The Water Rat of Wanchai by Ian Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page B

she said. “This happens all the time. A bank, a good honest bank, opens an account for a customer who seems entirely above board, takes in deposits for genuine commercial transactions, and then at the customer’s request transfers that money elsewhere for what are thought to be other real commercial transactions. That’s just about what happened, isn’t it?”
    “You got it.”
    “So where did the money go?”
    “The British Virgin Islands,” he said.
    “I could have guessed,” she said.
    “How’s that?”
    “Mr. Goldman, the BVI are the world’s tax haven. There are more than half a million offshore companies registered there — that’s about half the world total.”
    “I run a small local bank, that’s all,” he said.
    “I understand, I understand. Now, to which company was the money sent?”
    “S&A Investments.”
    “Address?”
    “I have a copy of our wire in front of me. It was sent six days ago to S&A Investments, P.O. Box 718, Simon House, Road Town, Tortola, British Virgin Islands.”
    “Care of which bank?”
    “Barrett’s”
    “Account?”
    “Account number 055-439-4656.”
    “Great,” she said. “You’ve been just great.”
    “We don’t like to get mixed up in things like this,” he said.
    “I know, but sometimes it’s difficult to avoid people like Seto.”
    “Never again. I’m closing his account as soon as I get off the phone with you.”
    “Oh no, don’t do that,” she said quickly. “Please leave it alone. I need you to call me at once if Seto comes back to the bank or contacts you in any way.”
    “Ms. Cohen, you do know there was a second wire as well?”
    Ava couldn’t help being surprised. “No, I didn’t.”
    “Yeah, for just over a million dollars, from Safeguard, a retail food chain in Portland, Oregon. We sent it to the same account in the British Virgin Islands.”
    “When?”
    “Two days ago.”
    It looked as if Seto had cleared out the inventory. That was a good thing. Money was easier to repossess than goods, and she wouldn’t have to worry about selling it if she got her hands on it.
    “You’ve been terrific, Mr. Goldman. Let’s hope I don’t have talk to you again.”
    It was just past two o’clock and Ava hadn’t eaten anything all day except a bowl of congee for breakfast. There was a Chinese restaurant on Bloor Street that served dim sum till three. She looked out her window at the street below. It wasn’t snowing but it was cold and blustery, and the few pedestrians who had ventured out were wrapped up tightly and walking as quickly as they could, chins buried in their chests. She called the Italian restaurant where she had eaten the night before and ordered a pizza for delivery.
    Then she called the travel agent she always used to book her trips. Most of her friends booked online, but she preferred having a buffer between herself and the airlines in case she had to make schedule changes, which she often did. She told the agent to book her on a flight to Seattle and to reserve a seat from there to Hong Kong and then on to Thailand.
    Ava called her mother and her best friend, Mimi, to let them know she was getting out of town. The winter was wearing her down, she said, and she was heading to Thailand for ten days or so of fun and sun.
    “Are you going through Hong Kong?” her mother asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Will you call your father?”
    “No.”
    She heard disappointment in her mother’s voice. “So, you are just seeing Uncle?”
    “Mum, I’ll be in transit in Hong Kong. I probably won’t see anyone.”
    Ava travelled light. It took her less than half an hour to pack her Louis Vuitton monogrammed suitcase and her Shanghai Tang “Double Happiness” bag. The suitcase was where she packed her business look: black linen slacks, a pencil skirt, Cole Hahn black leather pumps, two sets of black bras and panties, and three Brooks Brothers shirts in powder blue, pink, and white — one with a button-down collar, the other two with