Chapter 3
“What did you say?” Victor whispered.
“I asked about Westbridge,” Nathan said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Victor’s face. “You told me they were an approved partner. But Harbor Crest’s Master Vendor Register is audited annually. I happen to know that no such entity has been cleared by the Board of Directors, the Risk Management Committee, or the State Division of Financial Institutions. So where does Westbridge bank, Victor? Delaware? The Cayman Islands? Or in a private LLC registered to a suburban post office box right here in Franklin County?”
Victor’s mouth worked, but no sound came out for three full seconds. The arrogance that had coated him like armor began to flake off, exposing the desperate animal trapped underneath.
“Who are you?” Victor hissed, leaning over the desk until he was barely a foot from Nathan’s face. His breath smelled of expensive peppermint and sour panic. “Who sent you here? Was it the Regional Director? Is this an internal audit?”
Nathan picked up the contract. With slow, deliberate precision, he tore it in half. Then he tore it again, letting the four neat quarters flutter down onto Victor’s pristine blotter.
“I’m Daniel Miller,” Nathan replied. “A customer who asked what you were doing with his money.”
He stood up. At his full height of six-foot-two, with broad shoulders shaped by years of heavy labor before he ever saw the inside of a boardroom, Nathan towered over the branch manager. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulled out an old leather flip phone—the kind that carried zero internet tracking and cost twenty dollars at a gas station—and flipped it open.
He dialed an eight-digit internal extension that existed on only five rolodexes in North America.
The phone rang twice.
“Mercer Executive Office,” a crisp, professional voice answered.
“Julian,” Nathan said. “It’s me.”
A pause on the other end, followed by the sound of rapid typing. “Mr. Mercer. We’ve been tracking your vehicle beacon outside the Broad Street branch. Are you all right, sir?”
“I’m inside the branch,” Nathan said, keeping his eyes locked on Victor Hale, whose eyes had widened into dinner plates at the name Mercer. “Get Chief Legal Officer Harrison, the Head of Internal Audit, and two state bank examiners on a conference bridge right now. Have Marcus assemble a mobile forensic data recovery unit and dispatch them to Broad Street immediately. And Julian?”
“Yes, Mr. Mercer?”