Alex pulled up the interaccount transfer screen on his second monitor, knowing that at the other end, the computer system in the Cayman-based brokerage thought it was Crane’s computer pulling up the screen.
Alex hadn’t bothered to explain to either Beck or Olivia that Crane and Summit had established a relationship with the Cayman brokerage company so that transfers between their brokerage accounts and bank accounts were seamless. He hadn’t explained how he had artfully set up the interbank/brokerage accounts and linked them to the independent bank accounts over the past two days, sweating out the possibility that Crane might at any moment discover them.
Every last bit of Alex Liebowitz’s waning attention was focused on when to pull the trigger to start the complex maze of interbank transfers from the Crane/Markov brokerage cash account to Alex’s hidden bank accounts inside the same Cayman bank used by Summit.
He had prepared five separate transfers, displayed on cascaded screens that nearly filled his third monitor. Each transfer order would whisk money into different pre-established accounts. He had filled in all the amounts on four of the transfer screens. Now he waited for the final amount to begin his transfers.
In an unnoticed blink, the dollar number finally appeared. One moment incomplete and inchoate. The next, final and real. As real as numbers in cyberspace could be. $116,327,179.011.
Each of the four prepopulated screens had an amount of twenty million dollars filled in. Alex mentally calculated the amount of his final transfer and quickly typed it into the fifth transfer screen. $36,327,100.00. He left the $79.11 in the account.
Once he initiated the transfers, Alex would have five or ten minutes of extremely hectic work. He was nearing the end of his endurance, and waiting to start the transfers felt excruciating.
“James, come on, it’s all there. What are we waiting for?”
“Hang on. Just a little longer.”
78
The moment Crane finished transferring the final five-plus million dollars, the moment the total amount of cash appeared in Markov’s account, he pushed his Pininfarina Aresline desk chair back three feet from his keyboard, raised his hands, and announced, “Done.”
He stood up and stepped back, putting even more distance between him and his keyboard.
He started yelling and pointing at Markov, an act to distract him. “Nobody, fucking nobody, nobody, but me could have pulled that off. One hundred and sixteen big ones. Done. In the account. All cash. All yours.
“Don’t thank me. Just fucking leave me alone. Take over. Go on. I’m out of it.”
Markov nodded and moved to retrieve Crane’s chair. He sat down in front of Crane’s computer.
Crane walked over behind Markov and said, “Hang on a second. You should close down the trading platform. And close down the brokerage account. Close all the doors behind you.”
Crane pointed, but made sure to stay away from his keyboard. None of this was necessary, but he wanted to buy more time for Beck.
Markov followed his instructions, until nothing showed on the monitors except for the one account.
Crane left and walked over to the kitchen area. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Stella Artois. He reached into his freezer and took out a frosted Pilsner glass.
He announced to no one in particular, “I’ve been looking forward to this for days.” He poured the beer slowly. The three ex-soldiers watched him from the living room. Crane didn’t offer any of them a beer, and didn’t intend to. He took a long, slow swallow. When he finished, he yelled out to Markov. “Leonard.”
Markov answered without looking up from the computer.
“What?”
“After you set up your wire transfer, don’t close out the brokerage account. There’s going to be money dribbling in there for a few days.”
“Don’t bother me.”
But that’s exactly what he was doing. Distracting Markov. What the fuck was going on, he wondered. Why was the money still in there?
79
Beck continued to stand behind Alex, his hand on Alex’s shoulder, as if to physically hold him back. Alex had given up asking when to initiate the transfers. He was beginning to think Beck had another plan he hadn’t told him about.
And then, Olivia spoke up. “Don’t you think that should do it?”
Beck didn’t respond. And then, without warning, he patted Alex’s shoulder and said, “Go on. Hit it.”
For a second, Alex did nothing. And then, as if coming out of a trance, he and Olivia began their long rehearsed dance of money manipulation.
Alex began clicking the transfer tabs on each of his five prepopulated screens, first transferring the $36,327,170.00, and then continuing with each block of twenty million. The money began transferring from Markov’s bank account into five accounts that were under Markov’s name, but controlled by Alex.
Once the first set of transfers was complete, Alex switched computers. He had been working everything through Crane’s computer, using his passwords and connection to the Cayman bank. Now that the first of his five bank accounts was funded, he severed all connections to Crane’s computer. He and Olivia began waterfalling the money into another set of five accounts, and another set of five after that, varying the amounts to cover their trail.
As soon as the last chunk landed in the second set of five accounts, Olivia got on the phone, made a call through a phone-conference service that Summit Investing used, and started giving instructions to a bank officer to close out the first set of five accounts that they had just filled and emptied. While she talked via a headset, she fed confirming faxes into a fax machine they had already programmed the bank’s phone numbers into.
As far as the bank officer knew, Summit was simply doing some housekeeping, closing out empty accounts.