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…?”

Caldwell picked up, forcing calm into his voice. “Marcus. What can I do for you?”

Hale’s voice came through smooth and pleasant. “Martin, I’m in the area. Thought I’d stop by. Ten minutes. I’ll need your office.”

Caldwell’s mouth went dry. “That’s… unexpected.”

A soft laugh. “I like surprises. See you soon.”

The line went dead.

Slowly, Caldwell lowered the receiver and met Evan’s eyes. Outside the blinds, the noise of the lobby had returned, but it sounded distant now—like the bank had turned into an aquarium and they were the only ones who knew the glass was about to crack.

Evan’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Is he the one who killed my dad?”

Caldwell didn’t answer—not because he didn’t want to, but because Hale’s name suddenly felt like a lit match hovering above gasoline.

Instead, he opened his desk drawer and took out a small remote panic button—standard equipment for branch managers, almost never used.

“We have one chance,” Caldwell said quietly. “And we need to be smarter than them.”