St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

expensive than her husband’s, but she wasn’t nearly as relaxed. She was humming like a power line.
    “I don’t see what yesterday has to do with my husband,” she said in a voice that was more clipped than gracious.
    “My clients and I have been fully briefed about the altercation at the, uh, ranch,” Jenson said, slanting Caitlin a look.
    “Bordello,” Grace corrected. “The word exists for a reason. The only thing that ‘ranch’ sold was sex.”
    Caitlin’s mouth flattened.
    “Is it still your clients’ position that none of them hired Harry ‘Score’ Glammis?” Grace asked Jenson.
    “Yes,” the lawyer.
    “Damn right,” Tal said. “Never heard of him until yesterday.”
    “Same here,” Lee Dunstan said.
    Worthington just shrugged and shook his head.
    Grace raised one eyebrow, looked at the men, and said, “If that’s the way you want it.”
    “That’s the way it is ,” Jenson said.
    With unpolished nails, Grace tapped on the folder. Then she removed several sheets of paper from the folder. “For fifteen months, Tal Crawford has been trying to reach an agreement with the IRS over a matter of illegal tax shelters.”
    “Irrelevant,” Jenson snapped.
    “This isn’t a courtroom, but I’m more than happy to provide relevance,” Grace said. “The amount to be paid is still being negotiated, but both parties agree that it will end up in the neighborhood of fifty to sixty million, including penalties.”
    Caitlin gasped and stared at her husband.
    He patted her shoulder absently.
    “As I’m sure Mr. Crawford’s tax attorneys told him,” Grace said, “there are two ways to settle that debt. The first is simply to write a check. Unfortunately, Uncle Sam doesn’t like checks that bounce. Mr. Crawford’s would.”
    Tal’s face set in tight lines.
    “Because bankruptcy specifically excludes federal taxes owed,” Grace said, setting aside the sheets, “Mr. Crawford can’t use bankruptcy to get out from under Uncle Sam. He could attempt to sell assets, but once word went out that Crawford International was in a big cash bind, the financial vultures would descend and pick him clean to the marrow of his corporate bones. Ultimately the government would be paid, but Mr. Crawford would be penniless.”
    Worthington shook his head, but not in disagreement. More in pity.
    Caitlin’s hands clenched, peach nails cutting into her palms.
    “The only way Mr. Crawford can pay the government is to lower his bottom line,” Grace continued. “Wonder of wonders, a senator from the great state of Nevada attached a rider to a popular bill, permitting individuals who met certain criteria to swap regional art for outstanding federal tax debt.”
    “Perfectly legal,” Jenson said impatiently. “It’s done all the time.”
    “It’s called pork-barrel politics, and yes, it’s done all the time,” Grace said. “No one at this table will be surprised to find out that Mr. Crawford just happens to fit the criteria on the special rider on the popular bill that passed into law six months ago.”
    Worthington relaxed. It looked like his favorite cash cow was going to survive.
    Crawford just looked irritated.
    Dunstan’s expression was bewildered. Or perhaps it was just his hangover muddling his brain.
    “Mr. Crawford owns several pieces of modern art that would have more than paid his debt,” Grace said, “but various banks are keeping those paintings in their vaults as collateral on various loans.”
    “Again, perfectly legal,” Jenson said.
    Faroe shifted just enough to make the lawyer give him a wary look. Unlike Grace, Faroe hadn’t dressed up for the meeting. His dark T-shirt, jeans, and weapon harness were almost as intimidating as his eyes. If anyone asked, he was guarding the paintings.
    No one had asked.
    “Mr. Crawford has a large collection of Western art.” Grace reached into the folder and drew out more papers as she spoke. “But even the mostly friendly art appraiser wouldn’t rate it at enough to cover his taxes.”
    She glanced at Worthington.
    He didn’t disagree.
    “Auctions are notorious for yielding fat prices for the art involved,” Grace said. “They call it auction fever for a reason.”
    “Again, nothing illegal,” Jenson said.
    Faroe wondered if a tape recording couldn’t replace the lawyer.
    “Without the Thomas Dunstan paintings,” Grace said, “Crawford’s Western art collection might raise twelve million dollars if sold quietly over a period of