Page 76 of Broken Mercy
“Who said I was trying to be helpful?”
We stride toward The Bridled Trust, its old copper-and-gold sign hanging out front of what looks like a Roman senatorial building. Ancient white columns, probably not more than a few decades old at most, flank a massive glass door. An old, tired-looking security guard lingers out front and shifts to block our way.
“Good morning, sir, ma’am, are you members of the bank?”
Brenden opens his mouth to reply but I squeeze his arm and take over instead. “Yes, hello, my grandfather recently passed and leftus this silly key thing in his will. Do you have it, Reginald? I do hope so seeing as I left my bag with the driver and I’d very much hate to fetch the car again, not in these shoes.” I beam at the guard.
He squints at us as Brenden fumbles with his pocket and produces the key. “I believe this is what you’re after, darling.”
“That’s the ticket.” I snatch it from his hand and hold it toward the guard. “Yes, I do believe this opens some sort of magical box in your fine establishment? Excuse my ignorance but I haven’t been in a bank in ages.”
“You’veneverbeen in a bank,” Brenden says with a haughty snort, patting my hand, and I’m impressed at how easily he’s taken to the characters we established. “Banks don’t agree with her constitution.”
“Right this way, please.” The guard opens the door for us and steps aside. “Mr. Wright will be along to help shortly.”
The interior of The Bridled Trust is an obscene monument to old money opulence. Everything shines with precious metals. The walls are wood paneled, the ceilings are absurdly high, and the floor is marble buffed so smooth that my grip on Brenden isn’t only about keeping up appearances.
I angle toward a set of waiting couches and sit down daintily on the edge of one. Brenden lingers at my side, flipping open a lighter—the same stolen lighter we took from the Davises. It looks impossibly average in the wealthy surroundings.
“Good job out there, Reginald,” I mutter to him, keeping an insipid smile on my face.
“You also, darling. It’s like you were born for this.”
“I was.” I sit straight-backed proper, channeling my inner Annie yet again. I’m a pale imitation of my sister, but that’s still good enough to pass in a place like this. “Follow my lead and we might get through.”
An older gentleman in a three-piece suit comes hurrying over about ten minutes later. Brenden stays silent, scowling like the wait was unacceptable, while Mr. Wright introduces himself as the branch manager.
“I’ve been told you have a safe deposit box to inspect? One that was passed down through the family? I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you for the condolences, Mr. Wright.” I offer my hand and Brenden helps me to my feet. “But we are very busy and would appreciate your assistance in expediting this process.”
“Naturally, naturally.” He rubs his hands together. “But you must understand, we don’t often get unrecognized visitors. Have either of you been here before?”
“As we told your man out front, this is not our normal business.”
“Yes, I completely understand, and I do apologize for the wait. The Bridled Trust is a very old institution and we take our security and our privacy very seriously.”
“Security?” Brenden says it with a beautiful scoff. “Are you making insinuations, sir?”
“Of course not, I never would, but even still.” He smiles, perfectly obsequious, but it’s about as real as his floppy hair. This man’s a snake under his polite exterior. “We cannot be too careful.”
“What can we do to move the process along then?” I yawn, covering my mouth.
“Documentation, for starters. Identification. And I’d like to inspect the key, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Go on, dear, give him the key.” I wave my hand at Brenden. “And can you please produce your cards? You do have your wallet?”
“Always.” Brenden hands over the key and shows his fake ID. “Although I didn’t know we were in communist Russia showing our papers!”
Mr. Wright chuckles like that’s not the first time he’s heard that comment before briskly walking off. I lean on Brenden’s arm, playing the bored and tired rich lady role to the best of my ability while suppressing the urge to panic.
“Is that fake going to pass?” I ask casually, glancing around the vaulted ceiling for cameras. I force myself to stop since that’s even more suspicious.
“It’ll pass, darling, don’t you worry.” He leans in closer. “But I have no clue who registered that box and what our friend is going to think when he looks into it.”
I’m on edge but do my best to show only mild irritation and boredom. Brenden pretends like he’s soothing me and we fake a conversation about antiques. Mr. Wright is gone another agonizing ten minutes before he steps out of a nearby office with a young woman at his beck, her blond hair perfectly blown out.
“Here you are, I apologize to keep you waiting.” Mr. Wright hands back the ID card and the key. Brenden passes the key to me. “Ms. Shippens will show you to the boxes. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” I can’t tell what’s going on in Mr. Wright’s head, but he only stands and watches as the young woman leads us down a hall.
