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“I’m in.”
“Wow, you’re incredible.”
“Say that when I’m fucking you,” I whisper. “Stay on the line, we’ll do this together.” I put the phone away when I see the guard.
“Box 415? Kinsey?” The guard stands there.
“Yes.”
“Key?”
I hold mine up. He takes out a bank key and motions me inside a closed-off, square room filled with narrow boxes.
My throat tightens. They’re too narrow for a laptop.
Oh no...
Keeping my face even, I put my key in the slot, while the guard uses his.
The main cabinet opens, and he slides out the box.
“Take your time, sir.”
As suspected, this box is too small for a laptop.
There’s a reason he kept this key on him, though.Somethingis in here.
I put my briefcase down on the wooden table in the center. Holding my breath, I open the box. Sketch paper pops out, and it’s a sea of drawings. That blue color hits me. It’s as vivid in person as the home screen on Bernie’s phone.
“Ford!” Ash calls out to me from the phone I forgot I had in my pocket.
“They’re here.” I take them out. “The designs are here.”
“Thank fucking God. You did it, Ford.”
“The laptop isn’t here, though. She had all the patterns on a computer. Like the drawings in my—” I stop, seeing something metal.
My chest heaves.
A hard drive.
He dumped the laptop but kept the hard drive.
“There’s a hard drive here. This is probably from her laptop.”
“Or it’s a copy, and he hid the laptop somewhere.”
“I’ll give it to Nick.”
I finish going through the box, and it’s only drawings and the hard drive. Nothing else. That scumbag opened this box just to...
Holy shit. Bank fraud.
It’s a loose interpretation that a hungry prosecutor can successfully argue. Even if it’s one of those bullshit, ancient banking laws before computers.
Opening a safe deposit box to commit a crimeis a crime.
No plea deal for Michael Kinsey.
