Page 132 of This Life of Mine

Not the behavior of a man orchestrating a conspiracy. The behavior of a man quietly investigating one.

I turn another page. A transfer catches my eye. Three hundred thousand dollars. Same company. Same red circle.

My jaw tightens.

Maybe David doesn’t know what’s happening. Maybe he’s only seeing pieces. Following breadcrumbs. Asking questions. The same questions I am.

I photograph every page. “Sending something over now.”

Reese is quiet for several seconds, then. “Hmmm,” Reese says.

“What do you see?” I ask.

“Some of these companies don’t actually appear to do anything.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they’re either laundering money or hiding it.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

I continue searching. Nothing else jumps out. Whoever built this operation knows how to hide their tracks. Which means the real information won’t be here. It’ll be at the source. The bank.

Before leaving, I pull a small device from my pocket. No larger than a USB drive. I kneel beneath David’s desk and attach it to the underside. A tiny green light flashes once before disappearing. I then place a tiny camera on one of the picture frames facing the desk.

“You’re in,” I say to Reese.

Reese sounds far too happy based on the eager clicking from his keyboard.

“I’ll have eyes on the office twenty-four seven now.”

“Good.”

Chapter forty-one

Alex

Ileave the estate knowing where to go next. The Allister family bank. The drive should take twenty-three minutes. Twenty-one if traffic cooperates.

Halfway there, I pull into an empty office parking lot and park beneath the shade of an oak tree. The tactical gear goes into a locked compartment beneath the rear seat.

The transformation takes less than three minutes. The black button-down comes first. Then the dark Italian charcoal suit. Italian leather shoes. A stainless-steel Rolex watch. The glasses are unnecessary, but they help complete the image. When I finish, the man staring back from the rearview mirror looks nothing like someone who spent the last hour breaking into a mansion. He looks educated. Important. Trustworthy.

Appearances are funny like that. People see a suit and assume competence and authority. Most never stop to question either.

I straighten the cuffs and glance at the credentials Reese pushed into the bank’s employee directory thirty minutes ago. The photo is mine. The title is impressive. The digital footprintis convincing. The rest is theater. And I’ve always been good at theater.

As I pull up to the bank, I’ve already become someone else. Not Alex. Not the Wraith. Just another man from corporate security investigating a potential compliance issue.

The branch manager greets me with the nervous smile people reserve for authority figures. Perfect.

People who are nervous want to be helpful. The credentials Reese inserted into their system get me through the first layer. The suit gets me through the second. Confidence handles the rest.

Most security systems aren’t built around locks, cameras, or encryption. They’re built around assumptions. The assumption that someone who looks like they belong must belong, or that authority is legitimate.

I offer a firm handshake. Use the right jargon. Ask the right questions. Within minutes, doors begin opening. Access is granted.

Ten minutes later, I’m being escorted through a secured hallway. The manager talks while we walk, but I barely listen. My attention is on the systems, the access points, and the cameras. The employee workstations and any potential vulnerabilities.