Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“That’s money from an inheritance!”
“Why is it in an offshore account?”
“Because I’m on my second wife. I’ve learned my lesson on sharing all the things I’ve worked for.”
“I take it that means you didn’t list the bank account on the financial disclosure you would’ve filed during your divorce proceedings with your first wife?”
“No.”
“So your intent wasn’t to defraud the government when you were asked if you had other assets, it was to defraud your ex-wife?”
“That’s right.”
“Can you provide a paper trail of how you came into possession of this money? A copy of the will, a settlement filing from the estate of the deceased?”
“I was just given the money. There was no will.”
“How? Via check?”
“Cash.”
“By whom?”
“An uncle.”
“An elderly uncle, who was about to die, handed you seven-million dollars in cash?”
“That’s right. He was old school. Didn’t trust banks.”
It went quiet, and a few seconds later, Dawson’s door swung open. He poked his head out and waved to me. “Oh good. You’re still here. Would you mind coming in for a moment, Naomi?”
“Umm…sure.”
I followed Dawson into the office. He put his hands on his hips and spoke to me. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like this, but I want to show Mr. Fanning how things are going to go in court next week.” He glanced over at the client. “Naomi was an assistant district attorney. She started here last Monday and knows nothing about your case.”
The client’s arms folded across his chest. “Yeah, so?”
“Naomi, the government found seven-million dollars in an account under Mr. Fanning’s name in the Bahamas. He just told me it was an inheritance, and an elderly uncle gave it to him. In cash. Would you mind playing the ADA role and pretending he’s on the stand?”
“Oh…kay.”
Dawson leaned against the credenza and casually crossed his feet at the ankles. “The witness is all yours.”
“Umm… Okay. Mr. Fanning, can you tell me how you got the cash to the Bahamas?”
“I carried it?”
“In something?”
“Yes, a bag.”
“What kind of a bag? Can you describe it for me, please?”
“A duffle bag.”
“Like the kind you’d bring to the gym?”
He shook his head, like he was annoyed at the antics. “Yeah, whatever.”
“So one duffle bag?” I held my hands about two feet apart. “Maybe this big?”
“Something like that. I didn’t measure it.”
“Mr. Fanning, a million dollars in hundreds weighs twenty-two pounds and takes up a full backpack. Seven million wouldn’t fit in a regular-size duffle.”
His face burned crimson. “Then I must’ve checked the bag.”
“You checked seven-million dollars?”
“I must’ve. Because it got there, didn’t it?”
“Yes, it definitely did.” I started to pace back and forth in the office, finding my rhythm. “I’m not the best at math, but since one million weighs twenty-two pounds, seven million would be roughly a hundred and fifty-four pounds.”
“So?”
“What airline did you take?”
“American, I think.”
I lifted my phone and typed in American Airlines international baggage weight capacity. I turned the screen toward Mr. Fanning. “The maximum a bag can weigh is one hundred pounds. They weigh them when you check in.”
It looked like steam was about to billow from his nose. He jumped up from his chair and flailed his arms around. “What kind of nonsense games are we playing here?”
Dawson pushed off from the credenza he’d been leaning on and stood tall. “I’m trying to show you what the prosecutor is going to do to your story if we go in there with this crap. Naomi doesn’t know anything about your case other than what she learned two minutes ago. How well do you think it’s going to go when a hungry prosecutor has had months to prep?”
The two men had a staring contest for a long time. Eventually, Dawson turned to me and smiled. “Thank you, Naomi.”
I took that as my cue and, with a nod, went back out to my desk. After that, there wasn’t much more yelling. Twenty minutes later, Mr. Fanning stormed out of the office. He walked so briskly past my desk, he caused a wind that shifted some papers into the air. Dawson picked them up as they floated to the ground.
“Five o’clock, Mr. Fanning!” he yelled after the client. “That’s our deadline. Get back to me before that.”
The man never stopped walking. Once we heard the front door open and slam closed, Dawson hung his head and laughed. “How the hell do you know the weight of a million dollars cash? I was expecting you to take a totally different direction. I thought you’d hit him with not filling out the required paperwork for traveling with more than ten grand in currency.”
I chuckled as well. “I grew up outside of D.C., so most of our school field trips were to government buildings and Smithsonian museums. In sixth grade, we went to the Bureau of Engraving, where they print the money. They have a glass box with a million dollars in tens stacked. I remember the guy telling us the weight was two-hundred-and-twenty-two pounds. I don’t know why, but that fact stuck in my head. I just divided that number by ten, figuring he’d pack hundreds not tens. Plus, I’ve stood next to stacks of cash that were confiscated in drug busts. I know it would be more paper than he could carry.”