“Please be quick, sir,” the agent said, as he backed out and closed the door.
Brent looked out the window through the blur of a sudden downpour. What the hell was going on? The FBI had no right to tell him not to make calls! He grabbed his cell phone and hit the autodial.
Simmons answered on the second ring. “What?”
“Some guys from the FBI are outside my office waiting to talk to me about one of my accounts. Do you know anything about this?”
There was a pause. “No.”
“What do I do?”
“Talk to them. I’ll make some calls and check it out.”
Brent rang off, but instead of opening his office door, he called Betty Dowager, got Spencer McDonald’s direct number, and dialed.
“Spencer McDonald’s office,” a woman’s voice said.
“This is Brent Lucas at Genesis Advisors, I need to speak with him.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s in conference.”
“Please interrupt him. It’s extremely important.”
She put him on hold, and after a moment a man picked up. “This is McDonald. What’s this about an emergency?”
“The FBI is outside my office, wanting to talk about one of my clients. I don’t want to do it alone,” Brent said.
“I’m afraid I can’t get there until sometime this afternoon.”
“They won’t wait. They didn’t even want me to make this call.”
“Who is the client?”
“An Egyptian. Dr. Khaled Faisal.”
“Foreign national.” McDonald let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t have a choice in that case. Hear them out and find out what they want. Before you agree to anything at all, call me back.” He gave Brent a cell number.
“Just so you know, Dr. Faisal is one of our largest accounts,” Brent said.
“Be as cooperative and respectful as possible,” McDonald responded. “Your first responsibility is to protect the firm. You don’t want the FBI to suspect you’ve got something to hide.”
Brent hung up, went around his desk, and opened his office door to find two men in dark suits, white shirts, and sober ties. The big guy who’d already stuck his head in the office stepped forward. “Agent Tom Anderson,” he said in a clipped voice. He was maybe six-two, a little shorter than Brent but probably thirty pounds heavier. Brent guessed him for early forties.
The other man introduced himself as Agent Darius Stewart. He was several inches shorter, thin and wiry by comparison to his partner, and his reddish hair and freckles made his age hard to guess. Anywhere from late thirties to late forties, Brent thought.
The two agents held up wallets with badges and FBI picture ID’s. “We need to speak with you about Dr. Khaled Faisal,” Agent Anderson said.
The way the two agents looked at him made him feel surprisingly furtive. His mouth was dry as he pointed them to chairs.
They sat, and Agent Stewart cleared his throat. “How long have you known Dr. Faisal?”
Brent shrugged. “Not long. I’ve only been with the firm a few weeks.”
Agent Anderson made a note of Brent’s answer. “How would you characterize the relationship?” Agent Stewart continued.
“Professional,” Brent said.
“Ever been to his home?”
“No.”
“Have you disbursed funds to Dr. Faisal or members of his family?”
“No,” Brent said. He added, “Previously money was disbursed from the account, but never to Dr. Faisal or any member of his family.”
“What were the reasons for the disbursements?” Anderson asked. He leaned forward, thick forearms on his thighs.
Brent was surprised by the hostility in the agent’s eyes. “Humanitarian causes and peace projects,” he shot back. He barely knew Dr. Faisal, but Anderson’s attitude was getting under his skin.
Anderson raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Peace projects?” He shook his head slowly. “Sorry, sir, but no way.”
“I beg to differ! It’s in our correspondence file!” Brent said, feeling his cheeks grow hot.
Stewart leaned in. “What Agent Anderson is trying to say is that we’ve learned Dr. Faisal has been a major funding source for worldwide terrorism.” He said it in a quiet voice, with none of his partner’s venom.
Brent sat back. “That’s insane! I’ve read the whole account history. The money has gone to the International Red Cross, UNESCO projects, Doctors Without Borders, peace conferences.”
“You know that because he told you that,” Anderson interjected.
“No, I know it because I can read.”
“You see where you think the money has gone,” Anderson insisted.
“The last I knew, the Red Cross wasn’t a terrorist organization!”
Agent Stewart raised a calming hand. “We’ve learned that money transfers can be addressed to legitimate organizations yet sidetracked through the assistance of complicit bankers.”
Brent suddenly felt less certain. “You’ve checked with the Red Cross and UNESCO and the others?”
Anderson cut a sideways look at Stewart, who nodded. “They never got the money.”
Brent felt like he’d been slugged, and he sat back and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
Stewart removed a stack of documents from his briefcase and placed them on the edge of Brent’s desk. “I’m sure this is upsetting, but I assure you we do not suspect that Genesis Advisors or its employees were aware of what was happening.”
Brent nodded. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” he said in a miserable tone.
“And I am aware that this is also a very large account with very large fees. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that.”
Brent took his hands away from his eyes and looked across at the agent. “What do you mean?”
“We’re seizing the account.” Agent Stewart pointed to the stack of documents. “That’s what this paperwork is all about.”
“Dr. Faisal doesn’t get a chance to at least defend himself?”
Anderson sniffed as though Brent had made a joke. “If he feels that we’ve seized his assets wrongly, he’s welcome to make his case in court. He won’t though because if he loses he’ll go to jail.”
Brent was thinking he and the FBI were supposed to be on the same side, but in his guts it somehow didn’t feel that way. “You’re taking his money?”
“Yes.”
“Our attorney needs to review those documents first.”
Anderson gave him a withering look. “You don’t tell the Federal Bureau of Investigation when we can carry out our orders.”
Rather than respond, Brent picked up his phone and dialed Spencer McDonald’s cell number. After two rings, McDonald answered, his voice hushed as if he was in a meeting. “Yes?”
“It’s Lucas. The FBI is accusing Dr. Faisal—”
“Are they seizing the account?” McDonald interjected.
“They want to, but I’m trying to hold them off until you have a chance to get in here.”
“Do they have court orders?”
Brent took the receiver away from his mouth. “Do you have court orders?”
Agent Stewart nodded.
“Let me talk to them,” McDonald said.
Brent held the phone out for Agent Stewart, who stood and leaned across his desk. “This is Agent Darius Stewart,” he said. He looked off into space as he listened to McDonald’s question. “Yessir,” he said after a few seconds. “They were issued under provisions of the Homeland Security Act and signed by Judge Slovenski of the New York Federal Court.” He listened again for a few seconds. “Yessir,” he said. “Dated this morning at nine fifteen.” He listened, then nodded his head. “Yessir. Thank you, sir.”
Stewart handed the phone to Brent. “For you,” he said as he sat back in his chair.
“Sign the agreement,” McDonald said to Brent. “We won’t do any good fighting the seizure order, and right now the most important thing will be keeping this out of the papers. If we cooperate, the feds will keep their mouths shut. If we don’t, you’ll have reporters there in another couple hours.”