“AC going wonky?”
“It’s blackened swordfish. You should like the heat.”
“Maybe. Who decided to eat some fish with a sword? You have to wonder if the first guy who caught one thought: Holy shit, this damn fish has a sword.”
“En garde,” he said, and made her laugh before she sampled it.
“Okay, I can see why he decided it was worth it.”
Before he could do it for her, as he invariably did, she broke one of the rolls in half, offered it.
“Thanks. I’ve done some categories of my own. Small office buildings, keeping it to twelve floors and under. Warehouses, converted or others. Factories—same there. Businesses attached to same that may serve as a front.”
He stabbed some pasta. “From there, we’ll look at ownership. Assuming this is a major, sophisticated operation, I lean toward ownership of the property. Renting or leasing leaves too many problems. The owner might opt to sell it out from under you, or send in agents for evaluation, inspections.”
She hadn’t thought of evals and all that, so nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. Owning a building like that in the city takes deep pockets.”
“Those or good financing. Once I see ownership, I can potentially eliminate.”
“How?”
“Well, I can certainly eliminate any I own. I hope you’d agree.”
“I can go with that.”
“I can also eliminate, or at least downgrade, any owned by people or groups I know well enough to know. Trust me on this,” he said when she frowned. “And there may be some that send up a flag for me. Because I know them to be on what you’d call the shady side of things. Others I may not know at all—I don’t know everyone, after all—and those I could look into more deeply.”
“It won’t be quick.”
“It won’t, no. As you’ve already learned from your own look, there are potentially hundreds of properties that might fit, and more yet that might fit after another round. If it’s attached to a business, a front, that front might run on perfectly legal means. It’s what I’d do in any case.”
Since he’d put it in front of her, she picked up her wine.
“You’d run a business out of the front. Sell something, or make something, run a small factory, whatever. Keep those books, pay those taxes, keep it clean. Behind it, you run the real business.”
“Exactly so. Smuggle the girls in, warehouse them, so to speak, and when you deem them ready for the market, sell and transport them out again. You’d need vehicles. Potentially boats or shuttles.”
“Long haul trucks hauling human cargo.”
“Possibly. Risky—road accidents, traffic stops. But possibly. Private air shuttles, if you have the funding, would be smarter and safer. And faster.”
“The victim’s shirt—good fabric, tailored to her size. The fancy silk underwear. No labels, and Harvo reports no match on any legit outlet with the same design, same materials. They have to have a tailor on board. Maybe the front’s something like that. Fabric and clothing?”
“I can look for that.” He considered. “It’s an angle. Front with something you already use or need, and make a legitimate business out of it to cover the rest.”
“Okay, yeah. What else do they use or need? Photography and vids. You’ve got to market the product. Maybe that, or selling equipment for it. Transportation. A fleet of trucks or vans, a delivery service, moving company. You have to deliver the product once sold, so invest in transpo—the vehicles, ships, shuttles—and do regular business to cover. Food or medical supplies. But those don’t fit as well,” she decided. “Perishable and trickier to license and run. Regular inspections required.”
“Agreed there. The business, if it exists, may be something completely unrelated. But, again, if I ran the operation, I’d prefer the double-dip and lower overhead.”
“If you factor that in, it narrows the field. Still a big-ass field, but we have to start somewhere.”
“Then I’ll do just that and get started. You’ve got the dishes.”
“Yeah, I got them.”
* * *
While Eve dealt with the dishes and thought through her next steps, Auntie rang the bell at the entrance of her partner’s stately Georgian mansion on Long Island.
She’d enjoyed the drive—he’d sent a limo, as always. She wore a formal gown, as he’d expect, and knew she looked her very best in the formfitting bold red and metallic silver. She wore diamonds, cold and white. This chapter of her career had proved profitable. Her hair, meticulously colored and styled in the Academy’s salon, swept back from her pampered face.