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Jan shook her head.
Santos chuckled.
“Duly noted,” he said.
He turned to Jan, then added, “With Rio Grande Organic Farms, I added more than fifty full-time positions. Not counting the seasonal jobs, which require the 2B visas for those who aren’t citizens.”
He paused and looked at Badde.
“Did you know demand for 1B visas runs in the six figures, but only sixty-five thousand are issued? Meanwhile, the U.S. never issues all ten thousand EB-5s that are available each year. Which we are going to change.”
Santos then gestured, holding his arms wide.
“Anyway, so here I am,” he said. “And here we are.”
“Interesting,” Jan Harper said, sipped her rum, then added, “And there are some five hundred banks here, is that right?”
Santos nodded.
“Correct. Which is why OneWorld does all its business here. As you probably know, the Caymans are called the Switzerland of the Caribbean. For a couple main reasons. One, it has those five hundred–plus banks you mentioned. And, two, it has the confidential Relationships Preservation Law—in which Section Five imposes criminal penalties—fines and imprisonment—if someone attempts to share confidential information. That of course includes where funds come from and where they go, but everything else, too, including the names of the officers of a company.”
“Remarkable,” Jan said. “And it’s certainly kept everyone who’s investing with Diamond Development happy.”
Santos nodded again.
“That is why all our investment vehicles for Diamond Development are FINS—Focused Investment Niche Strategies. They’re highly diversified, include many EB-5s, and, being Cayman-based, the lid on them is kept tight.”
“Rapp,” Jan said, turning to Badde, who was draining his glass of rum with his straw, “that’s what I was talking about with Yuri. Reassuring him of the confidentiality and stability of the investment . . .”
The Philadelphia Economic Gentrification Initiative’s first project had been to replace an abandoned factory on the banks of the Delaware with the new Lucky Stars Casino & Entertainment facility. Diamond Development—forty-nine percent was owned by Yuri Tikhonov through shell companies; minority-owned companies, including Urban Ventures LLC, which Badde had a small piece of, held the rest—was constructing a new indoor sports and live music coliseum that could fit sixty thousand fans under a retractable roof.
Jan went on: “. . . especially since PEGI cuts through the red tape to get the EB-5 applicants approved. That’s critical. A typical investor could expect a seven to ten percent return on investment. A foreign national wanting U.S. citizenship will settle for around two percent—if they’re assured the project has Fed approval.”
“Exactly,” Santos said. “It’s equally critical for those borrowing the money, because they’re paying less interest.” He grinned. “Which of course allows for higher profits.”
Badde nodded.
“And that’s damn cheap ROI,” Santos added.
“ROI?” Badde said.
“Return on investment. Rapp, your hotel project is going to get a mighty sweet ROI.”
Badde grinned, then flashed his full toothy smile.
Then he felt his Go To Hell flip phone vibrate. He looked at the caller ID. It read gibberish: #01-0K0-30X-V34-X%K.
He ignored it.
[ TWO ]
Strawberry Mansion, Philadelphia
Saturday, December 15, 6:55 P.M.
“How long do we gotta stay down here?” Tyrone Hooks said, trying hard not to shiver as yet more cold water dripped on him from the roof of the tunnel.
Hooks could just barely make out in the dark tunnel the form of Reverend Josiah Cross sitting on an empty plastic milk crate. Both Hooks and Cross were wrapped in thick woolen blankets.
