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I tuck the paper in my massive leather bag and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.
“See you on the other side.”
My nerves growduring the cab ride to the bank, and by the time we pull up outside the tall, imposing building, they’re tangled in my throat.
I get out, gazing up at the steel and glass, modern and chic—with stone-faced guards posted discreetly at the exits.
You can do this, I remind myself, as I approach the main doors. Hell, I fooled Sebastian about my true motives for long enough. I can charm a snooty bank clerk out of a few million, no problem.
Walking inside, I keep my head held high and my steps sure, just the way I would imagine a woman that grew up rich would carry herself. It doesn’t really matter that Scarlett herself is a down-to-earth kind of woman who would never be seen dead in Chanel. All that matters is that these people believe I’m Sebastian Wolfe’s sister and heiress.
Bored. Entitled.
Rich.
Inside, the place looks nothing like a bank. The lobby area is all gleaming marble and Eames chairs, like a luxury office building. A sleek receptionist comes to greet me, looking like a supermodel. “Velkommen,” she says crisply.
“Uh, hi, hello.” I say, trying to sound English. “Scarlett Wolfe. I need to talk to the premier account liaison?”
“Miss Wolfe…” Her eyes sweep over me, and in an instant, she transforms with a smile. “But of course, please, wait one moment.”
She gestures me to one of the seats, where I wait anxiously, until the elevator doors slide open, and a slim blonde man wearing a double-breasted suit emerges. He’s impeccably tailored, with a neat blond goatee, and a greasy smile. “Miss Wolfe, so lovely to meet you at last,” he says, taking my hand to shake. “My name is Gunterson, I’ve been handling your brother’s accounts. My condolences, of course. What a tragedy.”
“Mmm,” I murmur, not meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Please come with me.”
Gunterson leads me to the elevator, and then up to the fifth floor, which is richly carpeted and full of polished wood accents, like something out of a stuffy member’s club. He settles me in a luxurious, plush office that could double as an antique collection, and like magic, another slim, blonde model of an assistant brings in a tray of coffee and snacks on bone china, with fine silver cutlery.
“Now tell me, Miss Wolfe, how may I be of assistance? Excuse my lack of preparation,” he adds, “There was no appointment on my books.”
I give what I hope is a bored, careless shrug. “The trip was last minute, you know, skiing, shopping…” I examine my nails. “I thought that since I was here, I would do a little banking. I need some funds transferred from my brother’s trust accounts.”
“Of course,” Gunterson agrees. “You have the necessary information?”
“Yes.” I rummage in my bag, then present him with the paper. Gunterson scans it, then pauses.
“I don’t believe we’ve done business with these accounts before. How much do you wish to transfer?”
“All of it.”
He blinks.
Fuck.
“Indeed? That would be quite a significant withdrawal.”
I feel his eyes on me, but I try not to wilt. “They’re my own personal accounts,” I lie. “All this mess around Seb’s estate… I don’t want to have to jump through hoops every time I want to take a little trip to Cartier. I figured it would be easier just to move the whole lot over.” I shrug again. “I mean, it doesn’t matter where it is, does it? The money belongs to me now.”
“Indeed it does, Miss Wolfe.” Gunterson folds the paper and gets to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall make the arrangements.”
“Great. Oh, and can I get some herbal tea in here?” I add, in an arch voice. “I’m on a detox. Caffeine is poison, you know.”
“Right away.”
He exits, and I gasp for air.Christ.
Does he know I’m lying to him?
