“Bullshit. Since when do people charged with murder get bail?”
King smiled. “The bail will be set at one million dollars. The D.A. doesn’t believe you can raise it.”
Nguyen lowered her head for a moment, then looked up at King. “Tell the D.A. to go fuck himself.”
King grinned. He moved his chair forward, lowered his voice, and said, “Take the deal, Ms. Nguyen. I guarantee you’ll never spend another day in prison.”
“You have twenty-four hours to agree to the SEC’s plea deal before they throw you in prison,” Wallace Becker said.
Rosen shook the ice cubes in the bottom of his glass and placed the glass on his home office desk. Then, as an after-thought, he picked up the glass and threw it at the opposite wall.
“Sonofabitch,” he shouted. “I didn’t do a damn thing. We were suckered. Someone had it in for us and set the whole thing up.”
“Who, Sy?”
“Arrgh,” Rosen yelled. “I have no idea. But I’ll tell you, it has to be someone who knows the securities business and has a grudge against me the size of the Empire State Building.”
“Any names come to mind?”
“Yeah, a couple.” He put his hands on the back of his head and stared at the pieces of broken glass on the floor. “Hell, I don’t know.”
Becker asked, “Any former employees or partners?”
“Hmm. Sure, there’s always that possibility. But I can’t think of anyone I fucked over that badly who would go to this kind of trouble for payback.”
“What about that Bruno guy who you sicced the SEC on a decade ago?”
Rosen scoffed. “Shit, Wally, that was a long time ago and, besides, Pedace’s a wimp. He doesn’t have what it takes to fight. And orchestrating something like this would expose him to the SEC all over again. After all, whoever was behind this Sunrise transaction committed fraud. They took a shitload of money from my company, my clients, and our bank.”
“Sy, what are you going to do?”
“You said I’ve got twenty-four hours. I plan to take every second of that time. I’ll come by your office at three tomorrow afternoon.”
“You know you can fight this thing. In the end, you’d probably win.”
“After spending seven years in court and having my name dragged through the mud like some criminal. That doesn’t sound very appealing.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.”
Bobby Tennucci, seated next to Louis Massarino in the backseat of Massarino’s Town Car, ended a phone call and turned to his boss. “One of my guys is parked outside Rosen’s Manhattan condo. He says there’s a team of Feds watching the place.”
“Rosen’s no dummy. He’s gotta know the Feds will cover him like white on rice. He’ll find a way to sneak out of there. You sure about the information our guy at the SEC gave you?”
“Oh, yeah, boss. Over the last five years, Rosen traveled there three times. Always on private jets. He’s set up a charitable foundation over there and has given away millions to various causes. He must have a solid relationship with the country’s leaders.”
“Any property over there?”
“Not that Kalinov was able to find. But he’ll continue looking.”
“Okay,” Massarino said. “You know that guy, Rosen, is responsible for my brother’s death? He’s the one I really want.”
“Yeah, boss. I know.” After a beat, Tennucci said, “It’d be a lot cheaper to do it here.”
“But a lot more dangerous with the Feds watching his ass.”
The Brooklyn District Attorney was so excited that his hands shook. He took the signed statement from Victoria Nguyen, witnessed it, and then turned to Attorney Michael King.
“Okay, Counselor, your client’s free on bail.” He glanced at Nguyen and then back at King. “But if she doesn’t come to my office on Monday as we agreed, all bets are off and I’ll put her away for the rest of her life.”
“I get it,” King said. He shook hands with the D.A. and then told Nguyen, “Let’s get you home.”
As soon as King and Nguyen left, the D.A. called his counterpart in Manhattan and asked for a favor. Fifteen minutes later, NYPD detectives and uniformed officers armed with an arrest warrant drove to Sy Rosen’s Manhattan condominium building.
Sy Rosen looked at his Rolex and saw he had five minutes. He hefted the two suitcases he’d earlier placed in the foyer, opened the door, and calmly walked to the end of his floor to the maintenance elevator. He took it to the underground garage and smiled at the line of five identical black Lexus sedans. He handed the bags to the driver of the fourth car, who put them in the trunk, while Rosen sat in the backseat.
Back behind the wheel, the driver said, “Where to, boss?”
“Teterboro Airport, Sammy. Your friends know what to do?”
Sammy laughed. “You can count on them, Mr. Rosen.”
“Good. Then let’s do it.”
Sammy honked the horn twice. The first Lexus in line immediately took off, tires squealing, and headed up the ramp to the street. Then the second car took off. In less than ten seconds, the five identical vehicles roared out of the garage. Two went left, three went right, and they all turned again within a couple blocks of the condo building.
From his spot on the floor in the back, Rosen asked, “How’s it going, Sammy?”
“Perfect, boss. Absolutely perfect.”
CHAPTER 32
Michael King stared across his desk at Louis Massarino and asked, “How’d you know, Louis?”
“Hah. Instinct, I guess. Rosen’s a survivor. Guys like him always have a scapegoat and an escape route. Once his partners were killed, his scapegoats were no longer available. He had to get out of the country before the Feds confiscated his passport.”
“You sure about his destination?”
Massarino shrugged. “We’ll see. His pilot filed a flight plan from Teterboro to Mexico City. I’ve got eyes down there who’ll let us know where he goes next.” He stood and asked, “Where’s the girl?”
King tipped his head toward a door. “In the conference room.”
“Thanks, Mike. I’ll take it from here.”
Massarino opened the conference room door and looked at Victoria Nguyen who stood by a large window, appearing to stare out at the street. She didn’t turn when he moved to the table and took a seat.
After he watched the woman continue to stare outside for a few seconds, Massarino said, “Twenty years is a long time, especially for a young woman.”
Nguyen finally turned around, her eyes wide and her mouth open when she looked at Massarino. “I’ll be damned,” she said. She moved to the chair across from Massarino and cocked her head. “That lawyer out there told me I’d never have to serve a day.”
Massarino nodded. “That’s true, as long as you leave the country and go somewhere that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S.”
Her mouth opened again, then she exhaled a loud breath. “I shoulda figured there’d be a catch.”