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“Don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, but it might not be in the D.C. bank,” Riley said.
“Nevertheless, I want it.”
“You can’t just withdraw the gold. It isn’t done.”
“Can I look at it?”
“Excuse me?” Riley said.
“Can I look at my gold?” Emerson asked.
“Why?”
“It’s my gold. I ought to be able to look at it.”
Riley narrowed her eyes and dug in. “It might be too much of a security risk.”
“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to steal it? I can’t. It’s my gold.”
“You can’t just look at it.” Riley was doing her best to speak with authority, but truth is, she was feeling a little out of her depth. Harvard Business School hadn’t prepared her for this.
“Why not?” He sat forward on his chair. “You don’t know where my gold is, do you?”
Riley met his gaze. “I don’t know where your gold physically is. But I can assure you that it is perfectly safe.”
“As far as you know?”
“I can’t know any further than that.”
He cocked his head. “I like that. That’s good. I’m going to remember that.” Emerson looked at her quite seriously. “Miss Moon, how long have you been working at Blane-Grunwald?”
“Just a short time.”
“How short?”
“I started last week.”
“Good,” he said. “Then we can learn together.” He got up and walked toward the doors. “Come on.”
“Come on where?”
“To the bank. To get my gold. You have to drive. I forgot to renew my license.”
Crap on a cracker, Riley thought. Her assignment was to placate the client, not bring him in to withdraw his fortune.
“I can’t just drive you to the bank and give you the gold,” she said to Emerson.
“Sure, you can. We’ll go see your boss.”
“You need an appointment.”
“Nonsense. I’m really, really rich, remember? I don’t need appointments.”
Aunt Myra handed Emerson a tweedy gray sports jacket as he went out the front door and told him to behave himself.
“Of course,” Emerson said, the tone suggesting that he couldn’t care less about his behavior.
