One Year Later
In his life, Coleman Patterson had gone from decorated police detective, to DEA cyber analyst, to corrupt DEA field agent. Despite showing signs of deception on a polygraph test and declaring bankruptcy with nearly two hundred thousand dollars of debt, Patterson’s talents were apparent. In his field agent’s position, the DEA allowed him to handle millions of dollars in financial transactions. He was setting up undercover operations using the front companies and shell bank accounts that were setup for undercover stings, and sending money and contraband to Columbian cartels on behalf of suspected drug traffickers.
Patterson began to skim money from those accounts and started filing false reports to cover the wire transfers reserved for those undercover operations to accounts that he had setup in Spain and the Netherlands. The accounts were established in someone else’s name, and he used the unknowing victim’s forged signature and social security number to make the transactions look completely legitimate.
He began to spend lavishly on homes in Cartagena, Puerto Rico, and South Florida, a Land Rover, and a BMW. He hosted wild yacht parties with bikini-clad prostitutes. Those parties raised several red flags within the agency; but since those parties were attended by fellow agents and supervisors, it was swept under the rug, and Patterson was transferred to the field office in Caracas. That’s when things went bad and Patterson knew that it was time for him to get out.
The one thing that Patterson picked up during his journey from police detective, to DEA cyber analyst, to corrupt DEA field agent, was that he knew how to get information that he could use to his advantage. That skill was indispensable in his new profession.
Coleman Patterson was now a blackmailer.
The lighting was set appropriately, and a 2016 Ramey Rochioli Vineyard Chardonnay lay chilling in an ice bucket. The soft sounds of Freddie The Freeloader from the Miles Davis classic was playing in the background. Patterson took a final look around. He was ready to receive his guest.
It really didn’t seem to matter to him that their entire relationship was based solely on the fact that he was blackmailing her. Despite that, he thoroughly enjoyed her company and her conversation. She was a highly intelligent woman, and the fact that she was beautiful wasn’t lost on him either. When the doorbell rang, Patterson got up to answer the door.
Without looking to see who it was, Patterson opened the door with a flourish. “You’re early.”
“Am I?”
“Dutch? What are you doing here?”
“I can’t drop in to see an old friend?”
“No, it’s not like that at all,” he forced a smile, but his sudden appearance did concern him. “I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”
“So, you gonna invite me in?”
“Yeah, sure, Dutch. Come on in,” Patterson said and stepped aside.
“Thanks,” he said and entered the house. “I take it that you were expecting somebody … a little softer and wetter maybe?”
Patterson looked around outside before closing the door. “Just a client.”
“Everybody’s a client to you, or a potential one,” he laughed as he went into the living room with Patterson following behind him.
“You could say that,” Patterson laughed nervously and looked him in the eye. “So, what’s a high roller like you doing coming to see lowlife scum like me? Especially at a time like this?”
“Like I said, I just came to see my old partner,” he said, and now Patterson was worried.
Everybody’s a client to you, he thought.
It forced him to think about their so-called partnership, what he had on Dutch, what happened in Caracas and how that influenced his decision to get out of the DEA. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Whatever you’re drinking is fine.”
“Bourbon?”
“If it’s Woodford Reserve Baccarat Edition, you were expecting me,” he chuckled.
“Yes, it is and no, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“That’s right, you were expecting somebody softer and wetter.”
When Patterson turned to go pour the drinks, Dutch took a silencer clad Beretta M9A3 from under his jacket and shot Patterson in the back of his head.