Tyler tugged at the collar of his shirt as the sun blared down on him. Bees buzzed around and the scent of flowers filed the air. Around the bank, the city of San Marta sprouted upward from the ground. Tall buildings pooled downtown, gradually becoming smaller as the city gave way to suburbs. The bank sat in a strip of buffer area between urban jungle and suburban delight. The smell of people, machines, and gas filled the air. It helped that people were constantly coming and going along the streets surrounding the bank, as well.
The constant sounds didn't help Tyler, though. Anxiety made every sound itch across his thoughts, leaving behind frustration and fear.
He stood on the sidewalk just outside the San Marta Bank as Miranda psyched herself up. Through the huge windows, it seemed the bank was exactly like the one back in Legacy. From floor plan to decor, everything mimicked Legacy's bank. That didn't help Tyler's nerves, though. His 'professional' outfit wasn't helping any, either. The button-down shirt didn't breathe and the slate colored pants were stiff and itchy. He was certain the slacks were strangling his balls, too. He resisted the urge to reach down and adjust for the fifteenth time since he put the pants on.
Miranda, on the other hand, looked like she was in her element. Her crisp outfit – a dark skirt coupled with a white blouse and a hunter green jacket – completed her air of import. The clipboard she hugged to her chest made her more official. As both an heir to bank ownership and a bank manager herself, she was utterly confident. Well, that's what he thought.
On the inside, she shuddered. Any number of things could go wrong. The bank manager inside could call security or even all her family; they could have experience with inspections and point out the flaws in her act. She steeled herself against the worries. This was her bank, just like Legacy's bank was hers. They even looked like the same bank. She took a deep breath and marched forward, into San Marta's branch.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, however, uncertainty pinched at her thoughts. The inside had the same layout as hers, but the employees were completely different. The patrons were more numerous and without names she knew. Her heart shivered. How could she think it'd be exactly the same? Of course the employees and the patrons would be different. On an intellectual level, Miranda knew that. But, the unfamiliarity still gave her pause and still sent a cold chill through her veins.
“Hello, ma'am. How may we help you?” A woman scurried up to her. Her broad smile was outlined with bright red, matching the hints of the cherry red flowers in her blouse's floral design.
“Yes, I'm here for a surprise inspection prompted by the Groves family.” Miranda forced her shoulders to relax. Plastering on her own smile, she eased into her role. An inspection headed by the Groves. It wasn't an altogether lie. She was part of the Groves family, after all. She motioned to Tyler, who forced a curt smile to his lips. Her mind buzzed, realizing it wouldn't be smart to introduce him by his given name. “This is my assistant, Mr. Flaherty.”
“I'll get Mr. Cross,” the woman sputtered and ducked off. Miranda could feel the eyes of the tellers float toward her as the greeter muttered and whispered her status to them. The bankers suppressed the urge to grimace and roll their eyes. No one liked inspections, in any area of business. She supposed that was a good first step. They, at least, thought the ploy was truthful.
Miranda and Tyler quietly milled about the lobby of the bank. She pretended to survey the area critically and make notes on her clipboard. She made a show of checking everything from deposit slips to the arrangement of promotional material. She even went so far to flutter papers and make marks on the papers she carried. Anything to look official.
He tried to remain nonchalant and at ease, though he felt like people were eyeing him, just waiting for him to rob the place. It made him awkward and wary. If anything made this ploy disintegrate, it'd be him.
“Ms. Groves, what a pleasure!” A ruddy-faced man with a bristling mustache chugged into the waiting area. He was rotund and chipper, almost like a cartoon character. He paused right in front of Miranda and proffered a handshake. “I wasn't aware the Groves were doing inspections!”
“Surprise,” she chuckled in forced cheer as she took his hand. His palm was surprisingly warm and smooth. After he released her hand, she adjusted the clipboard in her arms, as if to glance at some paperwork. “My father wanted to check up on a few random locations. Just going over some basic functions, checking on security protocols, and the like.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Mr. Cross nodded his head enthusiastically. His eyes twinkled with delight and Miranda go the distinct feeling he took pride in his bank. There was a sharpness under his professional delight, though. “But, first, may I see your employee ID and another form of identification?”
* * *
In no time at all, Mr. Cross had led Miranda into the basement under the pretense of surveying the protocols with the deposit boxes. She tried to stave off her nervousness as they descended into the bowels of the bank. The farther they climbed down the stairs, the colder the chill in the air became. The lively sounds of the bank drifted away, replaced by the buzz of electricity and Mr. Cross's ramblings on security.
As expected, the bank manager had asked Tyler to stay in the lobby, since he didn't have security credentials to see the boxes. Miranda glanced at her watch, chewing on the inside of her cheek. He'd be creating a diversion soon.
About three minutes after he left, Tyler would go up to a teller. He'd ask where the closest bathroom was and disappear around the corner. Maybe he'd spend some time in the restroom, if busybody tellers were watching him. It'd be a few minutes before he could sneak out of the restroom and sneak off down the hallway. Close to the bank's side exit, where Legacy tellers went to go take a smoke break, a bright red box jutted from the wall. A quick pull, flashing lights, and an alarm.
Her grip on the clipboard tightened and her heart pounded in her chest. She made vaguely appreciative grunts and 'uh-huhs' at intervals when Mr. Cross lulled in conversation or showed her something of import.
They went through three security doors, each one opened by his ID badge. The last room was rather large with the walls lined in a grid-like pattern, thanks to the safety boxes' faces. There was enough coldness in the air to make Miranda feel as if the air conditioner were on. The light splashed across the silver walls, catching the textures in the faceplates.
In the middle of the room, a rectangular table squatted made of metal and painted a shiny black. Atop the table, a fat three-ring binder laid open. It was flipped open to a piece of paper that possessed a chart. The date, a teller's signature, the patron's signature, and the number of the box accessed spread across the sheet. Unable to help herself, Miranda glanced over the spreadsheet. The last time a safety deposit box was opened was yesterday in the afternoon. Someone by the name of 'Deidre Baxter' had opened her security box.
Mr. Cross stood off to the side while Miranda eyed the faceplates of the deposit boxes. No names were scrawled across the boxes. Obviously, for safety matters. There were numbers that corresponded to the holder. The list of patrons, and their numbers, existed in a master list elsewhere. Still, Miranda couldn't help but wonder if one of the boxes – or maybe many of them – belonged to Peter Delaney.
She could feel Mr. Cross's stare on her back. He was waiting for her slew of questions. He must have prepared daily for inspections, simply to show off his managerial skills. She puttered back to the table at the center of the room. Well, he probably expected her to ask questions. “Who has access to these safety boxes?”
“Only my most trusted and most senior tellers,” replied the man, chest puffed out in pride. He set his shoulders and seemed to stand straighter, as if he were a commander about to be given another badge.
“And they all sign the log?” She tried not to sound bored as she glanced over the sheet, once again. Not that looking at the spreadsheet helped her, in any way, but it assisted her role as inspector. There was no way to confirm whether or not Pete had a security box until they weaseled into the system. It was the same system she used at the Legacy bank and, short of stealing a random assortment of boxes, was pretty secure. Few were allowed without clearance and, those who were allowed, were supposed to sign the log. If they didn't, the security tapes would act as a back up.
“There are also various security cameras surveying this room.”
“Good, good,” muttered Miranda, absently. She clicked her pen and lifted the paper, pretending to mark something down on the clipboard. Her pen scrawled across the paper in little, scribbling circles.
A flickering light caught Miranda's attention a split second before the keening alarm blared through the air. The lights dimmed, emergency lights flickered, and an automated voice mechanically sputtered across the intercom.
“That's the fire alarm,” gasped Mr. Cross, eyebrows furrowed and concern dotting his brow. His gaze swung to the red box clinging to the wall, close to the ceiling. He shook his head and motioned back toward the stairs, “We'll need to return to the ground floor. I'm so sorry, Ms. Groves.”
“Don't be sorry, Mr. Cross. These things happen.” Miranda tried to hide her relief as she followed the bank manager up the stairs.