The stairwell wound up into the high-rise. She began to run. Her scrambling thoughts searched for an exit as she climbed. In a few hours, workers would file in to the lobby. It would be Friday morning. If she could just hide until dawn, she’d be safe.

The door at the bottom of the stair tower slammed open three flights below her. Beatrice squeaked and hit the wall. She inched up the last three steps to the third-floor entrance. The hinges whined in protest as she cracked the door open and slipped out. The door clicked shut behind her. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She stood frozen, listening. The third floor was silent.

Beatrice turned and fled down the hall, trying doorknobs. They were all locked. She rounded the corner, and panic swelled inside her as she dug through her bag for Max’s door keys. She couldn’t hide in the hallway, not for long. She turned another corner and finally managed to pull the keys from her purse. The door to the personnel office was straight ahead. The light was out. There were no footsteps or voices. Beatrice fumbled for the right key, glancing down the empty corridor. The correct one slid home, and she slipped inside, locking the door behind her. Out of breath, she crumpled to her knees.

CHAPTER 75

Friday, August 28, 1998

“Goddammit, Iris!” The man’s voice echoed from the doorway to the back of the banking room. “I wasn’t going to kill you.”

His wing-tip shoes thundered down the aisle between teller stalls. Iris silently crawled along the service side of the counter back toward the entrance. His feet clacked all the way to the end of the room, and for a fleeting moment Iris dared hope that they might just keep going out the service exit and give her a chance to escape. But instead they turned. She slipped into a stall and underneath the narrow counter.

“I was going to make a deal an easy bitch like you couldn’t resist—fifty grand to go back home to Mom and forget all this. No one would have believed you anyway, Iris—a disgruntled employee, a thief, an alcoholic. But now . . . now I’m going to kill you.”

The sound of teller doors being slammed open one after the other thundered off the walls. He was on the service side of the teller booths and was getting closer to where she hid. The door of the stall next to hers slammed open. She was trapped. Pressing her back into the narrow corner, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“That’s enough, Randy,” a familiar voice commanded from the entrance.

Iris’s eyes snapped open. It was Mr. Wheeler.

“Charles! What? What are you doing here?” Randy stopped just outside the booth where Iris hid. She could see the shadow of his wing-tip shoes under the stall door.

“I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

Randy cleared his throat. “It seems that one of our junior engineers has been grossly misusing company time. I caught her red-handed down in the vault helping herself to a little severance pay. I was just about to call you.”

“Of course you were.”

Through the gap of the teller door, Iris could see Randy gripping his gun. His footsteps fell softer than before as he made his way back to the open floor where Mr. Wheeler stood.

“You doubt my company loyalty, Charles. After all these years?”

“You’ve never been part of the company, Randy. We’ve tolerated you all these years out of respect for your father. That debt is now paid in full. You’re finished.”

“Like hell I am! The Halloran family still holds a majority share in the First Bank of Cleveland. Paid for in blood. Damn it!”

Iris had to move. This might be her only chance. On numb hands and knees, she crept out of the teller booth and began inching her way toward the back exit.

“Your stock’s been bought up,” Mr. Wheeler said flatly.

“What do you mean, bought? By who?”

“When the vault was compromised, the board had to exercise options, leverage its assets. You know how it goes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Iris was nearly at the rear exit when the door cracked opened. She scrambled into the last teller booth as a set of black orthopedic shoes stepped into the room.

“Our assets were too locked up, if you know what I mean,” Mr. Wheeler said with a cold laugh. “Between the feds monitoring the gold market and our commitment to the privacy of our valued customers, we couldn’t just drill open boxes. Not for at least ten years. We had to get out of commodities, Randy. Fortunately, we found an investor with a long-term holding strategy we could live with.”

“Hello, Randy,” said a voice in a thick Italian accent.

“Carmichael. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I own this place as of today. Me and the family have been investing in the old bank for years. How could we refuse? No taxes. No questions. We’re getting gold for pennies on the dollar.”

Iris peeked around the corner. It was the bartender from Ella’s Pub who’d been so friendly to her. He was holding a large gun in his hand. It was pointed at Randy.

“What?” Randy laughed uncomfortably. His gun fell to the ground with a metal thunk. He took a step backward with his hands up. “Carmichael, I had no idea . . .”

“You know, I told Jim we should have taken care of you years ago, but he thought you might be useful. Who was right, huh?” The old man chuckled like an uncle. “Ah, I remember when you were just a chubby teenager lagging after your papa on the golf course. At least you had some manners back then. I think you had more brains back then.”

“Carmichael, I . . . I meant no disrespect.”

“Disrespect? Oh no. Certainly not.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Randy protested. “That girl. She stole the keys. She led that pig cop right in here.”

“That was unfortunate,” Carmichael said. Then a thunderclap shook the walls as he fired the gun into Randy’s chest.

Iris recoiled and smothered a scream in her hands.

Randy’s body hit the ground with a thump.

“You see, Randy, the brave detective stopped you in the middle of a robbery with his gun here, but not before you fired a fatal shot.” Mr. Wheeler spoke from across the room as though he were at a board meeting.

Randy responded with a wet gurgling sound as he choked on his own blood.

Mr. Wheeler’s footsteps came closer. “The City of Cleveland will finally recover some of those mismanaged funds the Halloran family hoarded all those years ago. Detective McDonnell will get a Medal of Honor for his tireless work to uncover the truth. He’ll be a hero. So will our dear commissioner, Jim Stone, just in time for the election cycle. You see, Randy, it will all work out for the best.”

Iris curled into a trembling ball as Randy released his last breath. The booth was shrinking around her. She couldn’t breathe.

The leather clack of expensive shoes came closer, until it stopped just on the other side of the partition where she hid. “You got this under control?” Mr. Wheeler asked Carmichael.

“Not a problem. Bruno is on his way. We’ll clean this up and make it right. Give us fifteen minutes before the sirens.”

Iris clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from whimpering aloud. The sweet old man was going to shoot her next.

“Be sure to leave a few million on the cart. We’ll sort the rest later. What are you going to do with her?” Mr. Wheeler tapped the wood partition next to Iris’s head.

A small sob choked out of her throat.

“There’s too much blood on the scene,” Carmichael said. “We don’t want anything to tarnish Detective McDonnell’s act of heroism, do we? It will only lead to more questions. She’ll disappear, okay? I make sure.”

“Just be sure to finish the job. She’s not as dumb as she looks,” Mr. Wheeler said, then strode out of the room.