“Do not allow Mr. Cole to leave.”
Martin's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Is he safe?”
Martin looked at the security guard.
“Yes.”
“Has anyone detained him?”
“No.”
“Has anyone taken property from him?”
“No.”
“Has anyone opened anything belonging to him?”
Martin looked at the metal box.
“No.”
The man's voice changed.
“Keep it that way.”
Martin felt a chill.
“Who am I speaking with?”
“Thomas Avery, Office of General Counsel.”
General counsel.
Martin straightened.
“Mr. Avery, what exactly—”
“Do not discuss the account in the public lobby.”
Martin looked around.
Too late.
“What should I do?”
“Take Mr. Cole to your conference room. Treat him as a protected beneficiary. I am contacting the regional president.”
Martin stared at Ethan.
Protected beneficiary?
“Of what?”
The attorney ignored the question.
“Mr. Keane.”
“Yes?”
“Do not attempt another access.”
“Why?”
“Because your credentials have already generated two unauthorized-entry notices.”
Martin felt sweat beneath his collar.
“I was assisting a customer.”
“I understand.”
“Then why would—”
“Because this is not a customer account.”
The line disconnected.
Martin slowly lowered the phone.
Natalie stared at him.
“What did he say?”
Martin looked at Ethan.
The boy's wet hair.
Cheap jacket.
Metal box.
He suddenly didn't look like a nuisance.
He looked like a problem Martin did not understand.
“Ethan.”
“Yes?”
“Would you come with me?”
The boy didn't move.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“You were going to throw me out.”
Martin felt every eye in the lobby.
“Yes.”
“So why should I go anywhere with you?”
Martin had no good answer.
Natalie did.
“You don't have to.”
Martin looked at her.
She ignored him.
Natalie came around the counter.
“We can stay here until another adult arrives if that makes you feel safer.”
Ethan studied her.
“Can I call my mom?”
“Of course.”
“My foster mom.”
Natalie's expression softened.
“Yes.”
Ethan removed an old prepaid phone.
He called Rachel Cole.
Not his biological mother.
His aunt.
Daniel's younger sister.
After Ethan's mother died from complications following surgery when he was six, Rachel became the closest thing he had to a second parent.
When Daniel's cancer became terminal, Rachel moved into their apartment.
Now she was Ethan's legal guardian.
“She'll be here in twenty minutes,” Ethan said.
Martin nodded.
“We'll wait.”
The regional president arrived in twelve.
That frightened Martin more than anything.
Cynthia Ward normally worked forty miles away.
Yet she entered Crown Harbor Bank as though she'd been waiting in a car around the corner.
Sixty-one.
Charcoal suit.
No umbrella despite the rain.
Two attorneys followed.
She looked around.
“Where is Ethan Cole?”
The lobby went silent again.
Ethan raised his hand.
Cynthia saw him.
And stopped.
For a strange second, her expression wasn't professional.
It was recognition.
Not of Ethan.
Of something about him.
She walked closer.
“Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Cynthia Ward.”
He nodded.
“Did you know my dad?”
Her eyes changed.
“Yes.”
Ethan stood.
“How?”
Cynthia looked toward Martin.
“Conference room.”
Ethan shook his head.
“My aunt isn't here.”