Chapter 4
“Call the Columbus Field Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tell Special Agent Vance that the Harbor Crest financial exploitation pattern we discussed on Tuesday isn't a training issue. It’s grand larceny, wire fraud, and racketeering. Have them bring federal warrants for every server, workstation, and safe deposit log in this building.”
Victor’s knees seemed to buckle. He reached out blindly, grabbing the edge of his high-backed leather chair to steady himself.
“Mercer?” Victor croaked, his voice cracking into a thin, breathless rasp. “Nathan… Nathan Mercer?”
Nathan snapped the flip phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket.
The entire lobby had fallen into a tomb-like quiet. The elderly couple waiting near the loan desks had stopped talking. The teller at Station Two had ceased counting bills. In Station Four, Leah Dawson stood with her hand pressed against her mouth, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
Nathan turned to Frank.
“Frank, you’ve worked this branch a long time, haven't you?”
“Seven years, sir,” the older guard muttered, taking off his peaked cap and holding it in both hands, looking between Nathan’s worn boots and the shattered expression on his manager’s face.
“Lock the exterior entrance doors,” Nathan instructed, his voice ringing across the marble columns with absolute clarity. “Let the customers who are already inside finish their business or leave through the side exit if they prefer. But no bank personnel—not Mr. Hale, not the loan officers, not the shift supervisors—leaves this building until federal agents arrive. If anyone attempts to delete a file, shred a sheet of paper, or access the private safe deposit vaults, consider it an active crime scene.”
Frank didn't hesitate. He looked at Victor, whose mouth was hanging open like a broken hinge, then back at Nathan.
“Yes, Mr. Mercer,” Frank said, turning on his heel and marching toward the heavy glass double doors with his keys already in hand.
Within twenty-five minutes, the street outside the Broad Street branch had ceased to be an ordinary downtown thoroughfare.
Three black Suburbans with tinted windows and government plates pulled onto the sidewalk, followed by a mobile digital forensic trailer bearing the logo of Mercer Capital Group’s Private Security Division. Behind them came four unmarked cruisers from the Ohio Department of Commerce Division of Financial Institutions and two cruisers from the Columbus Police Department.
The heavy brass doors swung open, and Marcus Harrison, Nathan’s Chief Legal Counsel, marched into the lobby. Harrison was sixty, with silver hair, a charcoal bespoke three-piece suit, and the predatory calm of a former federal prosecutor who had put seventy corporate embezzlers behind bars. Behind him walked Special Agent Daniel Vance of the FBI, accompanied by four agents carrying silver Pelican cases filled with hard-drive cloning gear.