He’d also taken two short calls from Agent Jackson. He read somewhere that fifty-six seconds of connection was necessary to track a call. He wasn’t sure if that were true, but to be safe, he kept their conversations under that mark. Understandably, the FBI wanted more; nevertheless, Tony divulged just enough to keep them pacified.
“Yes, I’m in Europe”—“No, I haven’t been in contact with anyone in the States”—“Yes. If I didn’t have the damn phone, then you wouldn’t be talking to me now”—“Goodbye.” Although he hated the monitoring, thinking about the calls made Tony grin. Each time he kept the information limited and heard the distain in Agent Jackson’s voice, Tony felt like he’d accomplished a small victory. Maybe it was only one hand in an all-night card game; nonetheless, each winning hand adds to the final jackpot.
The razor pulled at his facial hair as Tony worked to, once again, become Anton Rawls. The financial institution was a mere drive from the hostel where he’d slept. Although his body ached from the too soft bed, it was nothing compared to the mayhem cursing through his mind. After all these days, his goal was so close.
During the last few weeks, he’d learned to utilize public transportation, but Tony knew that wouldn’t do for the bank; therefore, dressed in his new, finest suit, Tony entered the lobby of one of the nearby five star hotels and casually ate breakfast in one of its finer restaurants. No one questioned his presence—he obviously belonged. Tony wanted to enjoy the fine cuisine. Undoubtedly, it was the best he’d eaten in a while, but his thoughts of the safety deposit box wouldn’t allow the aroma or taste of Eggs Benedict to register. When he was done, he exited the front door, told the bellman to flag him a cab, and rode to the bank. On any other day, it would have been a customary thing for him to do, but today it was revolutionary.
No one within the financial institution questioned his identity. Even if they’d seen him before, he was the same Anton Rawls who always visited the institution—the only one to access the safety deposit box in the last twenty-five years.
When presented with the customary ledgers, Tony stared at the list of signatures. There were his own—or more accurately—Anton Rawls written repeatedly; however, that wasn’t what caught Tony’s attention. That wasn’t what caused his neck to straighten and his jaw to clench. The last two signatures—directly above where he was about to sign—were from Marie Rawls. The first signature was dated: 11-09-13. It always took a minute to remember that not everyone dated as Americans did. The numbers he saw meant: eleventh day, ninth month of the thirteenth year. The second signature was signed two days later.
Speaking perfect French, Anton inquired, “Who is this? Did someone else access my box?”
The employee looked puzzled, read the signature, and then referred to some documents. When he was done, he sheepishly replied, “Yes, sir, your safety deposit box can be accessed by two individuals—you and a Marie Rawls. It appears that the woman who was here presented the clerk with appropriate identification.” Then he asked, “Mr. Rawls, is there a problem?”
Tony could barely see. He didn’t know what this meant—except that he needed to see inside his safety deposit box and verify his accounts. His short, curt words revealed his obvious displeasure, “There better not be. I want to see my box immediately.”
“Yes, sir, I need your key, please.”
Tony handed him the key and followed the nervous man into the vault. The process of inserting both keys took longer than Tony ever remembered. He knew it was his impatience; however, he swore the whole thing was happening in slow motion. Once the box was removed, Tony followed the employee into a private room.
“Sir, do you want me to stay?”
“No, leave.” His directive was more of a growl as his dark gaze assaulted the bank’s employee. Tony didn’t care; he wanted the man gone. He needed to see what was inside the box—or more accurately—what may be missing, in private.
The employee stepped quietly from the room and Tony opened the box. In all the years he’d transferred and reinvested Nathaniel’s funds, never had the contents of this box taken him by surprise—until now.
Instead of the customary documents, Tony reached into the depths of the steel container and removed a disposable international cell phone. It was very similar to the one he had for the FBI. Along with the phone, there was also a charger and an envelope.
He wasn’t sure if his shaking hands were from rage or fear. His entire plan rested on the collection of these funds. If his money wasn’t here, where was it? Tony thought back to the dates on the signatures: September 9 and 11. During those days, Catherine was in Iowa—with him. Who else could know about this?
Tony opened the envelope to a letter that was very short—and unsigned:
Congratulations, you’ve found your way to this clue.
I can’t be sure who’ll be reading this note, so I can only say that you’ve passed your first test. Congratulations—I believe that deserves a positive Consequence.