"Mr. Pendelton," Andrew whispered into the phone, turning his back to Elena to hide his sheer panic. "This is Miller down at Counter Seven. I need... I need you down here immediately."
"Miller? What is it?" The voice of Arthur Pendelton, the Senior Vice President of Retail Operations, crackled through the earpiece. "I’m in the middle of a prep meeting for the quarterly earnings call. This better be a robbery."
"I have a walk-in," Andrew stammered, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, ruining his matte skin finish. "She’s presenting a certified check for four point eight million. And she’s... she’s carrying paperwork from Sterling, Vance & Rothschild."
There was a dead, heavy silence on the other end of the line. When Pendelton finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a frantic, hushed hiss.
"Did you say Sterling, Vance?"
"Yes, sir."
"What is the name on the account?"
"Aegis Vanguard LLC. The signatory is a woman named Elena Brooks."
The sound of a heavy crystal tumbler shattering against a desk echoed through the phone line.
"Miller," Pendelton breathed, sounding as though all the air had been violently punched out of his lungs. "Listen to me very, very carefully. Do not move. Do not speak to her. Do not offer her a pen. Do not breathe heavily in her direction. I am coming down in the private elevator right now. If she leaves before I get there, you are not just fired. I will personally ensure you never work in the financial sector of this hemisphere again. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Andrew squeaked, his voice cracking entirely.
The line went dead.
Andrew slowly hung up the phone. He turned back around to face the counter. His perfectly tailored suit suddenly felt like a straitjacket. He looked at Elena. She was still standing there, looking perfectly relaxed, her hands resting easily on the marble counter.
"Mr. Pendelton is coming down personally to assist you, Ms. Brooks," Andrew said, his voice trembling so badly he could barely form the words. He used her name for the first time, lacing it with a pathetic, desperate respect.
"Excellent," Elena said, her voice mild. "I look forward to meeting Arthur. I’ve heard so much about him."
Andrew felt his stomach plummet into his shoes. She knew Pendelton’s first name.
Less than ninety seconds later, the frosted glass doors of the private banking wing burst open. Arthur Pendelton, a heavy-set man in a $6,000 charcoal pinstripe suit, came practically sprinting across the lobby. He was fifty-five years old, usually red-faced and boisterous, but right now, his complexion was the color of old oatmeal. He was sweating profusely, dabbing at his bald head with a silk pocket square as he power-walked toward Counter Seven.
The wealthy clients in the lobby stared in shock. Vice Presidents of Harrington & Cole did not run. They glided. Seeing Arthur Pendelton sprint was akin to seeing a ghost ship suddenly appear in the harbor.
Pendelton reached the counter, completely ignoring Andrew, and skidded to a halt in front of Elena. He took one look at her faded denim jacket, her simple black shirt, and the devastatingly powerful paperwork resting on the counter. He didn't see cheap clothes; his highly trained corporate instincts saw the apex predator that Andrew’s superficial eyes had missed. He saw the supreme confidence of someone who had nothing left to prove.
"Ms. Brooks," Pendelton gasped, catching his breath, extending a trembling, fleshy hand. "I am Arthur Pendelton, Senior Vice President. It is a profound, profound honor to have you in our branch today. I cannot apologize enough for any delay you might have experienced."
Elena did not take his hand. She looked down at it for a moment, then looked up into Pendelton’s terrified eyes.
Slowly, painfully, Pendelton lowered his hand to his side.
"There was no delay, Arthur," Elena said, her voice smooth and cold. "Mr. Miller here was simply being... extremely thorough. He was deeply concerned that a woman dressed like me couldn't possibly be in legitimate possession of such a significant sum of money. He even laughed. It was very amusing."
Pendelton turned his head slowly to look at Andrew. The look in the Vice President’s eyes was one of pure, homicidal fury. If looks could physically incinerate a human being, all that would have been left of Andrew Miller was a pile of expensive ash and a silk tie.
"He... he laughed?" Pendelton whispered, his voice trembling with rage.
"Only twice," Elena corrected helpfully.
Andrew gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. He felt dizzy. The marble floor seemed to be tilting beneath his feet.
"Ms. Brooks," Pendelton said, turning back to her and executing a slight, deferential bow. "Please, allow me to personally escort you up to our executive suite. We have private lounges, refreshments... whatever you require. I will handle this deposit myself, and we can discuss your broader portfolio with our managing directors."
"That sounds acceptable," Elena said. She reached out, picked up her worn leather handbag, and slung it over her shoulder. She left the check and the massive folder of legal documents sitting on the counter.
Pendelton immediately lunged forward, gathering the paperwork to his chest as if it were a newborn infant, treating the documents with the reverence of holy relics.
"Right this way, please," Pendelton stammered, gesturing wildly toward the frosted glass doors.
Elena took a step toward the executive wing, then stopped. She turned back and looked at Andrew, who was standing frozen behind the counter, looking like a man awaiting the firing squad.