Grand Cayman

"So what have you got?"

"Huh?" I replied, having lost my train of thought after the unexpected compliment.

"The wire transfer."

"Oh yeah." I gave her the printout with the document request from the bank. I watched her eyes scan the document. She looked up at me.

"Not a problem."

"I came to the same conclusion. I'll get on it right now. I'll let you know if I have any issues."

"Great. I'm sure you can handle this."

As I was leaving her office, Doreen had a perfect view of my backside, my skirt hugging my curves. I gave her an extra wiggle in case she was watching.

* * *

The world of wire transfers is archaic and non-intuitive, and even more so when you're dealing with a bank in a tax haven country where their currency in trade is strict privacy. I was happy their document request wasn't daunting.

Because a part of my job was garnering signatures from the senior executives in the firm, I was on a first name basis with them and, more importantly, their assistants. I prepared the documents the bank needed and then made the rounds to gather the necessary signatures. I was done within an hour, and made my way back to Doreen's office.

She took the documents from me and dismissed me so that she could take care of it right away. The problem was caught and the money was re-directed to the correct account so all was good. But there was a gap - a gap of about 16 hours - when the problem went undetected.

I didn't think much of it at the time, but a few weeks later I was interviewed by our internal audit team on our wire transfer procedures. I decided not to tell them about the wire transfer error, that was Doreen's department, or maybe Prisha, the originating account manager. I didn't want to be the one to point the finger at her. I was sure someone in Doreen's department would raise their hand.

Much to my surprise, when the internal audit report was circulated to the accounting team the next week, there was no mention of the wire transfer snafu.

That's when my darker side rose to the surface. There was a gaping hole in our internal controls. I couldn't resist thinking about how I would exploit it. I thought I was too chicken to actually do anything about it.

* * *

It was now early February, the worst month of the year weather-wise. Just take the misery in December and double it. The freshly fallen snow early in the season was now reduced to lumps of dirty black tinged ice. Most of the holiday decorations were gone, but for a few lingering Christmas lights that people were too lazy to take down. It was cold, bone chilling cold.

The small apartment, my paltry salary, meager savings, and limited future prospects convinced me that I had to pursue an exit strategy. I had spent the last few months gathering the necessary documents and putting the finishing touches on my plan. It all hinged on Doreen, and whether I could convince her.

I had prepared a wire transfer to a bank located in the Netherland Antilles, another tax haven. It was for $10 million. As my Dad said, "Go big or go home." I wasn't going home again. I put down Arlen Jenkins as the originating account manager. Jenkins was the office's top producer, and had a reputation for being extremely ornery. It wouldn't have been that unusual for one of his clients to move $10 million. His minimum to manage a client was $100 million in liquid assets.

I had seen Jenkins signature so many times it was easy to forge his signature. In addition, since the transfer was over $1 million, I needed three more signatures. Fortunately, I had been doing this so long that no one questioned me when I shoved a stack of transfers under their nose for signature. Today was no different. I was able to secure three genuine wet signatures to give my transfer the air of authenticity.

I had to steady my hand when I placed the $10 million wire transfer inside a stack of about a dozen authentic ones. I didn't have high expectations that the transfer would go through, but I wanted it to appear as routine as possible. I made sure I brought my work heels so as not to attract undue attention on my walk to Doreen's office.

It was early, and the office hadn't gotten cranked up yet. Doreen was in her office, working at her computer. Her desk, as usual, was immaculate. I looked at her with a tinge of regret, knowing that I was laying a shitstorm at her door. I reluctantly handed the stack of wire transfers to her, knowing when she took them I had passed the point of no return.

"Give them here," she said impatiently, waving her hand in a rolling motion to tell me to get on with it.

I reached across the desk and she took them from me. I tried not to look at her, not knowing if my face would betray my nefarious intent.

"Thanks Kristin. I'll have these done by three." She went back to her computer. I let myself out, and exhaled when I was out of her office.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Either the transfer would go through, or Doreen would call me back into her office. I sat in my cube, trying to appear busy on my computer, and trying not to shake. My back was to the opening of my cube.

"Hey girl, what happened to you this morning?"

It was Prisha's voice. I usually stopped by her cube early in the morning to shoot the shit over a cup of coffee. My absence was noticed.

"Rush project," I replied, not taking my eyes off the monitor. "Jenkins."

"Ohhh," she replied, drawing out the word. She felt the same about Jenkins that I did. "I'll leave you alone." She wandered away. I wondered if I'd ever see her again. I was nervous, and now there was a pit of regret growing inside me.

I stayed in my cube until lunchtime, not even taking a bathroom break. If Doreen had a question, she'd likely ask it before noon. That's typically when she would have completed her review and given it to processing. It was 11:59 a.m. when my phone chirped. The caller ID said it was Brian, Doreen's assistant.

"You need to be in her office pronto," he said. I thought for sure she checked with Jenkins. It was likely I was going to be fired, and worse. I didn't want to dwell on the worst. Like Mr. Pibb, I didn't do well in confined spaces.

I made the long walk to her office, probably for the last time. I felt like a condemned person walking the last mile. Even though she wasn't required to, for a transfer of that size, I wouldn't have put it past her to check directly with Jenkins. I don't usually sweat, but could feel my underarms getting sticky. I arrived at the interbank transfer department, not wanting to be there.

As usual, there was a beehive of activity outside of Doreen's office and she was sitting in it, on the phone, with two more people in her office. I took a seat outside her office, but could see her through the clear glass door.

"Cup of coffee, Kristin?" her assistant Brian asked me.

I was intently watching Doreen and didn't see Brian come up to me. I almost jumped out of my seat when he spoke to me.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"I guess," I said, trying to calm my nerves. "I've already had two cups, so thanks." Truth be told I didn't have any coffee that morning but I felt like I had ten cups.

I looked up and Doreen was glaring at me from her desk. She had hung up the phone and shooed the two people out of her office. She didn't look happy ... at all.

"Somehow I think your fingerprints on this one. $10 million? Netherland Antilles bank account? It's unusual to have a transfer of this size without me being given a heads-up in advance."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Don't shoot the messenger. It was Jenkins who initiated the transfer. Look, he signed it."

Doreen didn't look. She already had.

I decided to be even bolder. To question her confidence. To put her on the defensive.

"Call Mr. Jenkins if you like." No one wanted to piss off Jenkins, and Doreen must have known this as well.

She started to speak and then stopped herself.

Then she glared at me again. Her best death stare. She didn't want to call Jenkins but she didn't want to ignore the order of a very important firm client. She only had a few minutes to get the wire to her processing department if she wanted to make the 3 p.m. cutoff. She snatched the piece of paper out of my hand and told me to get out.

She couldn't see my face, but I left with a smile on it. I knew that I had won and that the wire transfer would be initiated. Now I had about sixteen hours to make my final preparations.

I packed up my desk like I normally did, but sanitized it by removing my personal effects. I took all of the pictures and a few mementos from family trips. I popped my head above my cube. Most of the people were working and no one seemed to be paying attention to me. I picked up two bags of things and left, not even looking back. I made the long walk to the front lobby. The heavy glass front door shut behind me and I wondered if this would be the last time I would set foot in this building.

The fifteen minute cab ride to my apartment was uneventful, but caused more soul searching. I could still back out. The mistake could be caught and corrected. No one would be the wiser. But I had enough residual courage to see it through. I had been preparing for this for three months and had considered and covered every detail.

It was already starting to get dark outside and people were walking by in their coats as the wind pushed leaves and trash down the street. I rolled down the window and let the cool winter air brush across my face. I had a love/hate relationship with New York City. This was one of the parts I loved, feeling the vibrancy of the city, like the hum of an electric motor. For the first time, I thought I might miss New York. I thought I had my fill, but the finality of today's events made my parting real, and made me sad. I would be walking away from everything I knew, my family, my friends, and my job. Walking away with $10 million.

The last thought brought a smile to my face. When I filled out the wire transfer order it was pleasing to put seven zeroes after the one. The most money I ever had in a bank account was $10,000, and that was after I deposited my year-end bonus. With $10 million, I could disappear and explore the world.

The taxi pulled up to my apartment building and I had no pangs of regret leaving that dump. I never wanted to live in a six hundred square foot apartment again. The outside lights were already on when I got there, and the lobby was filled with people checking their mailboxes. I opened my mailbox for the last time and flipped through the few items of mail. A magazine (for the plane), two bills (trash) and a birthday card from my mother. My birthday wasn't until the following week but my mother always wanted to make sure my card wasn't late.

I suffered another pang of regret when I thought of my mother. She was doing fine, thanks to the insurance money she got when my father died of a heart attack. But I was an only child, and she wouldn't understand why I felt compelled to do this. I had already written her a long letter trying to explain myself (knowing the police would read the letter too). I planned to mail it on the way to the airport.

I knew what I was doing was a selfish act, but I simply couldn't face years on end of drudgery in the bowels of the financial system. In time, maybe she would understand. But aside from my mother, I wasn't leaving anyone behind who would miss me more than a week (which I admit was sad), and I wasn't going to rot in New York City.

That night I checked my account in the Netherland Antilles. The money was there. I stared at the screen, not believing that I was now a multi-millionaire. It was in the name of a shell corporation that I formed in Panama. I quickly transferred the money to another shell corporation in Nevis, and then through three more dummy accounts before the real one on Grand Cayman island. I figured the investigators would take several months to follow the faint electronic trail I had left behind, and by the time they figured out where the money had gone I would have the funds in hand and become a ghost .

* * *

I stepped off the plane at Owen Roberts airport, the main airport on Grand Cayman island. It was an old fashioned passenger stair mounted on a truck that pulled up to the plane. As I went down the stairs with my carry-on bag (holding an unhappy Mr. Pibb), wearing a new pair of designer sunglasses, I savored the warm ocean breeze and the view of the palm trees gently swaying in the tropical breeze.

I walked across the tarmac with the ground crew directing me to the terminal. It was about eighty degrees outside. Doubts about my decision were fading in the tropical heat.

I went through passport control, and handed him my passport from the Caribbean island of Anguilla, like the Cayman Islands, a British territory. The passport officer checked his computer and then stamped my passport.

"Welcome to the Grand Cayman island Mrs. Pibb." You can certainly appreciate the irony of my assumed name.

I exited the secure area of the airport and entered the terminal, half expecting the island police to be there to arrest me. There was only an elderly gentleman in a white Panama hat with a bouquet of flowers. He wasn't waiting for me.

"We made it, Mr. Pibb," I whispered into his carrier. The fake driver's license and passport worked perfectly, as did the plane ticket I purchased under my assumed name, Francis Pibb.

"Meow," he replied, clearly happy that he would soon be let out of his cage.

I collected my two suitcases and went to the car rental counter. I went out in the parking lot to claim my rental, and used the GPS on my phone to find my Airbnb that I booked as Francis Pibb.

It was a modest ranch house in a residential area not far from the downtown banking district, and more than suited my purposes. It had a small front yard of Bermuda grass, and a fenced in back yard with a palm tree, garden, and a small swimming pool, kidney shaped, likely from the 70's. There was sun-bleached, but serviceable, lawn furniture next to the pool. I watched the pool sweep dutifully rolling across the bottom under the hot afternoon sun.

Inside, there were plantation style shutters on every window and wicker furniture with colorful, floral patterned cushions. I rolled my suitcases into the master bedroom and unpacked a few things, before venturing into the rest of the house. I checked to make sure all the doors and windows were secure and let Mr. Pibb out. He slinked around, practically on his belly, as he suspiciously examined his new surroundings. Top on my list was going back out to buy a cat box and dry cat food.

I had spent so much time planning for this phase of the heist that I hadn't focused on where I would ultimately end up. I wanted to get to the bank as soon as possible and start clearing out the funds in cash. I chose Grand Cayman because they didn't have any currency controls. I could withdraw as much in cash as I wanted to without the bank preparing a report (in the United States, banks are required to report cash transactions of $10,000 or more).

I did my best to make sure I disappeared electronically. I closed my social media accounts (I never posted much more than pictures of Mr. Pibb and interesting meals that I had), and my personal e-mail account. All of the business I had conducted to orchestrate my disappearance was done in person, and with cash.

I had pre-arranged with the bank to withdrew a large sum of United States dollars. I put the cash into a small duffel bag and threw it into the trunk of my car. Over two days, I had accumulated over $1 million in cash. That should have been enough to buy a boat and disappear on a small Caribbean island. I was planning on transferring the remainder of the money to a Swiss bank account.

I got home and parked the car in the carport adjoining my rental. I opened the trunk and pulled out the black nylon duffel, burgeoning with crisp $100 bills. Something didn't feel quite right, and I looked around before I shut the trunk. Nothing appeared amiss, but I couldn't shake the feeling.

I tip-toed the last five feet to the front door of my rental house. I still had an unsettled feeling but I couldn't put my finger on it. I looked left and right and everything outside seemed just as I left it. I shrugged it off as nerves. I was still getting adjusted to the fact that I was a wanted criminal. I had no idea what it was like to go to jail. I would be looking in my cell for the plug for my electric toothbrush.

I shuffled through the bottom of my purse and found the house key. I turned the key and pushed open the door. Now I was sure something wasn't right.

"Mr. Pibb!" I called. He would tell me if something was up. No kitty. He often ignored me, so not a complete surprise that he didn't come. There was a separate living room in the front of the house. Mr. Pibb liked to sun himself on the top of sofa. I went in to check.

"Good afternoon Kristin."

A shiver went down my spine. It was a familiar voice. It was Doreen's voice. The Ice Maiden was sitting in my living room - the same ballbuster of a woman who I had just royally fucked over. My knees turned to jelly. I didn't even have a chance to enjoy the money, and now I was going to prison. It was a stupid fucking thing to do and I had obviously not been as clever as I thought. I had no choice but to face her.

Doreen was sitting in a wingback chair in the back corner of the room. The sunlight was on her, yellow hues coloring her. Her legs were crossed and her skirt had ridden up high on her shapely thighs. She was wearing black heels that were impossibly high, a shoe dangling loose from the foot of the crossed leg. She had on a blouse that was like the ones she wore at work, made of fine silk, but this one was translucent. I could see every detail of the lace on the white bra she was wearing underneath it. Her hair, instead of being worn up like she did at work, was down, and was flowing over her shoulders with gentle curls, a true blonde. She was beautiful. And now she was going to hand me my head on a platter.

Mr. Pibb was sitting on her lap, sprawled comfortably while she used her left hand to stroke the place he loved behind his ears. I had to beg Mr. Pibb to sit on my lap. Even my cat deserted me.

"What's wrong, Kristin? Cat got your tongue?" Then she laughed. "Maybe not, the cat's with me."

Damn Mr. Pibb.

"Doreen. How did you find me?"

She smiled at me. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I got to the point. Why the fuck not at this point. "Am I going to be arrested?"

She pondered my question. She rocked her foot so the high heel went back and forth like the arm of a metronome. I couldn't pull my eyes away from her foot. She was so sexy and her complete control of the conversation actually put me more at ease.

"Well Kristin. That depends on you." She stopped talking. I waited for her continue but she didn't.

"What do you mean Doreen? What do you mean that it depends on me?" She was torturing me with her circumspection. Maybe that was the point.

She smiled again. She started to rub Mr. Pibb's belly. I cursed my disloyal kitty again.

"I mean that you control your own fate. In fact, in a way, you'll be controlling mine as well."

She was really starting to irritate me. "Please Doreen. You're talking in circles."

"The way I see it, you've got two options. Is five million dollars a lot of money?"

"Of course it is." I was getting tired of standing in front of her, talking in riddles. "So what's my first option?"

"We both walk away with $5 million."

"And option two?"

"Jail. For a long time." I didn't like that option.

"I like option one better," I fired back.

"Smart girl."

"I've got to know how ..." She put her fingers to her lips. I stopped.