No one within the financial institution questioned his identity. Even if they’d seen him before, he was the same Anton Rawls who always visited the institution—the only one to access the safety deposit box in the last twenty-five years.

When presented with the customary ledgers, Tony stared at the list of signatures. There were his own—or more accurately—Anton Rawls written repeatedly; however, that wasn’t what caught Tony’s attention. That wasn’t what caused his neck to straighten and his jaw to clench. The last two signatures—directly above where he was about to sign—were from Marie Rawls. The first signature was dated: 11-09-13. It always took a minute to remember that not everyone dated as Americans did. The numbers he saw meant: eleventh day, ninth month of the thirteenth year. The second signature was signed two days later.

Speaking perfect French, Anton inquired, “Who is this? Did someone else access my box?”

The employee looked puzzled, read the signature, and then referred to some documents. When he was done, he sheepishly replied, “Yes, sir, your safety deposit box can be accessed by two individuals—you and a Marie Rawls. It appears that the woman who was here presented the clerk with appropriate identification.” Then he asked, “Mr. Rawls, is there a problem?”

Tony could barely see. He didn’t know what this meant—except that he needed to see inside his safety deposit box and verify his accounts. His short, curt words revealed his obvious displeasure, “There better not be. I want to see my box immediately.”

“Yes, sir, I need your key, please.”

Tony handed him the key and followed the nervous man into the vault. The process of inserting both keys took longer than Tony ever remembered. He knew it was his impatience; however, he swore the whole thing was happening in slow motion. Once the box was removed, Tony followed the employee into a private room.

“Sir, do you want me to stay?”

“No, leave.” His directive was more of a growl as his dark gaze assaulted the bank’s employee. Tony didn’t care; he wanted the man gone. He needed to see what was inside the box—or more accurately—what may be missing, in private.

The employee stepped quietly from the room and Tony opened the box. In all the years he’d transferred and reinvested Nathaniel’s funds, never had the contents of this box taken him by surprise—until now.

Instead of the customary documents, Tony reached into the depths of the steel container and removed a disposable international cell phone. It was very similar to the one he had for the FBI. Along with the phone, there was also a charger and an envelope.

He wasn’t sure if his shaking hands were from rage or fear. His entire plan rested on the collection of these funds. If his money wasn’t here, where was it? Tony thought back to the dates on the signatures: September 9 and 11. During those days, Catherine was in Iowa—with him. Who else could know about this?

Tony opened the envelope to a letter that was very short—and unsigned:

Congratulations, you’ve found your way to this clue.

I can’t be sure who’ll be reading this note, so I can only say that you’ve passed your first test. Congratulations—I believe that deserves a positive Consequence.

I realize you’re not accustomed to being the student, but please know that I sincerely hope your educational experience is glitch-free.

If you are who I believe you are—it will all make sense.

I didn’t leave you without resources—I wouldn’t do that. I’ve heard it’s a difficult experience to be removed from your life and left at the complete disposal of another; therefore, as your positive consequence, I’ve created one account which is available to you. It can be accessed through the information below.

To continue your education, I’ve provided you with a cell phone. I assume a lecture in general operating instructions won’t be necessary; however, choose wisely—remember all actions have consequences.

The temperature of the small room increased with each word. The weeks of worry about Claire and—and—it was all some kind of ruse—some kind of game—a way to steal his money! But why? He had money in the States—more money than she accessed in these accounts. She could’ve had anything she wanted. Thoughts came too fast. Was it about the money, or was it to bring him down publicly—public failure—public humiliation—appearances. Red infiltrated the room. Perhaps it came through the low buzz of the florescent lights. He tried to stop it—tried to maintain control. After all, there was an explanation; Tony knew there was. How? How did Claire even know about this account? How could she access it? He had the key!