“We’ve been investigating an investment firm here in Chicago and by we, I mean me and two FBI agents and two from the SEC,” Paxton replied.
“Who?” Helen asked.
“Labelle Commodities, LLC. The founder and principal owner is a guy by the name of James Labelle.
“Chicago PD told one of my Feeb agents Labelle has mob connections with none other than Sam Costa,” Paxton said.
“That old gangster,” Sean said with obvious contempt.
“How do the CPD guys know that?” Helen asked.
“They’ve been seen in public together and Costa has been tailed and seen entering the building where Labelle’s company is located,” Paxton said. “My FBI guys did a thorough check of every tenant in the Cardiff Building downtown. They couldn’t find anyone else who could even be remotely tied to Costa.”
“Have you found anything of a business nature tying them together?” Sean asked.
“No, not yet,” Paxton quietly admitted.
“And you won’t,” Helen said. “Not without a warrant to grab everything Labelle has and go through it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“There’s more. The SEC guys believe Labelle is up to his eyes in insider trading and, they suspect, money-laundering,” Paxton said.
“But…” Carvelli said looking at Paxton.
“But,” she said, “the investigation is over. I got shut down the day before yesterday. I was told it came from Justice in D.C. and I was reassigned to an antitrust case coming to trial in about a month.”
“Am I gonna like where this is headed?” Carvelli asked.
“Probably not,” Paxton admitted. “I don’t know what to do at this point. I know this guy is dirty. I know he’s hooked up with the mob. And…” she said then hesitated.
“And…’” Sean said.
“And there’s been rumors going around, no that’s not right. It’s more of a buzz, that there’s a sex-slave operation being run out of Mexico. Some very, I mean very, important people may be involved. Politicians, businessmen, Middle Eastern oil sheiks, Russians, Chinese. It’s all being run or coordinated by a law firm here in Chicago.”
“But you don’t know if any of this is true. It’s not even a rumor. More of a street level buzz,” Helen said.
“I’m afraid so,” Paxton said. “Here’s the part you’re gonna love,” she said turning to Carvelli. “The name of this law firm is Stafford, Hughes, Alton, Biggins, Connelly and Weems, LLC. With their main office in…”
“Minneapolis,” Carvelli quietly said completing the thought for her.
“But how could or would a Minneapolis law firm be coordinating all of this through their office in Chicago?” Sean asked. “Where else do they have offices?”
“Los Angeles, San Antonio and, of course, Washington,” Paxton said.
“I don’t know,” Carvelli said. “This all sounds a little farfetched. I know who this firm is…”
“I know you do,” Paxton said. “I told Marc and Connie at Vivian’s engagement party to be careful with them. Don’t get too close. I couldn’t be more specific than that.”
“That firm is a cash machine. Why would they get hooked up with something as sleazy as the international sex slave business? From what I’m told, they have a litigation department that brings in more money than what their cut of the sex slave business could be. I can see money-laundering,” Carvelli said. “But the sex slave trade?”
“It’s worth billions,” Helen said. “And when it’s laundered, it’s all tax-free cash.”
“Oh, shit,” Paxton said. “I forgot, a senior partner, one of them here in Chicago, is a man by the name of Nestor Aamador. We did a little digging about him and some other people. Anyway, Nestor just happens to be a first cousin––they’re mothers are sisters––of one Carlos Quintero. Carlos just happens to be, according to the Mexican Federales, the number three guy in the Sinaloa Cartel.”
“And there it is,” Sean quietly said. “We’re no longer talking about the sex slave trade money; we’re talking about Federal Reserve amounts of cash that needs to be washed.”
“And I need to go home and take out some more life insurance if we’re gonna tap that live wire. Those boys kill people just for sport,” Carvelli said.
“If you don’t want…” Paxton started to say to Carvelli.