Page 111 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
Paul’s fingers twitched against the armrest.
“I don’t understand,” the banker finally said.
“Understand what?”
“Why come all this way to withdraw one dollar?”
The words hit him like a bullet.
“I have more than five million dollars in that account!”
The executive dismissed him with a slight shake of his head. He turned away from his computer and looked skeptically at Paul. His hands were folded neatly on the desk in front of him, and there was a stiffness in his shoulders now.
“There must be some mistake. Check again.”
A firmness in his voice felt like a slap in the face, “I did check. Several times.”
Mr. Daniels reached out and turned the computer screen toward Paul. Paul leaned in. His gaze locked onto the display. He scanned the numbers, his brain slow to process. His eyes finally focused on the available balance.
One dollar.
That couldn’t be right.
He blinked twice. The number didn’t change.
Paul let out a hollow, humorless laugh. “No. That’s a mistake.”
The executive didn’t respond.
“I had several million dollars in that account.” Paul reached out and grabbed the bank statement off the desk. His hands shook as he shoved the paper toward the executive. “What happened to my money?”
Mr. Daniels took the document, compared it to the screen, and then shook his head. “The funds were transferred out of this account yesterday.”
Paul’s vision tunneled and for a second he thought he might faint.No. No, no, no.His pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden, suffocating dread.
“That’s impossible,” he croaked, the words catching in his dry throat. “I never authorized?—”
It didn't make sense. It couldn’t. His mind refused to accept it.
Then a cold realization seeped into his bones, heavier than any ocean current.
He’d been outmaneuvered. Played. And the architect of his downfall was chillingly clear.
Alex Halee.
The best computer hacker in the world. He had a reputation for dismantling illicit financial networks, siphoning money from terrorist organizations and corrupt officials, and rerouting it to a mysterious entity known only as AJAX.
A wave of nausea rolled through him. If Alex had his money, then Jamie had his money.
Which meant they knew everything.
Paul’s fingers curled into fists. His last safety net—his one escape plan—had just been ripped away.
Paul forced himself to breathe evenly. He couldn’t afford to lose control. To draw attention to himself. No amount of protesting would change the facts. The money was gone. Arguing with the banker would get him nowhere.
If anything, claiming the money was stolen would draw attention to himself, and he might be detained indefinitely. Long enough for the CIA to uncover his escape plan. The police would be called. It might give Jamie Austen enough time to discover that he was in the Caymans.
At least he had the documents in his briefcase. While they weren’t worth millions, he could get enough from the Russian oligarchs to live comfortably.
