Page 60 of Before She Disappeared

CHAPTER 16

I’ve barely left the rec center property, heading back down the main boulevard with a vague notion of finding my bus stop, when a white car goes roaring past me in the opposite lane. It slams on its brakes, performs a hard U-turn, and zips up beside me.

“Get in,” Detective Lotham orders.

I stare at him for a moment, not trying to be belligerent, but definitely disoriented.

“I know you like to walk,” he growls.

“Actually, I was headed for the bus.”

“Stop being so damn contrarian and get the hell in.”

The moment he calls me contrarian I naturally want to protest. But the urgency in his voice, underlaid with anger, and maybe even a hint of fear, catches my attention. I get in. I’ve no sooner shut the door than he floors the gas. The sudden acceleration slams me back against my seat and I scramble for a seat belt.

“What do you know about counterfeiting?” he asks me, both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed forward. He’s leaning forward, as if throwing his whole body into his aggressive driving.

“As in money?”

“U.S. currency to be exact.”

“I thought that was very hard to do.”

“Exactly. Meaning it’s not a small-time DIY enterprise. The good fakes generally come from overseas. Europe, Russia. You need the right equipment and a master tradesperson to pull it off. Computers have simplified the process some—the good forgers scan hundreds of images of, say, a Ben Franklin, then create a 3D master plate based off the composite image. Provides the bills with the same printing imperfections the U.S. Treasury installed on purpose. Still, there are watermarks and special paper and reflective dyes. Not something for the average criminal to execute.”

I nod, then start to connect the dots, why Detective Lotham is suddenly an expert on forgery. “The bills from Angelique’s lamp,” I murmur out loud. Of all the findings from the hidden cash, this is not one I’d expected.

“A tenth of them are counterfeit. Almost exactly. Which, according to the Secret Service agent who showed up in my office this morning, is how it’s usually done.”

“They mix in fake money with real money so it’s less noticeable?”

We’ve come to a red light. Lotham hits a switch on his dash, issuing a shrill whoop, whoop, and we scream on through. I grab hold of the oh-shit handle, still not knowing where we are going with such urgency.

“Angelique’s stash isn’t as large as it appears. We’re talking rolls of twenties, wrapped in hundreds.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a popular trick among the streetwise to appear richer than they are.”

“Give me a total.”

“Stashed in that lamp was about twelve thousand dollars.”

“Still an impressive haul.”

“Yep. But the outer layer, the Ben Franklins—”

“Those were counterfeit?”

“Exactly. To make matters more interesting, these particular counterfeits have been in circulation for years, apparently. They’re called the Russian notes, because the U.S. Secret Service believes they were first printed there. Using an offset printer, probably in a giant warehouse with specialized dyes, acids. Again, not a local job.”

I nod, though more to register I’ve heard the words than I understand them. We hit another intersection, and with a fresh whoop, whoop, we slice through two lanes of traffic before instigating a hard left across oncoming traffic. My stomach tightens. A fresh boost of speed, then we clear imminent death and sail down a narrow side street.

“Are the counterfeiters actually chasing us?” I ask Detective Lotham. “Or is this your competitive streak now that a federal agency is involved?”

“Forget Secret Service. They already have the bills and—based on the serial numbers—they already know the source. For them, this is mop-up from a decades-old operation. Some Russian syndicate executed tens of millions of near-perfect fakes. They sold them for ten cents on the dollar to a distributor who sold them for twenty-five cents on the dollar to various middlemen in various countries who finished the food chain by selling them locally for sixty cents on the dollar. According to Agent Ford, they’ll be recovering the fake Benjamins for the rest of his life and from all over the world.”

“So how did Angelique end up with them?”

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