Family Business
By: Alexander Huls
Tags: Adventure, Crime, Family, Journalism, Creative Writing

ARCHIE MORETTI: This counselor you’re seeing, Vince, has this counselor prescribed any medications? VINCENT MORETTI: No. She’s not even authorized to prescribe any medications. ARCHIE MORETTI: So you’re not on any medication? VINCENT MORETTI: No. ARCHIE MORETTI: Are you able to go to restaurants these days? VINCENT MORETTI: Huh? I’ve been to restaurants, yes. ARCHIE MORETTI: Do you ever go to a restaurant twice in a row? VINCENT MORETTI: Sometimes. ARCHIE MORETTI: You do? VINCENT MORETTI: Yeah. ARCHIE MORETTI: Isn’t there a possibility that someone may poison you once you’ve been there a couple of times? MR. EDMONDS: Objection, argumentative. THE COURT: Sustained.

Vincent, now 23, with pitch black hair and well-deep dark brown eyes inherited from his parents, ended his military career with an honorable discharge from the Army and returned to Milwaukee with a staggering choice to make.

The night his father brought him into his deepest confidences, Vincent’s world shifted on its axis. Ever since, he had been uncertain what to do. He could run fast and far, disavow his parents. He could also pretend he didn’t know what he now knew. But something about the family history — the real family history — seemed to reframe his whole identity almost overnight. The truth was his whole family had existed on the edge of criminality for decades, and maybe that’s who he was, as well. Vincent had seen enough of life to know that these things were never clear cut. Learning to kill in the army certainly put him on an ethical tightrope, and the stakes there were much higher. The kinds of crimes his father was talking about really only hurt large corporations, and the money could do an awful lot to help his family — and, yes, himself — in ways he never dreamed. It was thrilling, terrifying. He had made his decision.

Suspicion still swirled around Archie, so Vincent would have to be the inside man on the next heist. The first step was finding a job that would give him access to vulnerable cash in large quantities. Archie scoured classifieds and took the lead seeking out promising opportunities, which Vincent dutifully applied for. There were a few dead ends, but in early 1998 he submitted an application for a position with American Security Corporations, an armored car company that serviced ATM machines throughout the greater Milwaukee area and had recently opened a new distribution center. Archie did some recon and found out that the ASC employee conducting job interviews was ex-military. He prompted Vincent that his Army background would give him an edge in the interview. As Archie predicted, the interviewer took a liking to Vincent, who was promptly hired on as a shipping and receiving clerk in the company vault, which was located on the basement level of a multistory commercial building.

Working on a small team, Vincent’s job was to prepare containers known as cassettes, which had to be filled with $20-dollar bills. Once prepared, the cassettes would be stacked on a cart, transported through a service hallway, put into a freight elevator, and loaded into the armored trucks waiting in the back alley early each morning en route to hundreds of ATM machines across the city.

Vincent took to the job easily, working hard and remaining as inconspicuous as possible. He talked with colleagues as necessary, and occasionally after work he socialized at a bar called Señor Frog’s next door. He was always careful to guard his personal details, though after a few drinks he loosened up a bit and flirted with local girls. He was in his twenties, and a double life carries a secret agent thrill.

At home, eager to impress his father, Vincent shared his idea for how the theft could play out. His plan was to pretend to lock up the office at the end of the night but leave the vault and a back-alley door unlocked. Then he’d go next door to Señor Frog’s, have a drink, and give himself an alibi. In the meantime, Archie would slip in from the back alley, make his way to the backdoor of the vault office, and swipe the money.

Vincent was proud of the plan, but Archie waved it away. He liked to do things his way, and he barked at Vincent to leave the planning to him. The rejection stung, but Vincent was a member of a team. He was there to do the job, and he put his trust in the chain of command and his father’s confidence.

And there was no shortage of confidence from Archie. One night, out to sushi with his family, he asked Vincent and Marian to raise their glasses. “To a new renaissance,” he toasted.

Marian raised a glass and smiled, but she had been plagued by a gnawing doubt since first learning Archie had asked Vincent to join in another heist. She feared the scheme could turn out badly. Her fear was powerful enough that early on in the planning phase she had vocally objected — something she had never done with Archie. If he had to commit another crime, she asked, would he please do it alone and not involve Vincent?

Archie ignored her, and Marian’s conviction faltered. She had tried her best, but her husband wielded a psychological power over her. She had spent her life putting her trust in him, and it was a hard pattern to break. Out to dinner, and in spite of deep reservations, she raised her glass to her husband’s toast.

On the evening of July 13, 1998, Vincent was working the closing shift with a long-time employee named Karen Busch. The closing procedures for ASC mandated that the vault had to be sealed and locked by two people. Once the heavy door was closed, a dial in the door needed to be spun several times to ensure it was properly closed. All of this was supposed to be done with a second person supervising. But given how late the job could go some nights, it wasn’t uncommon for employees to skirt the rules. Occasionally, one person would offer to close alone so their co-worker could get home.

That evening, Vincent casually made the offer to Busch, whom he knew had a family waiting at home. The offer would have seemed especially generous given that there was additional clean-up to do. There had been a party for a departing employee that day and a large cooler full of melted ice needed to be dumped out.

As if to leave no doubt in her mind, Vincent slammed the vault door in front of her. She accepted and signed the paperwork confirming the vault was locked, even though no one had spun the dial. When she was ready to leave, Vincent escorted Busch up a stairwell that led from the office to the street. He’d never walked her out before, and the gesture struck her as odd. When she arrived on street level, Vincent said goodbye and headed back downstairs.

“Something isn’t right,” she thought, though her mind didn’t leap to criminal suspicion or sketch the outlines of the plan that was already underway. Vincent’s behavior simply struck her as odd, almost anxious.

Downstairs, Vincent hesitated, as if standing on the edge of a precipice. Stepping into it would mean no turning back. To initiate the plan, Vincent would have to take a literal step. There was a patch of floor right next to the vault that was visible from street level through a glass window. Nearby, cloaked in shadow, Archie was peering through the window, waiting. It was up to Vincent to step forward and give the signal.

Vincent took the step. He glanced up and saw his father waiting on the sidewalk looking in at him.

Outside, Archie leapt into action. He walked to the alley where his car was parked and changed clothes. Fifteen minutes later, he entered the ASC office through a rear door that Vincent had left ajar for him. Archie came in wearing a hat and a false beard. He pointed a semi-automatic pistol at Vincent. “Freeze!” he yelled in his most menacing voice. He planned to steal the security footage along with the loot, but there was always a chance he’d miss a camera, and the armed robbery had to be convincing.

Archie ordered Vincent to get on the ground on his stomach. Then he opened the vault, which Vincent had never locked, and handcuffed his son’s hands to its interior gate. Working quickly, Archie helped himself to the stacks of cash. Just as they rehearsed, father and son didn’t say a word to each other while he worked.

Vincent was expecting to be “rescued” sometime after 9 PM. According to company protocol, when the last employees left the vault office they were supposed to set an alarm. If they didn’t, another alarm would sound to indicate something had gone wrong with the closing procedure.

For reasons that remain unclear, the second alarm was never triggered. Vincent, handcuffed and sprawled on the chilly concrete floor, wasn’t found until 5 AM. Throughout those long hours he reminded himself that lofty ambitions require sacrifice, channeling his father’s voice to make the maxim seem convincing. What’s one bad night’s sleep in exchange for a better life?

Vincent was found by coworkers the next day. According to company protocol, the FBI was immediately called in. Now Vincent faced the same crucial moment Archie had in 1995. He’d been able to fool Karen Busch — at least he thought he had — but what about the FBI?

Archie had carefully coached him for this moment. During interviews with authorities, Vincent recited the story his father had fed him: Seconds after Vincent had let Busch out, the thief slipped in the still-open door and put a gun to his head. The man then made him re-open the day gate, handcuffed him to it, robbed the vault, and left. Vincent described the thief as a 20 to 30-year-old white male, 200 pounds, roughly 5’10” and sporting black hair. He also had been wearing a fake beard, a backwards-turned baseball cap, and round glasses that were tinted yellow.

Vincent gave his statement at the scene of the crime and in interviews with detectives and the FBI later. Like his father in 1995, he stuck to his story and did his best to stay calm. He summoned his training as a paratrooper to steady his nerves. Like his father, Vincent was able to return home several hours later, though suspicion swirled around him.

Following the robbery, Archie didn’t return home for two days, a precaution in case he was being followed. When he did, he met Vincent’s curious stare with a smile. Then he grabbed a piece of paper, wrote down a number, and showed it to his son.

Together, they had stolen $765,000 dollars.

The haul was massive, but expectations of the high life quickly evaporated for Vincent.

Instead of his promised half of the heist to spend as he liked, he was given a can of Barbasol shaving cream. Inside the disguised container was Vincent’s money — but not all of it. Archie had strict rules for how the family could spend the ill-gotten gains: “Don’t buy big purchases, don’t make a scene, don’t spend money in a way that would draw attention.” Archie expected those rules to be followed by the whole family, no exceptions.

When Vincent burned through the few thousand dollars his father gave him, he handed over his shaving can and asked Archie for more. His father would drive out to the safety deposit box and refill it. The chump change installments were infuriating. Archie’s rules also dampened the real prize of the heist for Vincent: His father’s trust in him. Now that they had the money, it was clear Archie still thought of his 25-year-old son as a child. Vincent, who had left the army and given up any momentum on a legitimation career, was now financially dependent on his father — so much so that when Archie decided it was time to uproot and move to Portland, Oregon, Vincent had no choice but to follow.

For Archie, a man who had waited his whole life for his due, the next big payday couldn’t come soon enough. Another heist was never far from his mind, and this time he was dreaming bigger than before.