76: Chapter 76 Dirty Money Needs a Washing Machine

In the Brooklyn safe house, the air purifier was running at full power, trying to suck away that musty smell of cash.

There was no money on the table.

If two hundred fourteen million dollars in cash were piled here, even in the largest denomination of old bills, it would stuff this sixty-square-meter apartment so full that there would be nowhere to step.

Jack Martin sat on that rickety folding chair, clutching his hair with both hands, his eyes bloodshot.

He stared at the offshore account balance on the computer screen as if looking at a nuclear bomb ready to explode at any moment.

"This is a hot potato."

Jack's voice trembled slightly. He grabbed the bottle of mineral water nearby and took a gulp, not caring that water spilled onto his collar.

"Boss, with this much money, there is no way we can spend it."

Chen Mo sat on the single sofa by the window.

Old George was brewing coffee in the kitchen, and the coffee pot made a gurgling sound.

"Explain," Chen Mo said without lifting his head.

"The bloodsuckers at the IRS have long since upgraded their risk control systems."

Jack turned the computer screen around; it was densely packed with red warning boxes.

"Once this money enters the US financial system, even if it's split into thousands of small transfers, anything over ten thousand dollars will trigger the federal anti-money laundering system's alarms.

Even if we use shell companies to buy houses or cars, as long as the source of this money cannot be explained clearly, the FBI's economic crimes division will kick down this door tomorrow."

Chen Mo tossed his cufflinks into the air and caught them steadily.

"What is the loss rate for money laundering?"

"If we use traditional underground banks, like the routes in Chinatown or the Russian ones, they take a thirty percent cut. Plus, their throughput is too small; if this money goes through their accounts, it will take until the next century to launder."

Jack swallowed hard.

"Besides, this money is too dirty. It was snatched from the stock market panic, and those people on Wall Street are currently watching every single abnormal flow.

If we don't want to be bitten back by the Rockefeller Family, this money must become cleaner than a nun's panties."

"Then don't find outsiders to launder it."

Chen Mo threw the cufflinks onto the table, making a crisp sound.

"We'll open our own laundromat."

Jack was stunned for a moment, his glasses nearly sliding off.

"What do you mean?"

"Buy a bank."

Chen Mo stood up and walked to the corkboard covered in photos and red lines.

"Since this money cannot enter a bank, we will make the bank ours."

Jack opened his mouth wide, as if he had heard some fantasy.

"Buy... buy a bank? Boss, this is two hundred million, not twenty billion! We can't even afford a door handle at a major Wall Street bank. As for those community credit unions, it's useless to buy them; their regulations are even stricter."

"I want a bank that serves a specific group of people."

Chen Mo's finger traced across a map of Manhattan.

"Client lists kept confidential, opaque business operations, preferably the kind of private bank that specializes in handling bad debts for old-money families.

In places like this, the rules are set by people, not by law."

Jack fell silent.

He was a smart man, and also a greedy one.

Fear was fear, but when Chen Mo proposed this crazy idea, the abacus in his mind had already started clattering.

He typed on the keyboard for a while and pulled up three documents.

"If we don't consider scale and only look at functionality, there are indeed a few targets."

Jack pointed to the first one.

"First Republic Commercial Bank. They mainly do small and medium-sized enterprise loans. Their accounts are very messy, which is suitable for cooking the books, but their CEO is a tough nut to crack and hard to control."

"Next," Chen Mo said without even looking.

"Atlantic Federal Savings. This is also an option, but they have recently been targeted by the SEC, so the risk is too high."

"Next."

Jack took a deep breath and opened the third document.

A dark blue shield emblem popped up on the screen, with a line of cursive English below it: Astor United Trust.

"How about this one?" Jack pushed up his glasses.

"Founded in 1921, with headquarters in Manhattan Upper East Side. It is not the kind of commercial bank open to the public, but a family trust management institution.

The clients are basically those declining old aristocrats of New York or the new nouveau riche who don't want to show their wealth."

Chen Mo narrowed his eyes, looking at the financial report summary that was only a dozen pages long.

"Banks like this are usually very stable. Why is it on your list?"

"Because they are greedy."

Jack sneered, a look characteristic of Wall Street vultures.

"Half a year ago, in pursuit of high returns, they misappropriated clients' trust funds in violation of regulations to buy a large amount of Argentine government bonds.

As you know, Argentina defaulted, and all that money went down the drain.

Now there is a huge hole of forty million dollars on this bank's books. If it isn't filled quickly, they will have to file for bankruptcy liquidation when the annual audit comes next month."

Chen Mo's finger paused on the screen.

"A forty-million hole is a fatal wound for a century-old establishment."

"Exactly. The board of directors is now as anxious as ants on a hot pan, looking everywhere for a sucker to take over. But no one dares to touch it, because everyone knows it's full of bad debts."

Jack looked at Chen Mo.

"But for us, this is just right. Bad debts are cover, and the hole is the admission ticket."

Chen Mo did not speak.

His gaze passed over the numbers in the financial report and landed on the last page—the list of the board of directors and executives.

CEO: William Astor.

CFO: Helen Miller.

Chief Risk Officer: Samuel Weiss.

Chen Mo's pupils constricted.

He took out the encrypted phone and pulled up the "low-level cleaner" list he had previously dug out of Senator Gore's mind.

On the seventeenth line, a name was clearly written.

Samuel Weiss.

Note: Responsible for handling abnormal capital flows of peripheral members of the "Council", codename "Eraser".

Chen Mo smiled.

It made Jack's back feel cold.

"What a small world."

Chen Mo pointed to the name on the screen.

"This is the one."

"Astor United Trust?" Jack hesitated, "This bank has deep connections; it is said that it also has dealings with several Mafia families..."

"That was yesterday."

Chen Mo turned around, took the cup of scalding coffee from Old George's hand, and took a sip.

"From today on, it is our washing machine."

He walked to the window and looked at the distant Manhattan skyline.

Since that Chief Risk Officer is the paper the "Council" uses to wipe its ass, then they shouldn't blame him for pulling this piece of paper out and smashing the entire toilet in the process.