nearby. A businessman standing near the private banking entrance glanced over, adjusting
his silk tie. A wealthy-looking woman waiting for a teller turned her head, her perfectly
manicured hand resting on a diamond necklace. They watched with mild, detached
curiosity, sensing a disturbance in their pristine ecosystem.
Elena didn't smile. She didn't look embarrassed by the attention. She remained
perfectly still, a rock in a stream of disdain.
Andrew lowered his voice, adopting a tone he might use with a confused elderly
person. "Ma'am, perhaps you should speak with a manager. This is highly irregular."
"I'd be happy to," Elena replied instantly.
"I'll call someone," Andrew said, reaching for his desk phone with a dramatic sigh.
But before his fingers could touch the receiver, Elena spoke again, her voice cutting
through the air like a razor blade wrapped in silk. "There's no need to make this
complicated, Mr. Miller."
Andrew paused, his hand hovering over the phone. He looked at her, mildly surprised
she had read his name tag. "I agree. Which is why I’m getting my manager."
He picked up the check once more, tapping it against the counter. "You understand that
large transactions require verification, don't you? The Bank Secrecy Act? Anti-money
laundering protocols?"
"Of course," Elena said.
"We will need comprehensive identification," Andrew said, ticking items off on his
fingers.
"I have it."
"We will need documentation regarding the source of funds."
"I have the documents."
Andrew stared at her. For the first time since she had approached his counter, his smug
smile faltered. He had expected her to backtrack, to act flustered, to grab the check and run
out of the building. Instead, she was looking at him with utter, terrifying calmness.
"Documents?" Andrew repeated, the word tasting strange in his mouth.
Elena slowly unzipped her small, scuffed leather handbag. She reached inside and
retrieved a thick, heavy-stock manila folder. It looked out of place coming from such a small
bag, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. She placed it squarely on the counter, next
to the check.
She opened the cover. Inside was a stack of perfectly organized, legally bound
paperwork. There were corporate entity papers stamped with state seals. There were
signed legal affidavits. There were notarized transfer instructions. And sitting on top of it all
was a formal letter of authentication printed on the thick, watermarked stationery of
Sterling, Vance & Sterling—one of the most prestigious, expensive, and ruthless corporate
law firms in the world.
Andrew looked at the first page. His eyes scanned the firm’s letterhead.
He turned to the second page, reading the names of the corporate entities involved.
His face, previously flushed with arrogant amusement, began to drain of color. The
smugness evaporated, replaced by a creeping, cold sensation in his gut. The documents
were flawless. The seals were real. The signatures belonged to senior partners at a firm that
Harrington & Cole regularly did business with.
"This is..." Andrew started, his voice suddenly sounding thin and reedy.
"Everything you need," Elena finished for him.
Andrew swallowed hard. The lump in his throat felt the size of a golf ball. "I... I'll need
to have someone verify this."
"That's fine," Elena said, her voice gentle but firm. She watched him intently.