CHAPTER 12
At three thirty the next afternoon a fivesome walked into the lobby of the Edgeport Bank and Trust Company—the three Keepers plus their two senior advisers. Anyone glancing at them would have guessed it was Grandma and Grandpa running an errand with three of their grandkids.
A young woman wearing a blue pantsuit came over to the group, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She had short dark hair and a friendly smile.
“Welcome to Edgeport Trust—may I help you?”
She was surprised when it was Ben who stepped forward. “Yes, please. We have a token from the bank, number eleven.” He held it out for inspection, but didn’t offer to hand it to her.
She leaned in closer. “Hmm . . . interesting.” She ushered them past a velvet rope at the boundary of the main lobby and pointed at a waiting area with comfortable armchairs and low coffee tables. “Please take a seat while I go and make an inquiry for you.”
Three minutes passed, and Ben was starting to feel like they’d been forgotten. It was so quiet he could hear a large grandfather clock ticking from twenty feet away. One of the tellers behind the high granite counter began counting money, and every bill made a crisp little hiss.
Robert wandered over to a tall brass table and began studying the deposit and withdrawal slips. He looked around a little, then took a lollipop from a bowl. When Jill frowned and shook her head at him, he went back and took another one.
After another long three minutes, a trim, white-haired gentleman wearing a dark gray suit came out of a hallway to their right. He walked straight to Ben and put out his hand. “May I examine your medallion, please? I need to establish its authenticity.” Ben reluctantly gave it to him, and he disappeared down the same hallway.
Less than a minute later the man was back. Ben couldn’t read the expression his face—something between relief and awe. He handed the metal tag back to Ben.
In a low, carefully restrained tone he said, “All of you, kindly follow me.”
Down the hallway they went, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. After a few turns, they were led into a walnut-paneled conference room. A large rectangular table made of the same rich wood filled most of the space. The chair seats were covered in dark green leather.
Their guide pointed and said, “Please, sit.”
They took chairs along one side of the table, and after closing the door, the banker sat across from them. Ben lay the brass tag on the polished wood in front of him. The man stared at the medallion a moment, then cleared his throat.
“Ahem . . . let me introduce myself. I am Arthur Rydens, and I am the senior trust officer here at Edgeport Bank and Trust Company, a financial institution that traces its roots back to the year 1790. One of my first duties upon joining the trust department thirty-some years ago was to take complete responsibility for trust account number eleven.”