Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I angle toward a set of waiting couches and sit down daintily on the edge of one. Brenden lingers at my side, flipping open a lighter—the same stolen lighter we took from the Davises. It looks impossibly average in the wealthy surroundings.
“Good job out there, Reginald,” I mutter to him, keeping an insipid smile on my face.
“You also, darling. It’s like you were born for this.”
“I was.” I sit straight-backed proper, channeling my inner Annie yet again. I’m a pale imitation of my sister, but that’s still good enough to pass in a place like this. “Follow my lead and we might get through.”
An older gentleman in a three-piece suit comes hurrying over about ten minutes later. Brenden stays silent, scowling like the wait was unacceptable, while Mr. Wright introduces himself as the branch manager.
“I’ve been told you have a safe deposit box to inspect? One that was passed down through the family? I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you for the condolences, Mr. Wright.” I offer my hand and Brenden helps me to my feet. “But we are very busy and would appreciate your assistance in expediting this process.”
“Naturally, naturally.” He rubs his hands together. “But you must understand, we don’t often get unrecognized visitors. Have either of you been here before?”
“As we told your man out front, this is not our normal business.”
“Yes, I completely understand, and I do apologize for the wait. The Bridled Trust is a very old institution and we take our security and our privacy very seriously.”
“Security?” Brenden says it with a beautiful scoff. “Are you making insinuations, sir?”
“Of course not, I never would, but even still.” He smiles, perfectly obsequious, but it’s about as real as his floppy hair. This man’s a snake under his polite exterior. “We cannot be too careful.”
“What can we do to move the process along then?” I yawn, covering my mouth.
“Documentation, for starters. Identification. And I’d like to inspect the key, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Go on, dear, give him the key.” I wave my hand at Brenden. “And can you please produce your cards? You do have your wallet?”
“Always.” Brenden hands over the key and shows his fake ID. “Although I didn’t know we were in communist Russia showing our papers!”
Mr. Wright chuckles like that’s not the first time he’s heard that comment before briskly walking off. I lean on Brenden’s arm, playing the bored and tired rich lady role to the best of my ability while suppressing the urge to panic.
“Is that fake going to pass?” I ask casually, glancing around the vaulted ceiling for cameras. I force myself to stop since that’s even more suspicious.
“It’ll pass, darling, don’t you worry.” He leans in closer. “But I have no clue who registered that box and what our friend is going to think when he looks into it.”
I’m on edge but do my best to show only mild irritation and boredom. Brenden pretends like he’s soothing me and we fake a conversation about antiques. Mr. Wright is gone another agonizing ten minutes before he steps out of a nearby office with a young woman at his beck, her blond hair perfectly blown out.
“Here you are, I apologize to keep you waiting.” Mr. Wright hands back the ID card and the key. Brenden passes the key to me. “Ms. Shippens will show you to the boxes. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” I can’t tell what’s going on in Mr. Wright’s head, but he only stands and watches as the young woman leads us down a hall.
She talks amiably about the bank and its history. I’m barely paying attention. My heart’s racing as we’re taken deeper and I can’t believe this is actually working. When we arrive in the secure room which contains the boxes, I feel like I might be sick. Ms. Shippens barely notices though as she quickly and professionally unlocks and removes a long metallic container, sliding it straight from the wall. She places it down on a table at the center of the room.
“If you need anything else, I’ll be in the hall, and thank you for your trust.” She shows her teeth in a wide, fake smile, and disappears.
I go to rip open the lid but Brenden stops me. He waits, watching the door with a calculating frown.
“That was too easy,” he says quietly.
“We’re here. What else do you want?”
“I don’t know.” Another few seconds before he pulls back. “Alright, open it.”
I pull the lid, my heart hammering, hands clammy and sticky. I keep waiting for something to jump out and attack us.
Instead, there’s only a single book. It’s a ledger and not an expensive one: black paper cover, metal rings, thin paper on the inside. The sort of thing you could get at a business supply store for less than a dollar.
But it’s filled with writing. Cramped, tight, neat penmanship. I note times, descriptions, places I recognize, and dozens of names. I’m tempted to sit down and start parsing through it, but Brenden’s already shoving the box back into its place in the wall and locking it tight.