“Mr. Boudreau, you are not listed as an authorized account user for this safe deposit box. I’m afraid—”
“Ma’am, the paperwork I presented you with is from the official account holder, authorizing my access to said safe deposit box. Access to the box is part of an ongoing FBI investigation. The appropriate notarized paperwork has been presented to a representative of the bank, namely you, and I have the key to said safety deposit box. Are you planning on impeding an FBI investigation and making me get a warrant? Because I can. I can also guarantee the feds will be all over your institution within a matter of hours, looking at every single piece of paperwork and every account you provide services for, resulting in some very unhappy customers.”
She straightened in her leather-bound chair until Antonio swore he could use her spine as a yardstick, a pinched expression tightening her lips before it smoothed away to a conciliatory smirk.
Gotcha.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Boudreau.”
“Agent Boudreau.”
“Agent Boudreau. Your paperwork appears to be in order. I’ll personally accompany you and make sure there’re no difficulties.”
Antonio barely refrained from rolling his eyes at her rapid backpedaling. The woman knew when to do a strategic retreat, and how to keep her facility from being overrun with an onslaught of IRS and Treasury Department agents. Of course, he’d been bluffing, mostly. He could get a warrant, and he knew Williamson would throw his weight behind Antonio because the Berkley case was big news, and keeping the monster behind bars would have many in Washington lending all kinds of muscle to get the job done.
Antonio followed the manager and was led to a separate room, where rows upon rows of locked drawers lined the walls like little soldiers, their contents sealed and secured within the bank. His heartbeat sped up and he swallowed once, pushing down the surge of adrenaline flooding through his body. This is it. He felt it in his gut. Whatever was inside the safe deposit box would keep Serena safe. Let her come out from beneath the shadow of Big Jim Berkley once and for all.
In less than a minute, the drawer was opened and the box placed on the table in the center of the room. It looked too small to contain something monumental, innocuous and unassuming in its simplicity. The bank manager and the security guard who’d accompanied them turned and left, leaving him alone.
Anticipation warred with the need to take things slow, proceed with an eye toward caution. This could be a trap. He still didn’t know who the mystery caller was or what his endgame might be. He hadn’t recognized the name on the notarized authorization, pretty sure it an assumed name, but again it was something to work on later. He’d get the FBI on it, and figure out who the box really belonged to, but right here and right now, he had bigger fish to fry. He couldn’t wait any longer. Knowledge was power, and he needed power to stop Big Jim Berkley permanently.
He wasn’t sure what he expected when he flipped open the lid to the box. Certainly not the innocent-appearing envelope lying inside, sealed only with the metal clasp attached. His shoulders slumped as he reached inside, pulled out the sheath of papers and began flipping through each one.
With every page he scanned, his smile grew, because his mystery caller had been right. If this information was legit, it was enough—no, more than enough—to keep Big Jim locked away in solitary for the rest of his days.
Pulling out his cell phone, he snapped pics of each page. He wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted backups of all the incriminating evidence against James Berkley. Backups of those backups. With the push of a button, he e-mailed them to SAC Williamson and to his brother, Rafe.
Shoving all the papers back into the envelope, he left the bank, feeling lighter than he had in days. For once, it looked like maybe the good guys were gonna win.
Big Jim shuffled down the hallway toward the visiting area. Hated the chains, what they represented. Restricting every movement. Inhibiting his freedom. They kept him shackled in the present, anchored to the here and now, and reminded him of his diminished power behind these prison walls. But not for much longer.
The orange jumpsuit would be the first thing to go, once the shackles got removed. He’d once again dress as befitting a man in his position, in the finest silks and designer suits, not scratchy cotton. Freedom was close enough he could feel its warm breath on his skin like a lover’s caress. Patience had never been his strong suit, but he’d learned in his time behind bars to savor each small victory, because in the end, he’d come out a winner. Anything else was unacceptable.
The shove from the guard’s hand in the middle of his back caused him to stumble, and he righted himself with a snarl. Instead of cowering in fear, which should have been the guard’s first response, he laughed. Heat rose from the center of Big Jim’s chest, flooding him with the desire to dig his hands into the guard’s throat and tear the flesh from his bones. Yet he couldn’t, not yet. Soon, it was only a matter of time, this guard and all the others like him would pay for the way they’d treated him. Once he was outside, walking free, he’d show them all what real fear felt like.
When they turned right at the hallway’s intersection, he wondered what was going on, because they always turned left when taking him to see his lawyer. The rooms to the right had
