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I take the keycard and walk slowly to the elevator. The doors are just about to close, when a hand stops them. “Apologies.”
Sebastian steps inside, sunglasses still on, and his knit cap pulled low. “What floor?” he asks, as if we’re strangers.
“Third,” I reply, keeping my breathing even.
He hits the button, and we ride up in silence, as if we don’t even know each other. We keep up the act as we step off the elevator, passing other guests in the hall. It’s not until we’re safely inside the room with the door locked and chained behind us that I exhale and pull him closer for a big hug.
“I kept waiting for someone to yell and stop us,” I admit, holding him closer.
Sebastian strokes my hair. “We’re safe, for now.”
“But what about tomorrow, and the day after that?” I ask, my worries crashing back again. “Where can we go? What are we going to do?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Sebastian reassures me. “I have resources, the kind of money that can make anyone disappear.”
“But how can we get to it?” I ask, still concerned. “You can’t exactly stroll into a bank now or charge your credit cards. You’re supposed to be dead!”
Sebastian nods, and I can see, he’s thinking fast. “Right… Which means everything will be going to the beneficiary of my estate. All my money, property, everything passes to them on my death. They don’t even have to wait for the probate to clear, half my assets are in special trusts, designed to get around all that red tape.”
“And who’s that?” I ask, hopeful.
“My sister, Scarlett.” He looks grim. “She could walk into any bank in Zurich and stroll out with a suitcase of cash and gold, but… I don’t want to ask her for help.” He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “After everything she’s been through… I can’t pull her into this. It’s not fair for her.”
“Of course not,” I agree immediately. We’re both silent a moment, thinking again. Sebastian paces restlessly, like a trapped animal.
Then I get an idea.
“If we can’t get Scarlett to walk in the bank and get your money… How about someone who looks like her?”
Our plan comes togetherin no time at all: I’ll impersonate Sebastian’s sister, present myself at the bank, and get us the cash we need.
“It might work,” Sebastian says thoughtfully. “Nobody here will ever have met her, and the account is numbered: You only need a passcode to access it, not any kind of ID.”
“Secret funds in a Swiss bank account,” I tease, trying to keep things light. “You haven’t been up to anything shady, I hope, Mr. Wolfe?”
He gives me a grin. “It’s all perfectly legal. At least, according to my lawyers.”
So, there’s nothing stopping us now. I dye my hair to match Scarlett’s dark brown color as closely as possible and go shopping for chic designer clothing with the money Nero wired, the more expensive the better. Zurich is packed with expensive stores, all dripping with luxury and elegance, but even in my snooty costume with massive sunglasses and a big leather purse, I’m still nervous. Sure, I’ve pulled off some impressive acting in the past, most notably when I convinced Sebastian that I was some meek and innocent woman that he could trust, but the stakes feel higher this time. Sebastian is wanted for murder.
Someone tried to kill us.
There’s a lot of pressure to stay hidden.
“Are you sure I can really do this?” I ask anxiously, adjusting my disguise in the mirror of our hotel suite. “I don’t look anything like her, you know. Not close-up.”
“You only need to fool the bank staff,” Sebastian says. His voice is reassuring, but I can see the worry in his eyes, too. “Scarlett hasn’t been seen in public for years, you can pull it off.”
Neither of us say what we’re both probably thinking right now: Ihaveto pull it off. Otherwise, there’s no way for us to start over. No money to fund our escape.
We don’t have a choice.
I gulp. “I wish you could come with me,” I whisper, gripping his shirt.
He looks frustrated. “I wish I could, too. But this will be a walk in the park, I promise,” he adds, as if seeing my nerves. “Just stride in there like you own the place, like this is no big deal at all.”
“Sure,” I mutter, adjusting my dress and blazer. “Because I go rob banks every other weekend.”
Sebastian smiles. “Ask for the premier account liaison,” he adds, handing me the paper with all the passcodes written down. “It’s his job to transfer whatever you want.”
