No Rules Ridge King (readnow TXT) 📖

He took the box of papers from her. It was heavy.

“This quarter was a little better than last quarter, Severo. We processed 653 bodies.”

“Very impressive, Grisel. Very impressive.”

Severo leafed through the documents.

He now had the last known address, the age and Social Security numbers of 653 dead Americans.

“Always good to see you, Grisel,” he said, using the calculator function on his cellphone. “Let’s see, that 653 times $250. That comes to—”

“$163,250,” Grisel finished for him before he could punch the numbers in.

“OK, $163,250. You’ll be here tomorrow?”

“Yes, I have the funeral. It’s at 4, so try to come around noon if you can.”

“That’ll be great. I’ll bring you the cash tomorrow.”

As he got up, he pulled out the little package in his back pocket.

Grisel’s face lit up like a teenager’s.

“For me?”

She unwrapped the package.

“Deseo!”

She came around the desk and gave Severo a kiss on the cheek.

Back in the Explorer, Severo calculated that they’d process the IRS returns right after the first of the year. Some returns would be filled out requesting refunds in the $5,000 ballpark, others at the $10,000 level. The average refund would come in around $7,500. This times 653 would gross about $4,897,500. Less 15% of the returns kicked out by the IRS computers for one reason or another, they’d end up with around $4,150,000.

This was for each quarter, so from the Matamoros Funeral Home & Crematorium over the course of a year, they’d see about $16,500,000.

All of which would find its way—eventually—into Cuban government accounts in Havana.

What Grisel liked about their arrangement was the quarterly payments. Severo paid her in advance. She didn’t have to wait for him to file the returns the following January. Severo was just as happy: over the course of the year, the $650,000 he paid Grisel was that much less money he had to figure out how to get out of the country.

Grisel was one of three funeral home operations Severo dealt with in Miami. Aricela had two she was setting up in Naples.

Severo felt his stomach rumble. He hadn’t had time for lunch, but it didn’t matter. He and Aricela were going to La Casa Del Churrasco tonight, so he’d just wait till then to stuff himself.

Chapter 6

THE TRANSITION

Back in Washington a few days later, Phil Slanetti came out of his office and bumped into Eric Stathis in the hallway.

“Ready for the meeting?” Slanetti asked in a friendly tone.

“Oh, sure,” said Stathis.

“I don’t know how they expect us to get some actual work done with all these photo ops getting in the way,” said Slanetti.

“The boss wants to show the people we’re all cooperating,” said Stathis.

“Well, I’m cooperating with both sides,” Slanetti nodded. It seemed redundant to forge ahead with the Transition with dual staffs representing each candidate, but since no one knew who the next President would be, Norwalk had insisted both teams go through the Transition process so that whoever was named President, his team would be able to hit the ground running on Day One.

Of course, Norwalk had every expectation that Slanetti would be successful enough with the Keystone File so that the winner would be St. Clair. Still….

“How’s the vote count stand up on the Hill?” Stathis asked.

“We’re still short three or four states,” said Slanetti.

“Guess you’re putting all your time into that.”

“Well, yeah, nothing else on my plate except the Transition.”

“And just a week before Christmas,” said Stathis.

“Nine days, actually,” said Slanetti, reminding himself to force himself to leave early to do a little Christmas shopping. He’d had his wife cover for him by buying gifts for everybody in the family, but he still had to get something for her. Something special. And that ought to be easy given all the money the Russians had given him as a “token” of their appreciation for helping to get St. Clair elected.

“Here we are,” said Stathis as they arrived at the Cabinet Room. Slanetti stood back as he deferred to the chief of staff, who had precedence over the aide for congressional liaison.

Stathis went into the Cabinet Room, thinking the whole time what a filthy worm Slanetti was. Stathis was still in a state of emotional shock after discovering the existence of the Keystone File. He’d been on the verge of confronting Norwalk about it—twice when he was alone with him in the Oval Office—but both times he had chickened out at the last minute.

Stathis felt slighted on several fronts. First, he was considered to be the President’s best friend. Second, he was his chief of staff, the most trusted position in the White House, and closest to the President. Third, he was offended that Norwalk hadn’t thought to confide in him on a professional level. More than his indignation over Norwalk’s attempt to fix the election, Stathis was hurt that he had been excluded from Norwalk’s inner circle as he planned the last big thing in his Administration. But Norwalk knew him well, and knew him well enough to know that he’d have objected strenuously, maybe even resigned if he’d been told about Keystone.

Which is exactly the same thought President Norwalk had as he caught Stathis’s eye as he entered the Cabinet Room after everyone else had arrived. He hadn’t told Stathis about Keystone even when Slanetti began building the files years before because Stathis was too honorable a man to allow it to happen on his watch.

Norwalk took in a little breath and he shifted his gaze from Stathis to Thurston and St. Clair and their people as they all rose as a sign of respect. The last thing he wanted to worry about at this stage in the game was Stathis’s bruised feelings. Politics was a nasty business and sometimes you had to get your hands dirty.