“If this actually is a Good Delivery bar it meets the specifications issued by the London Bullion Market Association, and it would contain about four hundred troy ounces of gold,” Riley said.
“A fortune for most people.”
“But not for Günter,” Riley said. “It’s worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, but Günter has more money than he could possibly spend in one lifetime.”
“He has ninety million. He could spend that,” Emerson said.
“How?”
“If he lived to ninety-five, he could do it.”
“I don’t see how.”
“It could be done.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I could do it.”
Riley didn’t think she could do it. She came from a culture that clipped coupons and shopped at yard sales.
“What would you buy?” she asked Emerson. “A shark with a laser beam gizmo attached to his head? It would have to be something incredible.”
Emerson handed the gold bar to Riley. “Put this in your bag.”
“What?” Riley asked.
“Put it in your bag. We’re going to take it with us.”
“Are we going to ask first? We’re going to ask.”
“Why should we ask?”
“Because it’s a gold bar worth in the vicinity of half a million dollars. That’s more than grand larceny. That’s great-grand larceny.”
“We’ll bring it back. We’re just going to borrow it. I don’t think Irene even knows it’s there.”
“You don’t think?”
—
Riley dumped her bag onto the Mustang’s backseat and slid behind the wheel.
Emerson got in, and Riley put the car in gear and sped out to the parkway before Irene Grunwald could return from her coffee date, peek into her safe, and call the cops. Or the Secret Service. Or whoever they sent after you for stealing gold bars.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said.
“Believe,” Emerson said.
“Why do you want it?”
“It feels off. The safe had been cleaned out. There were no papers, no stacks of extra cash. None of the things you would expect to find in a home office safe. Why was this gold bar left behind?”
“Maybe it was left in the safe to be…safe.”
“Maybe. But think back. What was in the safe when I opened it?”
“Just that gold,” Riley said.