always protect her. She shrugged.
“Yes, I will continue to pay for your mother.”
“Thank you.”
He shook his head. “I’m glad to do it.”
She remained facing the door, not wanting to look at him anymore. He stepped close but didn’t
touch her. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Quickly opening the door, she fled. Her finger pounded into the elevator button as if she
were tapping out Morse code.
SOS. SOS. SOS!
Not until the doors of the elevator closed behind her did she turn and exhale. She did it.
Chapter 2
Blockade
Using a pawn to obtain shelter from an attack
Scout pressed through the revolving door and rushed into the busiest part of the sidewalk, hoping to
get lost in the crowd, thus losing anyone who might be following her. The sooner she was safe, the
sooner she could move on with her plans. She needed a bank.
So long as she stayed in public she wasn’t in any danger. Not that she expected one of Lucian’s
minions to abduct her, but she really wasn’t sure what he was capable of at the moment.
Hustling with serpentine movements from crowd to crowd, Scout made her way toward Edison
Street, where there was a financial institution. Going directly there would offer shelter. However, it
also meant if she was already being trailed, it would give her follower time to catch up and wait her
out.
So be it. She wasn’t sleeping outside again, and she needed money to rent a place to stay.
The tall white building stood like a grandfather among his offspring. Folsom Liberty & Trust was
perhaps the oldest bank in the city and therefore, to her thinking, possessed good credentials.
Pressing through the heavy glass doors, Scout came up short. The crisp air had a scent unlike
anything she’d ever smelled. Was this what money smelled like when there were uncountable sums of
it? Were mere mortals allowed in here? Did she need an appointment?
She glanced around nervously. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. Trying not to look
like a bank robber, she stepped aside as another man came through the door. He went to a section
delineated with velvet rope.
Another woman leaned on a glass island, filling out a form. To her right was a carpeted area with
fancy desks. People spoke in hushed tones much like they did at the library.
Scout’s gaze traveled upward. There was a mural of a scale painted on the ceiling. Behind the scale
were outlines of numerous men in white wigs. She wondered who they were. Likely, one was Lucian’s
ancestor.
“Can I help you with something?” a man in a suit asked.
“Um, I . . . do you work here?”
He smiled and the soft creases surrounding his eyes put her at ease. “I do. My name’s Michael
McGregor. Is there something you needed help with?”
“I wanted to open an account.”
He nodded. “Okay, why don’t you come have a seat at my desk?”
Following him to the carpeted area, Scout found herself sitting in a curved back wooden chair. Mr.
McGregor shifted to face his computer and typed a few buttons. “What kind of account were you
hoping to open today, Ms. . . .”
“Keats. Evelyn Keats.”
“Ms. Keats.” His smile seemed friendly, but slightly artificial and haughty. Perhaps haughtiness
flourished when one spent every day surrounded by money. She really liked the smell of the bank and
found it distracting.
“A normal account.”
“Checking?” he asked.
“Yes, I’d like to be able to write checks.”
“Well, with our checking forgiveness program, you have no minimum balance for the first year. We
do require you open the account with at least one hundred dollars, however. There are also no fees for
the first twelve months. Does that sound like something you might be interested in?”
Banks charged fees? “Um, yes. Is that what people usually get? I’ve never had a bank account
before.”
“Not a problem. Did you bring two forms of identification?”
With shaky hands, she unzipped her bag and pulled out the documents Lucian had given her.
“You’ll give them back, right?”
“Of course. I just need to make copies.” He turned and sifted through the documents. “These are in
outstanding shape. Are they new?”
“Yes.”
This bit of information seemed to make him examine the documents a bit more closely. He picked
up her social security card and typed the number into his computer. She glanced at the people around
her. Some looked stressed. Some looked angry. No one at the bank seemed to be happy except the
employees. Money was obviously taxing but necessary, and she finally had some, or would, as soon as
Lucian cleared the check.
Scout realized they’d likely call him, thereby letting him know where she was. Sighing, she
contemplated how to get around being followed.
“Is this your current address?”
She looked at Mr. McGregor. He held her ID card. “Um, can I see it?” He passed it to her.
1900 Gerard Ave., Suite C
Shit. The group of words was one she recognized. It was Lucian’s penthouse. She didn’t want him
getting her mail and seeing how she was using his money. Her money. “For now, but I’m moving.