Chapter 4: Funding

Near dawn on a cold January morning I spotted a square outline just hovering at the surface of the water. It showed up as a dead spot in the chop. The orange-ish sodium lights from the docks make it look a bit different, else I never would have spotted it. I edged my tub up and snagged it. It was a briefcase. After drying it off I laid the thing on the ship's chart table and popped the latches. The briefcase betrayed its quality as the contents were bone dry. It was full of long slender trays each about three fingers wide. Each tray was full of little brown paper envelopes. I emptied one onto the table. A diamond fell out. Now this wasn't a little chip or something. This thing was the size of a new pencil eraser and was cut into facets. Unless the quality of costume jewelry had taken a significant jump recently then yes, it was a diamond, and a nice one, too.

My impression was further supported by the "DeBeers" logo impressed on the inside lid of the case. They were the big boys.

That night I called the New York number for DeBeers an company.

"Good evening, DeBeers and company. How may I direct your call?"

"Asset recovery please."

"Sir?"

I'm currently in possession of a brief case with your company's name stamped inside the lid. It contains many, many small brown envelopes, holding an amazing collections of pebbles."

"Hold, please"

"Security."

I hung up so fast I left vapor trails.

I examined those little envelopes very carefully. Each one had a notation in the upper left corner followed by the marking 'ct.' ... I picked out a handful of the largest stones and slipped them into a large coffee-table book on sail rigging. Then the briefcase went into a shopping bag.

I put on my coat and took a taxi for the New York Port Authority offices. It was a 24-hour shop as shipping is a 24-hour a day business. There I filed for salvage on a briefcase with an estimated value of ... just guessing ... a hundred million dollars in cut stones, with a note that the value was to be adjusted upon the inspection by an impartial jeweler. They took the case, performed a visual inspection to verify the inventory, then countersigned the estimate. The sealed the briefcase in a tamper-proof bag and locked it into a vault that required two people to operate. It made me wonder what else was in that vault that warranted such security. Ah, well. Curiosity and cats, you know. Once the receipt was registered in my name no games could be played. No theft of the receipt would matter and it couldn't be re-assigned to anyone else without them appearing before the bonding agency of the Port Authority. I didn't think that a presidential order would get that door open to do more than perform an inspection. Lloyd's of London trusted the New York Port Authority Bonded warehouse. That was pretty definitive.

I took a taxi home and slept the rest of the night in relative peace and quiet. I went to work, did my job and went home at the end of the day for a week and a half. That's when the independent jeweler was to appraise the contents of the case. I showed up as an interested party. I found it curious that an attorney for DeBeers was there as well.

I was wrong. The contents of the casedidn't assess to one hundred million dollars. It assessed t three hundred thirty million dollars. As the finder of salvaged goods I would receive 21 percent of the monies recouped for the goods in question. Having just gotten a firm appraisal for the contents of the case the lawyer for DeBeers, notably with a very nasty expression, wrote out a check for $330,000,000.00 U.S.D. And took possession of the case.

The federal revenue agent reached for the check. I put my hand on it.

"And how long do you think it will take for your department to reimburse me for my finder's fee in this transaction, once you get your sticky little fingers on this check?"

He got real official-looking and said "You are interfering with federal matters. I suggest that you let things operate at their own pace."

I picked up the check and placed it into my shirt pocket. I could see him becoming more irate by the second.

"No. Not only 'no' but hell no!" I will not cash this check but will hold it until I receive my legal compensation, upon which time we will exchange documents. I don't have to pay up on this thing until the last minute on tax day, next year. How much interest are you willing to forgo just because you got your twisty little nose in a snit?"

His forehead actually glowed he was so pissed. I watched him take out his checkbook and dash out a check for $69,300,000.00 U.S.D. I decided to tweak his beak. I called the bank it was drawn on and confirmed that the current balance on hand could cover the check. Yes, they were good for it. We exchanged documents. We did NOT shake hands.

I continued. "Oh, I require a signed and witnessed document stating that all federal income taxes have been paid on this amount. Otherwise, I am sure, it would be held at the bank, and other shenanigans would occur. I've read of other people who have delt with your tribe and the horror stories they've experienced."

He 'Hrummmph-ed', but filled out an IRS form, then signed it in front of witnesses which also counter-signed the document. I verified that it was legible. The amount and date were correct, too. I hoped, deep down where I'm really not a nice person, that the DeBeers check would bounce like a rubber ball!