Blinking back tears, Beatrice stuffed Doris’s and Max’s files back in the drawer and slammed it shut as if doing so would erase what she’d learned. She returned the key to the cigarette case and snapped off Bill’s light. Sitting there in the dark, she wished she hadn’t seen any of it.

She rushed back to the stairwell, hugging herself. Max and Doris both had safe deposit boxes, presumably filled with all of the items listed in those folders. Doris had been in love with Bill. He had seduced her with promises of a life together. He’d just made those same promises to Suzanne.

Beatrice closed and locked the door behind her and curled into a tight ball on the floor. Thoughts of Bill and Doris, Bill and Susie, and Bill’s heavy breathing tormented her for the rest of the night. She finally fell asleep with her hands over her ears.

CHAPTER 42

Monday morning, Beatrice stared blankly at her desk. She’d spent the entire day Sunday penned up in her stolen room, pacing the floor. She had watched the street from her windows with one thought circling her head: Max was still missing.

Max had learned something at Aunt Doris’s apartment while Beatrice was sleeping. Max had found something in her aunt’s safe deposit box and then disappeared. It couldn’t just be a coincidence. Beatrice felt the key in her pocket and wondered if Max had really managed to unlock the box.

If Max could open it, surely Beatrice had to try. She was Doris’s next of kin after all. She had rights, or at least she would if Doris died. Thoughts of Doris’s death filled her with guilt. She hadn’t gone to see her aunt in days. She would go tonight, she decided. She’d sleep in the lobby of the hospital again if that’s what it took.

Having finally come to a decision, she attempted to focus on the stack of papers on her desk. She scanned the memo in her hand, trying to remember what her instructions had been. The page was just another meaningless accounting summary in an endless pile, until she saw the signature. “R. Theodore Halloran” was typed at the bottom of the page, but the scribbled signature read “Teddy.” She reread the name, and her heart jumped. Teddy was the vice president of Finance. She stared at the last name, “Halloran.” Max had said Randy’s father was a vice president at the bank. He was the reason Randy had a job for life.

The memo Teddy had signed advised the board of directors to reject the mayor’s request to refinance the city’s debt. It was a more formal version of the fuck-the-mayor comment she’d overheard in the middle of the night. There was no doubt she’d found her man. She searched the stack of papers for any other clues as to what Teddy and Jim were up to. All she found was a detailed accounting of the bank’s investment practices over the last four weeks. She paused at the summary of the City of Cleveland bond holdings. Her eyes widened. First Bank of Cleveland held over $20 million of the city’s debt.

At the bottom of the pile she found a piece of parchment with the official letterhead of the City of Cleveland. The letter read,

If financing cannot be renegotiated by December 15, 1978, the City of Cleveland may default. All unpaid debts will be turned over to the State of Ohio for settlement. As you know, gentlemen, recovering lost revenue may take years. Please reconsider the impact to your balance sheet.

The letter was signed by the deputy mayor.

Beatrice struggled to understand. She flipped back to the memo signed by Teddy that reassured investors “impacts to the short-term revenue stream will be absorbed by strong deposits.” The memo concluded with

The mayor’s inability to support the business community’s investments in real estate development and the betterment of Cleveland leaves us no choice but to make this gesture of no confidence.

Beatrice couldn’t wrap her brain around it all, but it seemed as though the First Bank of Cleveland was playing a game of chicken with the city. She’d seen those races down long country roads, with reckless boys and screaming girls and cars driving at full speed on a collision course. One car always ended up in a ditch. She looked at the deputy mayor’s letter again. December 15 was only four days away.

Beatrice pulled out her steno pad and transcribed parts of the letters in shorthand. Then she finished her filing. At the end of the day, she left the building with the other secretaries. She stepped out into the gray, slushy street and realized it had been a week since she’d breathed in the fresh evening air.

The bus brought her back down Mayfield Road toward the hospital. Once inside, she rushed to the elevator that serviced the intensive care unit, where she’d left her aunt a week earlier. The terrible thought occurred to her before the elevator’s doors slid open that her aunt might have died while she was away. Her chest tightened.

The usual nurse was at the front desk and looked up at Beatrice with a smile. “We thought you’d left town.”

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy at work,” Beatrice said sheepishly. The shame of neglecting someone in the hospital washed over her again, but the nurse’s easy smile told her what she needed to know. Doris was still alive.

“Oh, don’t worry, honey. We all need a break sometimes. Besides, your sister has been here a few times.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sister. She was here earlier today.”

Beatrice didn’t have any sisters, much to her chagrin as a young girl growing up in a dark and lonely house. “Uh, I have two. Could you tell me which one?”

“Let’s see.” The nurse leafed through the visitor’s log. “Sandra? I think this is her. Pretty girl. She was just here yesterday. She said she was looking for you.”

Beatrice’s hands clenched inside her coat sleeves as she nodded at the nurse. When she reached the door to her aunt’s room, she opened it cautiously. Her mysterious “sister” might be waiting for her. The room was empty. Even Doris looked like a sterile piece of furniture. She was sunken and gray and hadn’t moved in the eight days Beatrice had been gone. She was growing thinner. Beatrice touched her aunt’s cheek. It was still warm.

She sank into the chair next to Doris and put her head on the edge of the bed. She longed to feel her aunt’s hand pat her hair, to hear her gruff laugh, to smell her cigarette smoke. She was an orphan waiting in a graveyard. She closed her eyes as a hopeless tear slid down her cheek.

“Beatrice,” a soft voice whispered in her ear. “Beatrice!”

“Huh?” Beatrice muttered sleepily. She must have dozed off. Her head was still on her aunt’s bed, but someone was shaking her shoulder. The tip of a high-heeled leather boot and the hem of a long wool coat grazed the floor next to her.

It was Max.

“Beatrice, I’ve been looking all over for you!” she said in a low voice.

“Max! Wha—? What are you doing here? You’re missing!” Beatrice gasped.

“Well, not exactly.” She glanced anxiously at the clock. “I don’t have much time.”

“Are you my sister ‘Sandra’?”

“For the next ten minutes. They’ve been watching the room. I can’t stay long.”

Max looked agitated. Actually, she looked terrible. Heavy bags hung below her blue eyes, and her pale, unmade lips looked dry. Her brassy blond hair was dyed black, making her skin look ghostly.

“Your brother is looking for you, Max. What’s going on?”

“I know. I don’t have time to explain. Don’t tell him you saw me here. This thing is way over his head. It’s better if he thinks I’m gone.” She reached into her pocket. “Here. Take this. Don’t tell anyone you have it. I’ll find you when this is all over.”