If I give him my account number, the bank will notify him.
Lucian owns the bank. Or he owns the people who own the bank. Or he owns the people who owe favors to the people who own the bank.
I don't know the exact shape of his web. I just know it exists. And two hundred thousand dollars appearing in my account, from whoever this guy is, under his roof—
The notification will reach him before I reach the gate.
No. No, no, no.
"Ehmm… he said it would be cash. Not account or whatever."
The words stumbled out of me, clumsy and too fast. I didn't look at him. I looked at the cigarette burning between his fingers, the thin column of smoke rising like a question mark.
His pierced eyebrow lifted. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world to watch me squirm.
"Wow." His voice was flat, amused. "And how does that concern me?"
Think, Camilla. Think.
He doesn't know. He doesn't know about the bear. The painting. The twenty-one years. He doesn't know I'm... I'm Camilla.
