Wheeler was also smiling. He loved the development business. Properly handled it was truly a goldmine. All you had to do was bring projects in on budget. Do that, and the next deal was guaranteed before it was even proposed.
Bernie was the Wizard! The Guru. He understood how business worked! He had risen to the top by making sure his books always balanced. That was the key to his success. In addition, his paper trail was immaculate. All it took was ten percent in cash and he could make any reasonable development plan work.
As he let his mind drift, Bernie mused over his charmed life. He looked around him, admiring all of the fine things that his money was able to buy. Then looking out the window, across the manicured sprawl of Phoenix, toward the Arizona Desert, he relived the excitement of how it all began, back in Florida.
He remembered sitting in his tiny, cramped office, in the night club style bar he had just acquired. It was twenty years ago, his first evening in his new establishment, half an hour after the bar had closed.
His manager came into his office and deposited, on his desk, a pair of canvas sacks containing the night’s receipts. His plan had been to reconcile the books throughout the night and catch up on his sleep the next morning. He knew it would take him several hours but he was, after all, an accountant and actually looked forward to the challenge. It excited him that instead of just balancing numbers on a spreadsheet, as he usually did, he was actually balancing numbers with real cash. The unfortunate circumstances that put him in this position were temporarily forgotten as he rolled up his sleeves and opened the first canvas bag. The bills were neatly stacked and bound with elastic bands, a Post-it note indicating the total was attached to each denomination. On top was a roll of paper from the cash register. Ignoring the actual money, Bernie began to read the results on the roll of paper. The numbers looked good, roughly what he had imagined they would be. The business appeared profitable. He assumed it was solid because it had never been delinquent and the mortgage had always been paid on time.
A week ago Bernie Wheeler had held the mortgage on both the building and the business. Then, a violent break-in occurred shortly after closing. A pair of hoodlums had forced their way into the office and robbed the owner while he performed the same tasks that Bernie was now doing. The owner must have tried to resist … no one knew for sure … but when his body was found the following morning, the money was gone and there were three bullet holes in the owner’s chest.
The victim had died intestate and Bernie had been given the legal right to continue business operations as a trustee, until the legal matters were settled. The thought of that gruesome happening caused him to get up and check the entrances and exits, confirming that he was safely locked inside, with the alarms set. Then he resumed his work, making entries in his computer and scrutinizing the results. When he completed his task he reached into the bag and began to count the money, double checking the tally his staff had already made.
It balanced perfectly, after allowing for sixty-two dollars and forty-six cents in the over and short column. For a moment Bernie felt relieved. It had been a rewarding evening and his task was done. Then, almost inadvertently, he had looked at the second canvas sack. What was it, anyway? He had assumed it was just part of the cash. But the books were already balanced. He opened it up. There was no loose coin. In fact the smallest denomination of currency it contained was ten dollar bills. The sack yielded fifteen hundred and seventy dollars. Inside was an envelope containing a brief note which read:
| Total | $1570 | ||
| Cost | 950 | ||
| Profit | 620 | Congratulations! | E.F. |
Bernie Wheeler continued to work, alone in the office, until well after dawn. Then, during the early stages of the morning rush hour, he left the bar, drove to the bank and deposited the first canvas sack at the twenty-four hour drive-through. He then drove home, exhausted, leaving the second bag at the club, in the floor safe.
At ten o’clock the next evening, he sat at the end of the bar keeping an eye on things, trying not to interfere with an experienced and knowledgeable staff. A well dressed, tall, thin, perhaps a bit slick looking Colombian, quietly sat down beside him.
“Last night was a good night for a Thursday. The weekend will be better. You’ll see. I’ll help you get started. You will be on your own, soon. By the way, you owe me nine hundred and fifty dollars.”
“I have your money in the back room. All of it! Fifteen-seventy. I don’t know what you expect but I’m the wrong guy. Understand?” snapped Bernie angrily.
“This bar is just breaking even. You need me to show a profit. It’s simple. You’ll see.”
The slick looking Colombian finished his drink and left. For the next week, each night, the process of receiving two sacks of money was repeated. Bernie didn’t see the Colombian again. The notes in the sack indicated that Bernie owed him seventy-seven hundred dollars and had earned over four thousand for himself.
The Colombian had been right about the bar as well. During the week of managing the place, Bernie performed a mini audit and annualized his overhead. After cost of sales, miscellaneous expenses such as electricity, gas, taxes and insurance ate up almost all of the gross profit. The bar was not doing as well as he thought it had the first night.
The following Monday, Eduardo Fernandez returned to the bar and once again spoke to Bernie. This time Bernie was more conciliatory and when the Colombian left, he left with seventy-seven hundred dollars.
During the three months that followed, Bernie advised his previous employer that he would not be returning to his regular job following the two month leave of absence he had been granted. He obtained a court order and purchased the land and business from the estate. He knew the move was rash but he justified it to himself by saying it was the only way he could protect his initial mortgage investment.
During that period he met with Eduardo Fernandez several times and had come to appreciate the Colombian’s intelligence and decisiveness. Although he enjoyed accumulating the cash, he was afraid to spend it. His personality was not well suited to trafficking in cocaine. In fact, he lived in constant fear. Fear of losing his freedom, his livelihood and most of all, his reputation as a straight-shooting accountant. He could barely fathom the shame he would endure, if he were ever caught.
Eduardo astutely observed Bernie’s reticence. After a few months, he invited Bernie to lunch in a place exclusive enough to make a good impression. He had a proposal.
Fernandez had a buyer who would purchase the club for a million dollars which was slightly more than market value. But his offer was more complex. He offered to pay the one million dollars into an off-shore account in the Cayman Islands, tax free. Bernie baulked, knowing full well that the IRS would be after him in about twenty minutes after the deal closed. But Eduardo continued. He would lend Bernie another million which would be secured by a promissory note. That money would be deposited into a new holding company and used to purchase a strip mall with an adjacent, undeveloped lot. Bernie would obtain conventional financing for the balance of the purchase price. He would assign all of his shares in the new company to Fernandez and further grant Fernandez a long term option to purchase the property, as collateral for the loan. The loan and collateral agreement would be kept secret and neither would be registered. Nor would the assignation of the shares. Bernie would operate the mall as if it were his own and be allowed to draw a salary starting at what he was currently drawing from the bar. On paper, the salary would be provided by the rental income from the mall. His off-shore account would return interest, unencumbered. If he managed the strip mall well, his success would be rewarded in the form of cash and bonuses.
Bernie weighed these options. He recognized the plan for exactly what it was, a money laundering operation. But with his accounting background, it seemed far safer than operating a night club with a cocaine business in the parking lot. A few days later Fernandez returned. There