.
    ‘What have you done about the Clayton account?’ demanded the father.
    ‘Hey, you only asked me the other day,’ replied Tony Salazar defensively. ‘I was about to