“We used to stay at—where was it in Zurich?—at the . . .” Cesar struggles for a name I have no trouble remembering. “The Dolder Grand,” he says at last. “A six-star hotel on top of a hill.” It’s a five-star hotel, actually, but I resist the impulse to correct him. “That’s where we’d have meetings and see clients. The group I worked with was called Badische Anlage Treuhand.” I fake a confused look. “Treuhand means trust in German,” Cesar explains. “Prince Robert von Badische was the chairman of the Trust.” I start writing. B-A-D-D— “No,” Cesar corrects. “It’s spelled B-A-D-I-S-C-H-E.” “Got it. Thanks. And how did you meet this Prince Robert fellow?” “Through the administrator of the Trust. We used to do import-export involving urea fertilizers and debt-for-equity swaps on behalf of the Venezuelan Development Corporation in the Lincoln Building. I introduced the administrator to his current wife. He loves Latinas.” “What kind of company was Badische?”
