Page 96 of Nothing to Fear

“I’m afraid it’s our policy that we need twenty-four hours to fulfill such a request,” Mr. Walters said. “At the very least, we’d need until the end of the business day.”

“And you wonder why I’m unhappy with your service? I have several important associates who use this bank. Perhaps I should recommend that they transfer their accounts as well.” She was aiming for nonchalant but feared she might’ve overshot toward desperate.

Mr. Walters cleared his throat. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Let me speak with my boss.”

He pressed a combination of two buttons on the keyboard at the same time—most likely locking his screen—grabbed her passport, and headed for the door.

“A moment of your patience, please, while I see how we can best accommodate you.”

Mr. Walters taking her passport hadn’t been part of the plan or the models they’d rehearsed. She shot a look at Gideon and began drumming her thigh.

He rested a hand on top of hers, stilling her fingers. “Everything will be fine.”

Willow clasped her hands in her lap.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I apologize for the delay.” Mr. Walters hightailed it out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him skedaddle upstairs. A panicky unease bubbled inside her. “What do we do?”

Willow turned to find Gideon behind the desk in front of the computer. She’d never heard him move.

“Come on. Use your back door to get in and save the files.” He waved the thumb drive at her.

They’d spent three days waiting for this, and now things were moving at high speed.

She flew to her feet, zipping around to the other side of the desk. At the blinking password prompt, she entered her preestablished rootkit code, which the operating system recognized as an administrator log-in.

“We’re in.” She accessed the offshore account files and typed in her name.

Gideon kept an eye on the lobby from the door, waiting for a sign of Mr. Walters. “Hurry, Willow. Once he comes back, we may not get another opportunity.”

Scrolling through the fake data in her staged account as quickly as her fingers would allow, she searched for anything that might be useful.

None of the signatures on the first five documents matched hers. Helpful, but far from concrete evidence. A folder labeled verification documents was at the bottom of the list. A copy of the passport would be in there.

Please, don’t let it be my picture.

She scrolled to the icon, her stomach turning over, and opened the folder. Four documents. One was a pdf of the passport.

This had to be the proof they needed. It had to be. Holding her breath, she clicked the file.

Her heart shriveled to the size of a dried prune as she looked at the image and the photo stared back. Comprehension rushed through her like a violent tide, hope draining from her.

“It’s my picture.” She fought not to throw up. “It’s me.”

Tension cut grooves on Gideon’s face. He hustled to the desk and glanced at the screen. “That’s your indoc picture from the day you in-processed.”

“How can you tell?”

“Sapphire dress. The lanyard around your neck from your temporary badge.”

She stared at him, wind-knocked-out-of-her shocked the traitor had the foresight to use a work photo and that Gideon remembered what she’d been wearing on her first day, three years ago. “How could the bank let someone else open an account using my picture?”

“If the woman was wearing a hat and sunglasses like you are now and had a million dollars to deposit, I’m sure they didn’t scrutinize the photo too closely.” He clasped her shoulder. “There has to be something to exonerate you. Keep looking.”

She sucked in a shaky breath and scanned the other documents. All of them were littered with her personal information, further cementing her guilt. She scoured every file name under the account, stopping on the beneficiary form. She opened the document and scrolled to the bottom.

A cold pit opened inside her like a grave. “Oh no.”