In the most recent edition of The D'Orsey Newsletter he had written:
The U.S. dollar, a once-proud and honest currency, is moribund, like the nation it represents. Financially, America has passed the point of no return. Thanks to insane fiscal policies, misconceived by incompetent and corrupt politicians who care solely about themselves and reselection, we are living amid financial disaster which can only worsen.
Since our rulers are knaves and imbeciles and the docile public stands vacuously indifferent, it's time for the financial lifeboats" Every man (or woman) for himself"
If you have dollars, keep only enough for cab fare, food, and postage stamps. Plus sufficient for an airline ticket to some happier land.
For the wise investor is the investor who is departing these United States, living abroad and shedding U.S. nationality. Officially, Internal Revenue Code section 877 says that if U.S. citizens renounce their citizenship to avoid income taxes, and the IRS can prove it, their tax liability remains. But for those who know, there are legal ways to thwart the IRS. (See The D'Orsey Newsletter of July last year on how to become an ex-American citizen. Single copies available for $16 or Swiss fcs.40 each.
The reason for a change of allegiance and scene: lithe value of the U.S. dollar will continue to diminish, along with Americans' fiscal freedom.
And even if you can't leave personally, send your money overseas. Convert your U.S. dollars while you can (it may not be for long) into Deutsche marks, Swiss francs, Dutch Guilders, Austrian schillings, Krugerrands.
Then place them, out of reach of U.S. bureaucrats, in a European bank, preferably Swiss…
Lewis D'Orsey had trumpeted variations on that theme for several years. His latest newsletter continued with more of the same and concluded with specific advice on recommended investments. Naturally, all were in non-U.S. currencies.
Another subject arousing Lewis's rage had been the U.S. Treasury's gold auctions. "In a generation from now," he had written, "when Americans wake up and realize their national patrimony was sold at fire sale prices to titillate the schoolboy vanity of Washington theorists, those responsible will be branded traitors and cursed down history's years."
Lewis's observation had been quoted widely in Europe, but ignored in Washington and by the U.S. press.
Now, at the breakfast table, Edwina continued to read the Monitor. There was a report of a House of Representatives bill proposing tax law changes which would reduce depreciation allowances on real property. It could affect mortgage lending at the bank and she asked Lewis his opinion about the likelihood of the bill becoming law.
He answered crisply, "Nil. Even if it gets through the House, it will never pass the Senate. I phoned a couple of senators yesterday. They don't take it seriously."
Lewis had an extraordinary range of friends and contacts one of several reasons for his success. He kept abreast, too, of anything affecting taxes, advising his newsletter readers on situations they could exploit to their advantage.
Lewis himself paid only a token amount of income tax each year never more than a few hundred dollars, he boasted proudly, yet his real income was in seven figures. He achieved this by utilizing tax shelters of all kinds oil investments, real estate, timber exploitation, farming, limited partnerships, and tax-free bonds. Such devices enabled him to spend freely, live splendidly, yet on paper sustain a personal loss each year.
Yet all these tax devices were totally legal. "Only a fool conceals income, or cheats on taxes in some other way," Edwina had heard Lewis declare often. "Why take that risk when there are more legitimate escape hatches from taxes than holes in a Swiss cheese? All that's needed is the work to understand, and enterprise to use them."
So far, Lewis had not taken his own advice to live overseas and shed his U.S. citizenship. However, he detested New York where he had once lived and worked and now called it "a decaying, complacent, bankrupt bandit lair existing on solipsism and with bad breath." It was also an illusion, he maintained, "fostered by arrogant New Yorkers, that the best brains are to be found in that city. They aren't." He preferred the Midwest where he had moves, and met Edwina a decade and a half ago.
Despite her husband's example in avoiding taxes, Edwina went her own way on that subject, filing her individual return and paying far more than Lewis, even on her more modest income. But it was Lewis who took care of their bills for this penthouse and staff, their twin Mercedes cars, and other luxuries.
Edwina admitted honestly to herself that the high style of living, which she enjoyed, had been a factor in her decision to marry Lewis and her adaptation to their marriage. And the arrangement, as well as their independence and dual careers, worked well.
"I wish," she said, "your insight extended to knowing where all that cash of ours went on Wednesday."
Lewis looked up from his breakfast which he had attacked fiercely, as if the eggs were enemies. "The bank's cash is still missing? Once more the gallant, fumble-fisted FBI has discovered nothing?"
"I suppose you could put it that way." She told him of the impasse they had reached, and of her own decision that the teller would have to be let go today. "And after that, no one else will employ her, I suppose." "Certainly no other bank." "She has a child, I think you said." "Unfortunately, yes."
Lewis said gloomily, "Two more recruits for the already swollen welfare rolls." "Oh, really! Save all that Birchism for your readers."
Her husband's face cracked into one of his rare smiles. "Forgive me. But I'm not used to your needing advice. It's not often that you do."
It was a compliment, Edwina realized. One of the things she appreciated about their marriage was that Lewis treated her, and always had, as an intellectual equal. And although he had never said so directly, she knew he was proud of her senior management status at FMA unusual even nowadays for a woman in the male chauvinist world of banking.
"Naturally I can't tell you where the missing money is," Lewis said; he appeared to have been thinking "But I'll give you a piece of advice I've found useful sometimes in conundrum situations." "Yes, go on." it's this: Mistrust the obvious."
Edwina felt disappointed. Illogically, she supposed, she had expected some kind of miracle solution. Instead, Lewis had delivered a hoary old bromide.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight o'clock. "Thank you," she said. "I must go."
"Oh, by the way, I'm leaving for Europe tonight," he informed her. "I'll be back Wednesday."
"Have a good trip." Edwina kissed him as she left. The sudden announcement did not surprise her. Lewis had offices in Zurich and London, and his comings and goings were casual.
She went down in the private elevator which connected their penthouse with an indoor parking garage.
As she drove to the bank, and despite her dismissal of Lewis's advice, the words mistrust the obvious stayed annoyingly, persistently in her mind.
A discussion at midmorning with the two FBI agents was brief and inconclusive.
The meeting took place in the conference room at the rear of the bank where, over the preceding two days, the FBI men had interviewed members of the staff. Edwina was present. So was Nolan Wainwright.
The senior of the two agents, whose name was Innes and who spoke with a New England twang, told Edwina and the bank's security chief, "We've gone as far as we can with our investigation here. The case will stay open and we'll be in touch if new facts come to light. Of course, if anything more develops here you'll inform the Bureau at once." "Of course," Edwina said.
"Oh, there is an item of negative news." The FBI man consulted a notebook. "The Nunez girl's husband Carlos. One of your people thought they saw him in the bank the day the money was missing'"
Wainwright said, "Miles Eastin. He reported it to me. I passed the information on."
"Yes, we questioned Eastin about that; he admitted he could have been mistaken. Well, we've traced Carlos Nunez. He's in Phoenix, Arizona; has a job there as a motor mechanic. Our Bureau agents in Phoenix have interviewed him. They're satisfied he was at work on Wednesday, in fact every day this week, which rules him out as an accomplice."
Nolan Wainwright escorted the FBI agents out. Edwina returned to her desk on the platform. She had reported the cash loss as she was required to do to her immediate superior in Headquarters Administration and word, it seemed, had filtered upward to Alex Vandervoort. Late yesterday, Alex had telephoned, sympathetic, and asking if there was anything he could do to help. She had thanked him, but said no, realizing that she was responsible anal must do whatever had to be done herself. This morning, nothing had changed.