“Yes,” Margie said. “He does. Now. Because of this.” She nudged the envelope closer to me. “This was an early-career slipup, a rookie mistake, and that’s what makes it so special.”
Margie scanned the surrounding area again. “When this bank got in trouble, they threw client confidentiality right out the window. They handed over a list to the US government and all the documentation needed to prove that these individuals had crossed that fine line of legality, of tax evasion versus tax avoidance. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Tina? It was beyond a shadow of doubt that the people on this list had filed false tax returns that omitted the income earned on their Swiss bank accounts, that they failed to disclose the existence of those accounts to the IRS. There were records, Tina, records.” She picked up the envelope, shook it at me, and threw it back down. “This might not sound like much to you, but at the time it was a milestone. The newspaper headlines were practically written in lights, because the good people of America needed this so badly back then. Hardworking, law-abiding taxpayers who always paid their fair share needed to know that those who didn’t would pay the price. So the slimeballs on that list? They all got indicted; many of them went to prison. But here’s the kicker. Guess whose name wasn’t on the list?”
I looked down at the incriminating envelope, then back at Margie, and nodded.
“No,” Margie said. “I want to hear you guess, Tina.”
Now I was the one checking the surrounding area for anyone within earshot.
“Robert’s?” I whispered.
“Robert’s.” Margie folded her thick hands in her lap and smiled. “Because even among the slimeballs, Robert is the slimiest. His name and account information was surprisingly—shockingly!—not on that list. But it should have been. And right here is the proof.”
I remained dubious.
Margie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned slightly backward to better gauge my response. “What? You think I’m BS-ing you?”
“No, but—”
“But what then?”
I wanted to believe what Margie was telling me, but could Robert really have messed up so badly? He was Robert.
I shrugged. “This was twenty years ago. Does it even matter anymore?”
“Oh, it matters,” Margie snapped back. “Do you know how many people have devoted their careers to trying to nail Robert Barlow on tax evasion? There are men and women in the SEC and the DOJ who would sacrifice their firstborn sons for these documents.”
“Then why haven’t you done anything with them before?”
“Because there’s a reason no one’s ever been able to catch Robert, Tina, come on!” The volume of Margie’s voice increased exponentially with her frustration. “You know how he owns everyone. I was scared it would blow up in my face if I went after him. Besides, I was waiting for the right moment. And it just arrived. Slow and steady wins the race, Tina. It always does.”
She pulled a thumb drive from deep inside her khaki pants pocket and tossed it on top of the envelope. “Digital or hard copy, take your pick. Either way, Emily is as good as free.”
I stared down at both but still wouldn’t touch either. “So you want me to blackmail him?”
“You catch on real quick.”
“I can’t blackmail Robert.”
“Why the hell not?”
“How do you even have all that?” I pointed accusingly at the forbidden hard-and soft-copy evidence sitting between us.
“I’m glad you asked, because you of all people can appreciate this.” Margie elbowed me in the arm. “I was only an assistant at the time; nobody was paying any attention to anything I was doing. They assumed I didn’t understand anything.”
I could certainly appreciate that. So could Emily.
“Mind you, I wouldn’t hand this off to just anyone,” Margie said. “But to be honest, I feel a little guilty for what happened to you girls. I feel a little responsible.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “Things got out of hand.”
Margie chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah. You can say that again. Even I wouldn’t have taken it this far. That took serious guts, man, I’m talking real cojones.” Her face had a sweetness to it that I’d refused to acknowledge earlier. “Cojones,” she said. “That’s urban slang for ‘big balls.’”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
She chuckled again. Margie had the body build of a linebacker and the social skills of a construction worker, but underneath all that was a big soft sweetie pie. A heavy-beating heart.
“No hard feelings?” she said.