2021-04-05 - Money for nothing...

Seth doesn't spend a lot of time at the Casino. It isn't his typical kind of hangout, but when one wants to talk investments and perhaps how to make some questionably gained cash a little more spendable before it turns into a pile of seaweed, one can't do worse than having a chat with his organization's money man, Rhys.

Seth makes his way into the casino, dressed up in a nice suit that seems to be tailored to fit his proportions exactly. This isn't something he grabbed off the rack like most of the formalwear he has worn before, it is bespoke right down to the oxfords that adorn his feet. Upon entering the casino floor, Seth immediately bypasses the table games and heads for the nearest bar.

It's not that Ravn Abildgaard has never visited a casino before. He has -- he most certainly has, because there was a time in his life when every so often, his father decided on some father-son bonding time and dragged his son to all the corners of the Earth in his attempts to turn the asthmatic bookworm into whatever he felt passed for a real man. The asthmatic bookworm in question generally neglected to remind his father that someone who can survive on the streets for weeks at a time is not about to explode in a gentle ploof of fragile incompetence -- mostly because there was not a single time in his father's lifetime that Ravn actually remembers the man listening. Some things you learn early -- such as that talking to a wall generally does not warrant a lot of response. Monte Carlo, the French and Italian rivieras. He knows how to dress for the occasion, and he knows how to walk like he owns the world. How to carry himself like the wait staff exists to serve him, and that is the natural order of things.

Maybe it's a conscious choice on Ravn's behalf that he neither dresses the part nor walks the walk. Maybe it's just indifference. Either way, he wanders in wearing jeans and a blazer under an admittedly high end leather jacket of Italian design. He walks in through the service entrance as not to disturb those people in tuxedos and cocktail dresses, asking for directions until he is ushered in the general direction of Seth Monaghan, ignoring the glittery facade. Gray Harbor is hardly Las Vegas or Monte Carlo, but pretentious people are pretentious people, and the expat has little patience for them here or anywhere.

When he does spot the Firefly bouncer slash definitely not a mob hitman, he raises a gloved hand in a wave and quirks an eyebrow. Nothing here seems to be smashed up, on fire, or full of chanting cultist clowns sacrificing baby dolphins to dark gods. "So what's going on in a casino of all places, that might need a folklorist's opinion?"

A glass of whiskey already in hand, Seth glances up at Ravn as he approaches his spot at the bar and chuckles, "This is less about your opinion and more about what I might be able to do for you. Rumor has it that you are starting up some philanthropic work of some sort? Is that correct?" the founder says as he takes a sip from his drink and motions to a stool next to him at the bar. "Things like that don't start up cheap, do they? How are you on funds?"

Ravn scampers on to the barstool next to Seth's ignoring the glance he gets from the bartender. No, he's not dressed for this place. Yes, he's apparently here to see Seth Monaghan who is, and who has the kind of name you don't argue with around here. If he's good enough for a Monaghan, then he's good enough for Bartender Vamoose, or whatever their name is. "Glenfiddich if you have it," he requests. "Old enough to be legal in Kentucky, please."

Then he looks at Seth and says, low enough for the bartender to perhaps not overhear, "Well, sort of. It's not my project -- it's anyone's project who wants to be involved. Ignacio de Santos is the official face of it, insofar we need one -- we figured that if the Revisionist turned him into this community leader, Mr Rogers type, we might as well ride that narrative hard and put it away wet. And that is -- kind of the whole point, too. Not so much philantropy -- though helping vulnerable people is certainly a welcome bonus -- as fighting back. The dolorphages feed on suffering, and they draw people to Gray Harbor who are -- hurting, damaged goods, troubled. We want to take away their food supply, or at least poison it good and well with the kind of altruism and positivity that's anathema to them. Make them choke good and solid on their damn food."

That part at least seems to be well rehearsed; Seth is probably not the first person to ask. It's possible that a version exists for the audience without shine -- and if it does, it's probably more save the world and less cynical attempt to weaponise charity against Cthulhu.

He dips into a pocket for a cigarette and lights it; here, at least, it's unlikely that anyone's going to insist that the place is no smoking. "We have a couple of private sponsors covering things like basic rent and utilities. But the narrative we're kind of trying to force down the Veil's figurative throat is -- really, an eighties movie montage. The kind where you have one or two people at the beginning of the movie, trying to do the thing. And by the end of the movie, there's keyboards and synths, and everyone in town getting together to help and contribute. This place runs on stories -- so we're trying to reprogram it with one. Which does mean that yes, the HOPE centre's daily activities are entirely dependent on donations and volunteers. If just throwing money at the problems here would solve Gray Harbor's mess, the Addingtons would have done it three generations ago. It has to be thrown the right way."

Listening carefully to Ravn as the Dane goes off on this pre-recorded spiel about the dolorphages and everything, Seth just nods as his eyes start to glaze over about a quarter of the way through the speech. "Yeah, I have been up for almost 72 hours straight and I don't have the mental capacity at the moment to translate what you just said into any form of communication that I am comfortable trying to understand right now." the bouncer says with a grin, "I just want a simple yes or no to this question, and we can go from there. Do you want a charitable donation of a couple hundred thousand dollars or not? Please keep responses to a simple one-word answer."

The enforcer takes another sip of his whiskey, eyes boring into Ravn as he watches the sometimes teacher contemplate the question and awaits his response.

Ravn can't help laugh softly at that. "Sorry. Why the hell haven't you slept, Seth? Yes, a couple of hundred thousand dollars would definitely make a difference in HOPE's budget. Yes, that's more than one word, but 'yes' is the keyword there."

He too sips his whiskey and looks at Seth a moment. There are a lot of questions he probably wants to ask; or feels that he should be asking. Maybe it speaks to his trust in the other man that he gets straight to point without waffling around diplomatically. "Is there a catch?"

Seth handwaves off the question about his lack of sleep and utters a single word, "Work. Had a few late nights that turned into early mornings that turned into late nights again. Rinse. Repeat." Seth chuckles, swirling the amber liquid in his cup around a bit before taking another sip, "I'll sleep later. Maybe."

Hiding a yawn behind his free hand, Seth glances over at Ravn and hitches a shoulder up in a shrug, "Isn't there always? There is no such thing as money for nothing, but it isn't a catch you should have to worry about as long as things are handled relatively quickly." He pauses a second to take a sip before continuing, "If you are worried about legality, don't. Hell, if anything you can think about it as using the dolorphages money against them. It wouldn't be far from accurate."

"You're talking about the beach money, aren't you." Ravn cants his head and looks the enforcer over. He's not forgotten the expression on the other man's face when he shoved crates of money into his trunk while looking like a whole lot of very ugly past had just very unpleasantly caught up. He's also not forgotten how he felt that day, being reminded of a past that he'd rather leave buried as well. He shakes his head, smiling. "It does seem appropriate. Might need some legal wrangling to avoid questions -- the Veil will probably hit us back at some point, so anything paperwork needs to be as police proof as if we had the Feds breathing down our necks. At some point we probably will have."

"Got it in one," the enforcer says with a nod of his head. "It is just sitting in bundles doing nothing, so I might as well have it do something worthwhile. I just don't know if, or when, it will poof into seaweed so I figure to use it before we lose it." Seth shrugs again and takes a sip from his drink.

"As far as handling the financial trail, there is a reason I suggested meeting here. I figured we could meet with my CPA and get things done, and if anyone will know what to do with bundles of cash that might possibly turn into seaweed at any point in time, it would be him. I'm sure he has had to deal with worse."

"I'm sure he has," Ravn agrees and refrains from touching in on what 'worse' might involve because he bloody well has a pretty good idea and no, he does in fact not want to know. He's got a fair bit of confidence in two men in that operation -- Seth Monaghan and Joey Kelly.

He's historian enough to know about the origins of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra and its American counterparts. A community defending itself needs warriors, and sometimes, warriors get their hands dirty. That the leader of said organisation is also making bank is an unfortunate side effect as far as he is concerned. And besides, Ravn reminds himself -- crime is only crime when it's the wrong people doing it. He's got ancestors who literally went plundering and called it crusades.

"I guess I should have dressed more business like after all," he says with a small grin, perhaps to lighten up the mood a bit. "Do I have to wear a tie? I do not want to wear a tie. No donation is worth me having to wear a tie."

The redhead quotient of the immediate area doubles as another one strolls into the bar, also blue-eyed and also nicely-suited. Not bespoke, in his case -- hey, we can't all find massive pallets of cash on the beach -- but good enough quality to suggest thought went into it, and the way it fits suggests he understands the value of tailoring. Then again, it's probably hard to find an unaltered suit that's particularly flattering if you're slightly closer to five foot tall than six, even if you carry yourself like you haven't noticed. There is, however, no tie involved at present. Possibly it's hanging in an office or rolled up in a pocket, but it definitely isn't currently around his neck.

A swift scan of the place as he enters, and a quick grin and chin-lift of long-distance greeting when he spots Seth at the bar; Ravn seems to be broadly included with that. There's a good few seconds before he makes it all the way over there, however -- partly because the stride is currently casual and unhurried, and partly because it's apparently necessary to pause briefly and greet a few other people along the way. He looks pleased to see them, whoever they are, and they seem pleased to be greeted, so presumably that qualifies as a successful interaction all around. The general trajectory doesn't change, however, and soon enough he's able to claim one of the barstools for himself, the grin returning for the pair of them. "Evening. Left any whiskey back there, or am I going to have to order something else tonight?"

Chuckling, Seth shakes his head. "I think you will be ok," the enforcer says as he lifts his glass to his lips again, taking the moment to look out across the casino floor. "I don't think Rhys is going to care what you wear...speak of the devil," Seth mutters to Ravn as he spots Rhys making his way across the casino floor towards them.

Setting the glass of whiskey down, Seth rises to meet the other man with his hand extended as he greets Rhys with a chuckle, "I haven't been here long enough to make it through your stocks yet, Rhys. Give me another hour or two, so you're good for now. Rhys, meet Ravn. Ravn, meet Rhys. Rhys here runs the casino, among other things." the enforcer grins as he introduces the other two. "One of them being a pretty kick-ass CPA. Ravn here is...a folklorist? Teacher? I'm not rightly sure what you want to classify yourself as at the moment, Ravn? It was easier when I could just call you a bartender."

Ravn's handshake is firm if gloved in black kidskin. He does not seem to recognise the other man -- but then, the only time the two of them occupied the same location previously, Ravn was a little busy bleeding out and Rhys was a little busy shooting back. "Pleased to meet you, Rhys. Running a casino? That sounds like a quite time consuming job, and complicated to boot."

He glances at Seth and laughs softly at that last inquiry. "Folklorist works. I am affiliated with the University of Copenhagen as a tutor in a government program as well, but I think calling myself a teacher is pushing it; I don't have any formal teaching education for one."

"I didn't even know you were investing," Rhys replies, the innocence in the delivery somewhat spoilt by going on with, "I'd ask if you made it through the bonds yet, but you must've if you managed to make it here." Hands are shaken (and gloves glanced at with a touch of curiosity betrayed, though Ravn's probably used to that) with a respectable but not overly aggressive firmness. It's the sort of handshake that a certain type of person (okay, mostly a certain type of man) takes as proof of another person's (okay, also mostly another man's) inherent honesty and general trustworthiness. Ravn-the-ex-grifter can probably do it a treat when he's inclined.

Rhys was doing his own fair share of bleeding the last time he and Ravn didn't exactly meet, along with the aforementioned shooting back, and thus could probably be forgiven for not recognizing Ravn either. And yet, it kind of looks as though he does. "Nice to meet you, Ravn. Yeah, dealing with this place can get complex, it's true. It's all right, though, I manage the Firefly for a change of pace. Cleanse the palate." Another grin, there. "So, what brings a Danish folklorist to our tiny but scenic and well-appointed town?"

He catches the bartender's eye and lifts a hand, then tilts it to point a finger toward the currently visible bottle of that Glenfiddich at the far side of the bar-area. It's not the only bottle over there, but via familiarity, telepathy, or a natural facility for charades, the bartender seems confident in having gotten the message, and nods back, though doesn't hurry through the customers already being helped. Rhys looks fine with this. Can't be giving patrons bad service, after all.

Chuckling at the stocks and bonds joke, Seth lifts his glass in salute to the wit of the casino and nightclub manager, "Always with the financials with you, isn't it? Always as long as it has a dollar sign in front of it, which is good because that is what I need some help with. Investing. I have some spare funds just laying around, and it needs a place to go. I was hoping both of you could help me with that."

Seth lowers the glass and takes a sip from it before placing it down onto the bar top as he glances around. Lowering his voice to keep others from overhearing he mutters, "I recently got a 'gift' from Felix, and I need a place to put it. Well, technically I found over a million liquid gifts on the beach and I need to make it solid before it evaporates. I was hoping that you could help with that, Rhys. For a percentage of course. Terms negotiations notwithstanding, is this something you might be interested in helping with? I brought Ravn along because some of it I want to filter over towards his charity. I can't think of a better place to dump some of it than a place that might actually do some damned good in this place. Especially since he managed to get himself some extra holes during that whole thing a few months ago. I'd call it some fair compensation."

"Somebody might argue that I could have acted like a sensible bystander and stayed the hell down the first time I got shot by accident, instead of getting up to run after de la Vega and his squad." Ravn offers a small, lopsided smile. "I didn't run after to earn a prize or a medal. Don't ask me why I did, though -- it made sense at the time."

The smile lingers, though it gains a slight sheepish angle. "I actually don't know a whole lot about finances, not going to lie. I am certain there are laws and procedures for this kind of transfer -- and that I might have some vague notion what they'd include if we'd been in Denmark. Given that we're not, though -- I think I may have to simply ask what you will require on my end, and then make that happen. The HOPE centre is certainly not going to turn down a cash infusion. We are quickly realising that the amount of people who come through Gray Harbor in need of help is far larger than anyone realised."

Rhys presses a hand to his chest, looking wounded. "Is that really what you think? Not everything I care about has a dollar sign in front, Seth." A woeful shake of the head. "Some of them have a euro sign, or a pound sign, or yen..." So misjudged. The grin starts sneaking out again, but then things get to the muttering, and it pauses as a much fainter smile, his brows lifting. "...fell off the back of a submarine, huh?" The barest flicker of a glance toward Ravn, the less-than-wholly-known-quantity. Odds the accountant believes 'randomly found on the beach' are probably not high. But curiosity aside, there are things one presses for more details about while sitting at a casino bar and things one does not. "Yeah, I can probably help you out with that. Terms negotiation notwithstanding."

There's a small pause while his whiskey's delivered, the bartender getting a bright smile, a thanks, and a very brief conversation on the general topic of how's-it-going-tonight along with a smoothly passed tip. A sip as the 'tender heads back down to the other end of the bar, and then he's regarding Ravn again. "It's amazing what does," he notes, as if there hadn't been a definite interruption between that and the remark he's responding to -- it might require rewinding things in one's head to tie it back to things making sense at the time.

"HOPE seems like a good cause. Been meaning to drop by, actually. The city can use a place like that. And yeah, there's laws and procedures like someone was getting paid by the word, which they might've been, but you won't have to deal with much of it directly. Most likely, the biggest thing you'll have to do is tell Wilson, Goldblum, and/or Cruz you want them to sort the details out with me. Maybe sign a few things or initial here or there," he assures lightly -- and still aimed at quiet enough not to be overheard, but not so quiet as to seem suspicious. "Let's adjourn to my office. I promise the chairs are more comfortable. And the whiskies are welcome to join us."

Chuckling again at the casino owner's antics, Seth grins. "Something like that," he remarks. "I'll give you the full details when we get to the office," the enforcer says with a nod to Rhys as he stands, lifting his glass to his lips to take a sip of the amber liquid inside.

As Seth watches both men, he catches the glance towards Ravn, and he follows up with, "Ravn is on Joey's good side. He might not have a membership at the gym, but he trains there on occasion and he knows when to tape things up." Certainly, code-speak for Ravn knows what's up and can keep his mouth shut.

"Lead the way, Rhys."

"Actually I --" And then the penny drops for Ravn too, and he decides to not point out that he does in fact have a gym membership. He certainly does not have a Monaghan crime syndicate membership however. He picks up his glass and wanders along, throwing the occasional curious glance around; the casino is most certainly not his native environment, and in his jeans and leather jacket, he does somewhat appear a fish out of water. The man's all-black ensemble does have a certain element of style -- but for here, at least, it is the kind of style that seems somewhat misplaced (or belongs to some self-aggrandising artist with delusions of non-conformity).

Of course turning up in a place like this dressed for the street is some kind of statement. What the statement is might be up for debate. The tall Dane may think of himself as a social chameleon who slips through crowds unnoticed and unremembered, but for that game to work he should have kept moving. Whether he likes it or not, Gray Harbor has adopted him, and his face is starting to become fairly well known in certain circles. He's been challenged by a Slavic trickster god about it, so it must be true.

He doesn't seem very surprised that the accountant knows the name of his Seattle law firm. In Ravn's reasoning, at least, Rhys wouldn't be worth his salt for the Monaghan operation if he had not checked on a new philanthropist gig coming to town, and more so in the wake of the recent Reyes business. One does not need to be an expert on white-collar crime to know that a considerable number of such enterprises are little more than fancy fronts for money laundering schemes and drug trade.

This one may not have been a front for money laundering to start with, but it does look a bit like it might be considering branching out. Drug trade could possibly be arranged if it insisted, but let's take these things one at a crime.

Chances are pretty decent that if Ravn did have said membership, Rhys would have heard; this is the sort of thing he keeps particular track of. Gotta keep track of one's assets, after all. Might actually know about the literal membership too, if their visits there had managed to overlap yet... but it's true, running this place (and the Firefly, and the numbers) is pretty time-consuming. Gym time's sometimes a casualty. Still, code received, and whatever information he might have beyond the relevant law firm apparently doesn't contradict, and he slips back off his chosen stool, nearly-full glass in one hand, and makes a sweeping 'right this way' gesture with the other. "Good to know. How's it going over there? I'm getting out of practice; almost got mugged by some Brownies last week. Had to buy ten boxes of Thin Mints to get free. ...that's my excuse, anyway."

The office they end up in is-- well, suitably nice to match the tone of the casino, without being excessively opulent. It's an office someone actually does work in. It's set up a bit from the gaming floor, with a one-way-mirror window looking out over it; there's a nice view of what's going on down there, theoretically useful and fairly decorative, all in all. Proper wood desk, and the chairs really are more comfortable than a bar stool, though some would say that's not a high bar. They're fairly plush, though, and get a sweeping gesture of their very own, with a less-sweeping, "Make yourselves comfortable," as the trio enter the room.

Following Rhys up to the office, Seth lets out a low whistle when he makes his way inside and looks around the place. "Nice digs, Rhys. One of the drawbacks of my chosen profession is that I don't get a nice office like this. At the best of times, I get a hotel room." the enforcer says with a smirk as he walks over to take a lookout over the casino floor via the one-way mirror.

As far as the business at the gym, Seth shrugs. "Not much in the way of abnormality over there since our visitors are no longer visiting. Back to some semblance of normal, or whatever normal passes for over there these days. The comment about the girl scouts causes a chuckle, "Talk about a racket. Those scouts have it down to a science. I heard of one little girl that sold over two thousand boxes of those damn cookies just by herself. Not to mention the ones that stakeout across the street from head shops. Smart girls."

"I make a point out of giving a wide berth to girl scouts," Ravn agrees. "Pot dealers and drunks in the trailer parks? Those I can handle. The girl scouts, though? That's engaging too deep with the underworld for me. I don't want to end up in Gray Pond with a bucket of oatmeal cookies weighing me down by the ankles."

He too looks around with the appreciation of someone who may live in a trailer, sure, but does in fact know what money and good taste looks like. Then he heads for a chair as directed and plops himself down in it with a kind of easy grace that seems a little -- too familiar with a posh interior to match entirely with the image of the penniless hobo hipster he usually projects. "I am no money wizard," he reiterates. "But whatever paperwork you need me to call my paralegal to make her do, just tell me. She seems very competent -- bit intimidating, really. Lawyers are a frightening tribe of people." And so are accountants goes unsaid because why be rude.

"You see my problem," Rhys says to Ravn, with a serious nod and an upward turn of his free hand as he settles himself half-perched against the edge of the desk. It's surely not as comfy as the chairs, that, but he looks comfortable enough for the moment and it's definitely more casual than an immediate flop into the the third chair that would put the desk between them all. It being his own office, one wouldn't expect much reaction to it, and there isn't -- though a really good people-person looking for it might suspect he's quietly rather pleased with the place. "Not wrong about their business skills, though. Maybe we should look into recruiting them for internships around here." A slight pause, and he adds, "In about five to ten years. I don't think even they could out-racket the liquor licensing board."

Speaking of liquor, he takes a sip of his, glancing after Seth as the decidedly larger man heads over to check out the inner view. "You need to work with people who're less recalcitrant about showing up for their meetings," he advises Seth, "...though the hotel rooms here are pretty swank. Penthouses especially. I'd say angle for that, but I'm not sure we're zoned for vocational use. Plus, if they'll meet you here you could probably just work from home. Way more convenient." Though maybe not the resulting janitorial issues, depending just what's needed.

A touch more serious -- or, really, a touch more genuinely serious, rather than faking it -- he regards the Dane again, nodding once, then glancing back to Seth. "It shouldn't be too much work on your end, honestly. Accepting money's usually simple enough, as long as the government's pretty sure it's getting the appropriate cut. And that, presumably, is what you're paying your Seattleites for. Everything's properly set up as a 501(c)(3) non-profit, right?" Given he knows which lawyers are involved, that may well be a rhetorical question. "What's her name? And any special restrictions she warned you about?"

Seth chortles a bit, casting a glance over his shoulder at Rhys with a little bit of a grin, "If I could make them show up to meetings it would make my life so much easier, but as you said most of my clients are a little hesitant to be showing up for a meeting. I have to be a bit more, uh, easygoing as to where I meet them. Most of the time they don't even know we are having one." The enforcer shrugs a shoulder as he continues to look out over the casino floor, taking in the view.

When the talk about money starts in earnest, he turns back around and finds one of the comfy chairs to take a seat in. "So, I've got a couple of million in cash that I found washed up on the beach not too long ago, and I'm looking to make it a little less liquid before it actually turns to liquid. You know how shit is around here, Rhys. There is every indication that at some point in the future this cash will turn into seaweed, and I would rather put the funds to use before it becomes useless not to mention that I just would like to get a crate's worth of cash out of my garage. I'd like to invest a quarter of it or so in Ravn's charity. The rest...I don't particularly care what happens to the physical cash itself. The value of it though I wouldn't mind getting put into an account offshore somewhere. You know how it is." Another roll of the shoulder, "You can take a percentage, of course, whatever you find is reasonable."

Ravn can't help a small laugh. "This has got to go on record as the most successful beach combing effort in modern PNW history. Bloody hell, finding literally a million bucks on the beach, and it's not even Virginia deer. It's the premise of half a dozen bad movies."

Then he sobers a little and nods at Seth's reasoning, correcting only the one issue: "It's not my charity as such. I'm just the guy who tries to coordinate the every day issues. Ignacio de Santos is the official face of it, but it's set up as a self-owning institution. This came with a long speech in legalese which I won't even pretend I did not zone out on, because honestly, there's a reason I get a lawyer involved as soon as someone starts talking like that." The Dane glances to Rhys again and then says, a little weakly, "Or that."

A bit more seriously he nods. "Antonia Simoniescu -- and Cruz is the lawyer who's ultimately handling our case if we should ever actually hit a courtroom for some reason. She made it very clear to me that we need to keep our path clean. I told her that because of Gray Harbor's somewhat unique situation, odds are that there will be irregularities in our paperwork -- because it's the best way to cause trouble for us." Why anyone would? Well, there's multiple suggestions on the table there, and while Ravn obviously means 'the Veil will fight back', only the powers that be know what Rhys makes of that. "She told me to make sure to go to every effort possible to have a clean record and a clean paper trail."

"Handy for arranging your schedule," Rhys notes regarding the one-sided meeting-arrangement, and takes another sip of his drink, watching Seth as the enforcer takes his chair and discusses the matter more directly at hand. Does he know how shit is around here? Well, that depends very much which shit one has in mind. How the organization works, how the city works? Sure. How money might go literally liquid? Well, Ravn's shine may be relatively dim to most other Glimmerers' eyes, but Rhys's is straight-up non-existent. So if there's anything surprising about his reaction to what surely must to him seem like a metaphor, it's that there is one at all -- a touch of bemusement at the choice of 'seaweed', a small lift of a brow, the latter remaining as the former shifts onward to amusement, and all the way to a laugh at Ravn's pun.

"Even without the antlers, sounds like a lot of doe," he remarks, and slides fully back onto his feet, stepping around to the back of the desk and dropping into his own chair. Down to business, indeed. "A'ight. Antonia Simoniescu..." He pulls out the keyboard drawer, tapping something slightly longer than that on the keys -- probably password, first. The screen's not visible from where they sit, and that's probably not an accident of furniture arrangement. "So, the donation is probably going to be the simplest part, unless there's restrictions on where it appears to come from. Beyond the standard legal ones, I mean. " Ravn gets a questioning glance with that; of the three of them in this room, protests aside, that's clearly his baby. What he makes of the combination of the man being explicitly advised to keep it clean and the implication someone might try to make trouble for them -- well, he doesn't hide that some kind of mental note's being made there, but it's not currently being shared with the class.

He turns his attention more toward Seth. "For the cash itself: questions. Bunch of 'em. We're talking a crate of cash that literally washed up on the beach? When'd this happen, and exactly where? What condition are the bills in? How much is actually there? Have you counted it, or are you estimating?" There are a lot of ways those questions could be asked, but the current way is matter-of-fact, all business. "Do you have any idea where it came from, whose it used to be, whether anyone might be looking for it? Markings on the crate? And how fast are you looking to get it all sorted out?" One might get the sense there are even more questions in the offing, but round one is apparently now complete.

Right. There are people that don't know the real things that happen in this town, you used to be one of them Seth...now remember what it was like before your eyes opened. Time to roll with it. "It was a 'gift' from Felix for all intents and purposes, a belated one from the first job I ever did for him...at least according to the note that came with it," Seth says as he looks towards Ravn, clears his throat, before turning his attention back towards Rhys fully. "Nobody is going to miss it, and it is in stacks of bills wrapped in plastic. Clean and pristine, as far as I know. I haven't separated the bundles to do a proper count, but the denominations and quantity I estimate at least a million, closer to two. I just need to get it out of its current form and out from under a tarp in my garage. It's not safe there...yes, I know..but I didn't have anywhere else to put it. Let's just say the fewer questions you have for me, Rhys, the more of a percentage I am willing to offer up for you handling it."

Ravn nods slightly; signifying, perhaps, that he at least intends to ask no further questions about the origin of the money. Maybe he knows full well what kind of work Seth did and does, and doesn't want to know. Maybe he doesn't care. Maybe he's just greedy enough to have decided that money is money, and whatever sucker got dumped in Gray Pond with a couple of new cement loafers won't be coming back to file a complaint anyhow.

Except, well, they probably would, but Rhys probably doesn't know that.

"The only stipulations we have," he says instead, "is from some of our sponsors who want their names kept out of the public eye. They can bear an investigation, should the IRS see fit to conduct one -- nothing illegal there, just people who don't want their names in the tabloids."

"He attached a note?" Yeah, that's the part that has Rhys's brows lifting. Gift in physical form when he could presumably more likely have processed it through the accountant to start with and saved a bunch of crate wrangling -- that's a bit odd, too, but you gotta admit there's something much more impressive about a pallet of cash than a simple change in bank statement.

"In any case, not prying for my own personal curiosity, though I won't claim I don't have any. The fewer questions I ask, the bigger the percentage is gonna be regardless, 'cause I'll have to make all my assumptions on the safe side. That involves more layers, and that," he punctuates it with a point of his finger at the invisible concept, which apparently resides somewhere in front and slightly off to the side, about shoulder height, "involves more expenses. So humour me, yeah? "

Fingers tap against the desktop lightly a couple times, his expression going thoughtful. "One or two mil, closer to two. Okay. First off, let's get it here so I can count it properly and see what exactly we're working with. Plus, we got a vault; safer, gets it out of your garage. Second: time frame. The less of a hurry you're in the less has to go into overhead, but right now." a tiny pause, faint consideration, "we probably can do it quick if the percentages aren't an issue. Third: liquidity versus deniability; keeping it in negotiable form in an offshore account," a flicker of the grin, that being the name of his boat, "-- not mine -- is easiest and quickest access, but hardest to explain if it ever catches someone's attention. Which, obviously, we aim to avoid." But banking (ha) on 100% perfection every time is rarely a good bet. "Various levels of investments come out looking cleaner, but it takes a bit more time and effort when you want them liquid. On the other hand, may increase in value, which doesn't suck. So, where're you thinking, there?"

His attention shifts to more firmly include both of them as he points out, "HOPE's more of a donation than an investment, unless it intends to be the rare and elusive profitable nonprofit. It'd only directly affect you," Seth, "by being tax-deductible, which would involve reporting this as some sort of income, which means Uncle Sam would want his cut. I can get around that by involving some shells, it'll be them donating it, but I just wanna make sure you're both aware it should be essentially considered a gift." A beat, and focusing on Seth again, "Do you particularly want your name in the public eye as a sponsor? Or the private eye, for that matter?" This clearly seems unlikely to him, and the potential double-meaning in the second bit probably isn't accidental.

"I think," Seth says leaning back into his chair and interlacing his fingers, "the only questions anyone might ask would be on the tax side of things if Sam ever got wind of it. I wouldn't expect any other inquiries into its origins, as unique as they may be. I can have the money moved as soon as you want it, just let me know when you want me to transport it over. As far as the timeframe, I'd like to get it in a less physical form as soon as possible, to be honest. It's unwieldy. Sure, cash spends but it is so much easier to deal with digitally. Once it is digital, I could care more about what is happening with it and would leave that up to my accountant. I don't have any plans to be spending it anytime soon, aside from the donation to HOPE, so I am fine with a slow turnaround on whatever happens with it from that point. "

Seth sighs, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck for a moment, "I know it's an ask, Rhys, which is why I am offering to let you set your price. No negotiations. I trust you, and your time is valuable so I am not going to sweat the small stuff and Nicole and dime your commission. You name your price and we call it done."

"HOPE does not hire out and we don't offer services for pay." Ravn nods his awareness of the gift situation. "I'll gladly buy Seth -- and you for that matter -- a beer later but that's about the extent of the return on that investment. What I can promise is that we'll funnel the money into helping people who do need it; people right here in Gray Harbor."

He keeps silent as regards the rest. Obviously he understands 'tax evasion' and 'don't leave a trail, paper or digital'. He also understands 'leave this to the guy who actually knows what he's doing, this is why people hire professionals'.

"Sam's really gotta learn to mind his own business," Rhys says, shaking his head a little as though referring to some meddlesome acquaintance, and he leans back in the chair, spreading his hands. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to argue things here. I just want to make sure everyone's on the same page and not set up for any unpleasant surprises, here. So, okay, quick and quiet, obviously, but donation aside, flexible on ultimate location. Yeah, that's doable."

He's silent a moment, focused aside and slightly upward somewhere in the near distance; calculating, one might guess, particularly as it's followed by, "After the arrangements, my commission, and the donation -- you said you wanted about a quarter of it to go to that, right? -- you're probably going to end up with approximately half the original total, whatever that turns out to be. Obviously I'll do what I can to maximize things, but in the service of 'no surprises'..." Or at least, no later surprises. Hard to be sure what someone expects on this before it's discussed. "Still, if we're talking closer to two million to start? Yeah, that's a good morning's beachcombing right there." Hell, even if they aren't. "I should spend more time on the beach." A grin, of course.

A much shorter moment of thought, and, "It's in, what, hundreds?" He glances at Seth for confirmation even while going on, "'bout a foot square? Or smaller denominations, more like 2-3 feet on a side? Either way, up to you if you want to bring it by later tonight, or tomorrow around about two PM. I just need to know it's coming to meet you." Any remaining questions beyond that, and there probably are a few, can be answered by the cash itself when it arrives.

"I haven't unwrapped them to be sure, but the bundles are like this by this.." Seth says as he holds his hands out about a foot to a foot and a half apart, "And there are about six to eight bundles. Enough to fill the trunk of my car...so maybe I am way off about how much is actually there. If they are all hundreds, well then that would about quintuple the amount I actually thought was there." Seth says with some amazement and reverence in the tone of his voice. "But maybe it is a mix. Won't know for sure till the bundles are unwrapped and counted. I'll have them here tonight."

The amount he may loose to various bribes, commissions, or whatever else needs to be paid out to Rhys or his business partners seems not to bother Seth in the slightest, probably something having to do with the fact this was just free money found on the beach that may just vanish anyway if it isn't used soon enough. "I'm fine with the terms, Rhys. It sounds more than fair."

"Myes," Ravn murmurs, amused. "If beach combing was usually this productive I don't think I would have bothered to get that PhD. Invest in a pair of good shoes and some sun lotion, call it a day. Let me know if you need a hand moving that stuff, Seth. Might be my car attracts less attention in case anyone actually is watching your movements."

He can't worry very much about getting involved in things, can he? Of course it does help that he knows exactly where that money comes from, and that no one is about to come ask for it back. And that car of Seth's -- it's a fine ride, but discreet it ain't. With a glance to said car's owner, the Dane raises one eyebrow, though. "I should probably ask if you have any stipulations -- anything you definitely don't want to see that money spent on. We leave the more -- shall we say, prestigious charities to some of the town's more prominent figures. If it's the kind of stuff that gets you a nice article with a picture in the Gazette, somebody in a suit tends to want the credit. Our work is more... street level, not quite so likely to get anyone voted citizen of the year -- unless the guys under the boardwalk get a vote some day."

The bundle-size demonstration just gets a nod, but the accountant's brows lift a touch at the added note of 'six to eight' of those. Hard to be sure whether it's more surprise or question, as it comes with a hand lifted and held parallel to his desk's top, about a foot high. Definite inquiry regarding that third dimension, at the least. "I'd say I would've skipped college too, but someone's gotta handle the post-discovery end of things..." And speaking of which, "If it is all hundreds, it may take a little more doing to handle it quickly... and you won't want to donate a quarter of that at one time. We can set it up to be a series of smaller donations over time. Keep both of you from showing up too bright on the radar."

His fingertips drum twice on the desk, thoughtful again. "Placement could get tricky," he murmurs, then shakes his head, the grin returning, fainter. "Kinda like playing financial Tetris. It's doable, though. Lemme find out exactly what we're working with, and I can let you know what the details of being able to get at it afterward'll be. I'll get you decent cover, though if you want to be able to use it in any fair-sized chunks, you're gonna have to be patient on that front. Or willing to sacrifice a pretty good chunk to taxes and other overhead. But that," he leans back again in the chair, "is a discussion for later." Ravn's suggestion of using his car gets a slight nod, and the glass of whiskey is lifted to the pair of them. "To beachcombing," he declares, and takes a suitable drink for the toast.

Seth raises his hands in a sign of concurrence, "I trust you, Rhys. I just am going to bring it all over here and leave it in your capable hands to do with what you can in the manner that you seem fit. This is your game, I am just supplying you with the ball, man. I'll have it over to you in a few hours, and yeah...we can use your car Ravn. It should be safer that way because until 30 seconds ago I didn't even know you owned a car. I just assumed you walked everywhere or mooched a ride off me," grins the enforcer with a toothy smile.

Seth rises, offering over his hand to Rhys. "Thanks, Rhys. I appreciate your help, and I won't take up any more of your valuable time. I'll see you, or your staff, in a little bit. I'll give you a heads up to let you know we are on our way in."

"I don't," Ravn replies with a grin. "I rent a cheap car, though -- so I can go into Seattle every once in a while. I keep meaning to have Rosencrantz find me something more suitable but eh... Something always comes up in this town, you know? Anyhow, from our end, money trickling in rather than arriving in big chunks is probably less likely to attract attention -- nonprofits do tend to get a lot of attention from the IRS on basis of often being fronts for money laundering, I'm told." Beat. "Which, I suppose, is now true in our case too, although I can't say I feel particularly bad about it in the given situation."

He too lifts his drink. "To beach combing, and having more luck than I did. Maybe next time I'll find a couple of pretty sea shells, or something." Or another menu from a restaurant on the other side of the planet, or another set of keys for a car that was totalled fifteen years ago.