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One of the guards checks our IDs and then escorts us to one of the bankers.
“Geez, they’re sticklers for safety,” I whisper to Cam, who just nods stiffly.
Maybe he’s more nervous than I am.
This part of the day runs pretty much the way I thought it would. We’re escorted to a little office where a banker collects my identification and the death certificate I brought with me. Then, he leaves—I assume to verify my information.
“I wonder—”
But Cam cuts me off by leaning over to kiss me, then whispers in my ear, “We’re being watched.”
I fold my lips closed, and the nerves start to set in.
Of course, we’re being watched. Why didn’t I think of that? This isn’t your friendly neighborhood credit union, for God’s sake.
It feels like we wait forever, but when I glance at my watch, it’s only been ten minutes when a different banker returns, his face in serious lines.
“I’m Mr. Santiago,” he says. “I’ve verified that you are the beneficiary on the account in question. The death certificate is in order. How would you like the funds?”
“How much is it?”
His lips tighten.
“It’s not like I’ve been receiving regular bank statements.”
Mr. Santiago turns to the computer and taps some keys. “Seven hundred thousand, eight hundred and seventeen dollars and thirty-six cents.”
I stare at him, stunned.
That’s a hell of a lot more than five hundred thousand.
“If you issue me a cashier’s check—”
“We should wire transfer this much money,” he says, cutting me off.
“Of course.” I glance at Cam, who nods and takes my hand reassuringly. “I’m sorry, I’m not thinking straight. I have my account information.”
“Excellent. We will transfer the funds, and you will check with your bank to ensure the money has been received.”
It takes no time at all. Before I know it, while on the phone with my bank in Washington, I’m the better part of a million dollars richer.
“Is that all?” Mr. Santiago asks.
“No.” I pull the key out of my purse. “There’s a safety deposit box here that I also need to collect.”
He goes back to tapping those keys, then hums. “I don’t see one.”
“Listed under Lemonade, LLC,” Cam replies.
More tapping.
“Here it is. Let me verify something.” Mr. Santiago narrows his eyes, scrolls through the screen, and then nods. “Yes, here it is. You are the beneficiary. I’ll show you back.”
There’s no paperwork from the money transfer, which feels a little weird to me, but I guess that’s the whole point of this place.
No paper trail.
We’re shown down a long hallway and into another small room with a table and three chairs.
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll go get the box.”
“We’ll accompany you,” Cam replies. “You understand.”
“Of course.”
The room is massive. Rows and rows of boxes, that have to be twenty feet high. Mr. Santiago finds the correct box and slides a key in, then I slide my key in, and we turn them together.
The door opens and reveals a simple metal box, just like in the movies.
“You may look through the contents here, or in the room we were in before.”
“I might need to sit down,” I reply. “Can we please go back to the other room?”
“Of course.”
He says that a lot. I briefly wonder if it’s the same as when southern women say, “Bless your heart.”
Santiago leaves the room, and Cam and I sit next to each other, the unopened box on the table.
“Are we still being watched?” I whisper.
“Undoubtedly.”
I nod and open the extra bag I brought with me. “I’m just going to dump it in here, and then we can look through everything at the hotel.”
“I would also prefer that,” he says calmly.
I open the box and am stunned to find another box. So, I transfer it to the bag, and then Cameron and I stand to leave.
No one stops us as we make our way through the bank and outside. We don’t say a word as we walk the two blocks to the hotel, head up on the elevator, or even when we’re in the room. We just stand and stare at each other.
“Do hidden accounts collect interest?”
“As far as I know, not much.”
I nod and wonder why there was such a discrepancy between what Bill said was in there and what was really there but then shrug.
I don’t have it in me to be a super-sleuth. Like I told Cam earlier, I’m done. The money is in my account, and now it’s time to see what’s in the box.
“It’s not heavy,” Cam points out as he sets it on the table by the windows.
“With my luck, it’s empty.” I bite my lip and then reconsider. “On the other hand, that would be the best-case scenario. Okay, let’s get this over with.”
I open the lid on the white box and frown. On top is a crisp envelope with MAGGIE written in block letters.
