Chapter Twelve

Dexter

DAF Financial Grand Centre…

“Are you ready for John Wilder, Dexter?” Darlene asked quietly where she stood just inside the door.

“Give me five minutes, Darlene. In the meantime, please order us some lunch. I’m not in the mood for the gentlemen’s club today.”

“Will do.” She left as quietly as she had appeared, leaving Dexter sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of financial reports and international documents. Through the window behind him, the midday sun cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air. He quickly restudied the reports the President of the World Bank had emailed him in advance of their meeting.

The massive financial institution operated like a global cooperative, bringing together 189 nations under one umbrella. Each country held its position as a shareholder, represented by their chosen governors which typically comprised their ministers of finance or development. Once a year, these powerful board members gather for the Annual Meetings, joining forces with the International Monetary Fund to shape global financial policies.

The daily operations flowed through a carefully structured hierarchy. At the top sat the president, orchestrating management teams, senior staff, and vice presidents. These leaders directed various domains, from Global Practices to Cross-Cutting Solutions Areas, managing different regions and key functions with precision and care.

“What the actual fuck is this?” he muttered as he read the annexure that had been emailed separately during the time that Violet was in his office. His stomach tightened with each paragraph he read. The timing was too perfect, too orchestrated. Violet’s earlier visit and now this report—the pieces were clicking into place with disturbing clarity. Printing the document, he added it to the file.

When The World Bank’s board had pursued him for the vice-president position, he initially resisted. Their persistence had won only a partial victory—his agreement to a part-time role that wouldn’t interfere with or impede his primary business.

“I should’ve fucking stuck to my guns and not agreed to become involved in the damn financial politics. Now, here I am, smack bang in the center of a potential royal fuck up.”

His fingers drummed against the desk as he considered Violet’s visit. There had been something off about her unexpected arrival, not to mention the bullshit story about a visit from her brother? Something didn’t add up. The nagging suspicion that had been building since she had first arrived onboard the GoldenEye Airbus recrystallized as he studied the annexure’s contents a second time.

“There’s no fucking way her coming here today seeking my help is a coincidence.”

Forcing his features into a neutral expression, Dexter opened his office door. John waited outside, his frame unfolding from the visitor's chair. Dexter consciously relaxed his shoulders, knowing John’s sharp investigative instincts would pick up any sign of tension.

“John, it’s good to see you. My apologies for the slight delay,” he said amicably as the tall, lanky man shook his hand.

“No need to apologize. I’m aware you had to juggle your day to fit me in.”

“How else? The forensic audit I just read painted a disturbing picture.” Gesturing to his office, he led the way and closed the door behind them. Once seated at the large oval conference table, Dexter kept his voice amicable. “How sure are you of the facts of the allegations?”

“As soon as our internal auditors pointed out the discrepancy, I had an in-depth forensics audit done.”

“Pointing fingers at a well-known and loved businessman here in Los Angeles is dangerous, especially by suggesting he’s associated with the mafia.”

“I agree, which is why I waited for the forensic report. It’s conclusive, Dexter. George Russo is suspected of being none other than the reclusive Don Lucky, the leader of the Los Angeles Crime Family, aka the Gragna Mafia.”

“The report purports numerous cases of money laundering amounting to—”

“Five million dollars,” John said in a voice tight with controlled anger. “In five separate cases of laundering, all of which traced back to George Russo.”

“So, he’s laundered money through major international banks here in Los Angeles just over the past year?” Dexter studied the patterns described in the report. From newspaper articles, he recalled that Don Lucky had spent decades building his empire through careful, virtually untraceable methods. However, these transactions were almost deliberately obvious—like a master chess player suddenly making rookie mistakes.

“If what you say can be confirmed, and he is the reputed leader…” Dexter tapped a finger on the documents. “It doesn’t track,” he said slowly. “From what I recall, Don Lucky took leadership of the mafia group in the late nineties. He’s operated since then without a single financial trace. Why would he suddenly start using major banks with established security protocols? It's like watching a master safecracker decide to break windows instead.”

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Somewhere in this tangled web of financial data and convenient timing, a truth was hiding.

“Who knows how a criminal’s mind works, Dexter? For all we know, he has been using the banking industry for years but managed to keep it under the radar. The software program your friend Rex Oliver developed specifically for The World Bank to destabilize ‘hot money’ did its job very well. The sophisticated algorithms track the money movement patterns, flagging suspicious variations in normal banking procedures and identifying hidden connections between seemingly unrelated transactions.”

“I get it. The program was designed to detect the subtlest anomalies in international money flows,” Dexter mused. “Still, something about these findings feels wrong.”

“Look at the forensic report again, Dexter. It’s conclusive at first glance. You know as well as I do that money laundering and related underlying crimes have serious economic effects that can threaten not only the integrity and stability of our country’s financial sector but also our external stability. We can’t ignore this, Dexter. We have to move now.”

“Why haven’t the FBI arrested him yet?”

“You said it. George Russo is well-loved in the local community. Besides, I’d rather have your confirmation of the authenticity of these findings before we move to make any arrests. The Russo family is known for their welfare work across the country. If we’re wrong and arrest him… well, you know the drill.”

Dexter leaned back in his chair, studying John’s expression. Irrespective of what he had just said, his conviction about Russo’s guilt was evident in every line of his face.

“Also, Russo hasn’t been seen in public for over a month.”

“His disappearance isn’t necessarily an admission of guilt,” Dexter said carefully. “A man of his resources might have other reasons to go dark.”

John shook his head, spreading more documents across the table. “Granted, but the timing, Dexter. He vanished within forty-eight hours of our internal audit flagging the first discrepancy before we even brought in the forensic team. Someone tipped him off.”

“Or someone wanted it to look that way,” Dexter murmured, too quietly for John to hear. “So, what exactly do you want from me?”

“We need you and Rex Oliver to dig deeper,” John continued. “The evidence we have is compelling, but we need something bulletproof. Something that will convince a jury beyond any doubt.” He paused, shuffling through more papers. “And there might be another angle we could explore.”

Dexter’s attention sharpened at the change in John’s tone.

“Russo has a daughter,” John said, his voice carefully neutral. “You might even know of her. A brilliant defense attorney and a beautiful woman, from what I hear. Well-educated, moves in the right social circles. If someone with the right... credentials were to get close to her, we might find easy access to George.”

The irony of the suggestion made Dexter’s jaw clench. He kept his expression stoic as John continued, describing Violet Russo as if she were a potential asset rather than a person. The same Violet who had stood in his office not that long ago, whose visit now took on new layers of complexity.

“You have the perfect background for it,” John pressed on. “The right social standing, the financial expertise, a reputation that would appeal to someone of her... position.” He smiled thinly. “Of course, it wouldn’t be anything serious. Just enough to gain her trust, maybe learn where daddy dearest has gone to ground.”

A cold anger was building in Dexter’s chest, though whether at John’s casual manipulation or the entire situation, he wasn’t sure. Either way, the suggestion had just confirmed his growing suspicions about the true nature of the game being played.

Rising, he walked to the window, using the moment to compose his thoughts. The afternoon traffic crawled along the streets below in a perfect metaphor for how carefully he needed to navigate this conversation.

“Using his daughter as bait,” he said flatly, turning back to face John. “That's quite a suggestion.”

John spread his hands in a gesture of pragmatism. “We’re dealing with organized crime, Dexter. Sometimes, unconventional methods are necessary. She might be a defense attorney, but Violet Russo isn’t some innocent bystander. She has defended numerous criminals in the early years of her career and got them off. Don’t forget, she’s potentially the daughter of a man who’s been laundering money for decades. Who knows how deep she’s involved in this?”

“A man who’s reputed to be a mafia leader and who is suspected of laundering money. If it was as conclusive as you claim, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Except, the irony of John’s statement wasn’t lost on Dexter. Violet’s earlier visit now seemed like a complex chess move in an even more complex game. Was she playing him, or was she being played? Or perhaps both? With his expression grim, he turned to face John.

“And what happens when the daughter realizes she’s being used to trap her father?” Dexter asked, keeping his tone academic, detached. “Have you considered the potential blowback? Let’s be honest, John. I’m the one who would be in the line of fire if this scheme of yours backfires.”

“By then, we’ll have what we need.” John’s casualness about potentially destroying someone's life, apart from his own, made Dexter’s skin crawl. “Look, I’m not asking you to marry her. Just... get close enough to gather intelligence. Your position with The World Bank gives you the perfect cover—she’d never suspect you’re investigating her father.”

“I don’t agree. Violet Russo is more than a brilliant defense attorney. She is super intelligent with a mind as sharp as a hunting knife. If her father is involved, don’t fool yourself for one moment that she won’t know I’m a vice president of The World Bank.”

“Fuck,” John lamented. “I never considered that.” He shrugged. “Still, so far, no action has been taken, so she wouldn’t necessarily suspect anything. We wouldn’t ask this of you if we didn’t believe you could be successful.”

With his mind racing, Dexter returned to his seat. The timing of everything—Violet’s visit, this meeting, the suspicious financial transactions, Russo’s assumed disappearance, John Wilder’s persistence—it was all too neat, too convenient. Like pieces had been arranged on a board by an unseen hand.

“I’ll need time to think this over,” he said finally. “Working with Rex on financial analysis is one thing. What you’re suggesting…” He let the sentence hang.

John nodded as he gathered his papers. “Don’t take too long. If Russo’s guilty and has really gone to ground, we need to move quickly.” He stood, straightening his tie. “The Board is counting on you, Dexter. My instinct tells me this is bigger than just Don George Lucky Russo.”

As Dexter watched John leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being maneuvered into position by multiple players.

The question he couldn’t answer was exactly who was controlling the game.