Conduct in Question

Chapter 15

 

That had happened several years ago. Today, Harry rang the bell. The Alton Club concierge peered out suspiciously. Once the door opened, the foyer brought Harry back into the last century. Massive portraits of founding members lined the paneled walls.

Since its inception in 1897, the Alton Club enshrined its world views in the minutes of the board’s special and general meetings. Those weighty leather-bound tomes housed in the elegant library contained much of the club’s illustrious history. At the 1939 annual meeting, it had been duly recorded that those of the Hebrew faith were to be denied membership. In 1953, after citing the Senator McCarthy hearings, they recorded serious debate about requiring new members to disavow any connection with the Communist Party. Interestingly, the issue of blacks becoming members was never even posed.

Over the ensuing quarter-century, women’s rights groups had made major inroads at the club. Provided a lady had two male sponsors, she could be considered for membership. This year the club proudly proclaimed an open-door policy, although no male truly regarded a woman as a serious member.

From the foyer, Harry spotted the long, angular frame of his friend Stephen Barrett perched on a stool and silhouetted by the glow from behind the bar. As he handed his overcoat to the hall porter, Harry breathed deeply and prepared to settle in for a relaxing hour or so.

“So, how’s the defender of the downtrodden?” Harry asked as they shook hands. Although Stephen practised only criminal law, he was the epitome of the sleek Bay Street corporate lawyer.

A tight-lipped grimace, which served as a smile, flashed across Stephen’s face. “Not badly, thanks. How’s the funeral business?” Harry chuckled. His friend persisted in referring to his estate practice in this fashion.

Friends since the early days of law school, they knew the easy repartee was always there. Surprisingly, “old school tie” Barrett had thrived in the underworld of criminal law. Stephen found that many of his future clients came from some of the city’s best boarding schools, where he had been a student himself.

“Listen,” Harry said, tapping his arm, “what can you tell me about money coming in from the Far East?”

“There’s plenty of it. What else do you need to know?”

“Is it okay?”

Stephen laughed. “You mean is it laundered?”

“Yes.”

“No, not yet. Canada’s one of the best places in the world for that. There’s hardly any restriction. Why?”

“I have a new client from Hong Kong buying up some land.”

“So? That’s hardly unusual. Most of the money is perfectly legitimate.”

“I suppose.” Harry’s voice trailed off as he tried to pin down what was troubling him. “It bothers me that I’m not getting the whole picture from the client.”

“Why should you, Harry? There are lots of things you’re better off not knowing. In my practice, you never want to know too much.”

“What’s the usual procedure for money-laundering?”

“It’s pretty simple. Dirty money from drugs, prostitution, porn—you name it—flows into the country from all over the world. It goes into banks, trust companies. And to lawyers and accountants, some of whom are innocent, unsuspecting dupes; others are in on the game. The money is used to buy legitimate businesses or land, so when they sell, the proceeds come out ‘clean.’ There’s lots of methods to mask the game, but essentially, that’s it.” Stephen laughed. “We think we’re getting tough by enacting reporting requirements of cash over ten thousand dollars. But lawyers are exempt.”