They broke into laughter the instant they noticed a thin little boy step into the bank, clutching a worn, threadbare cloth bag like a beggar. The security guard moved as if he were about to throw him out, and several employees stared at him with clear contempt. But the boy stayed silent and slowly unzipped the bag. When the manager looked inside, his face turned pale. “You’re…?”

For illustration purposes only
Hale’s gaze sharpened. “A kid.”

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?”

Caldwell felt the trap tightening around him. “With one of our tellers. She’s connecting him to social services.”

Hale smiled again, but his eyes stayed cold. “You’re kinder than I remember.”

Caldwell forced a small laugh. “People change.”

Hale’s voice dropped, still pleasant but edged with steel. “Sometimes they only pretend to.”

He stepped closer to the office door, angling his body to peer inside. Caldwell shifted slightly, blocking his view.

“I’ll be honest,” Hale said. “Corporate flagged an unusual access ping. One of our older deposit box systems. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Caldwell’s heart pounded. An irregular ping meant someone had tried to access a box, move the keys, or trigger the system. Evan’s bag had already tripped a wire.

He met Hale’s eyes. “I haven’t accessed any old systems.”

Hale’s smile remained. “Good. Because if something from that… old situation resurfaced, it might be inconvenient. For you. For me. For anyone who prefers their lives predictable.”

Caldwell heard the quiet message beneath the words:

I decide what stays buried.

Just then, a distant siren cut through the air—faint but unmistakable.

Hale’s eyes flicked toward the windows. For the first time, his composure shifted.

Caldwell leaned closer, lowering his voice the same way Hale had. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Marcus.”