Found Money - James Grippando [49]
“I’m here on family business, I guess you’d call it. My father recently passed away.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. As the executor of his estate, I’m accounting for all of his assets. It’s my understanding that he has a safe deposit box here at your bank, which I’d like to access this morning.”
“Very well. I’ll need to see your passport and power of attorney.”
“Sure.” Ryan opened his leather bag and removed the power of attorney his father had executed when he became ill. He handed it over with his passport.
“Thank you.” She flipped right to the photo ID, then glanced at Ryan. She seemed satisfied. “Your father’s full name?” she asked, poised to enter it on her computer keyboard.
“I believe it’s a numbered account.”
“It’s numbered as far as the outside world is concerned. We do have the names in our internal data bank.”
“Naturally,” he said, feeling a little stupid. “His name was Frank Patrick Duffy.”
She typed in the name and hit ENTER. “Here it is,” she said, checking the screen. “Yes, he does still have a safe deposit box with us.”
“Box Two-Forty-Two,” said Ryan as he pulled the key from his bag.
“That’s what your key says. It’s actually Box One-Ninety-Three. It’s coded for security purposes.”
“Whatever it is, I’d like to get into it as soon as possible.”
“First, I need to check your father’s signature on the power of attorney against the signature specimen on file here. Standard procedure. It will take only a second.” She clicked her mouse, bringing up a signature on her computer screen. She fed the signature page from the power of attorney into a document scanner on her desktop. In seconds, as she had promised, it verified the signature as genuine.
“Let’s go,” she said, rising.
Ryan followed her out the door and down the hall. They stopped at the security checkpoint, where another armed guard was posted. He unlocked the glass door to allow Ryan and his escort to pass. The safe deposit boxes were all in one secured area, arranged from floor to ceiling like a locker room. Everywhere he looked was another stainless steel box. The large ones were on the bottom. Smaller ones were on top. Ms. Fuentes led Ryan to Box 193, which was one of the smaller ones. It had two locks on the facade. She inserted her master key into one lock and turned it.
“Your key is for the other lock,” she said. “I’ll leave you alone now. If you need me, check with the guard. There’s a room with a table and chair to your left. You can take the whole box with you and open it there, if you wish. No one else will be allowed in here until you’re finished.”
“Thank you,” said Ryan.
She nodded, then turned and walked away.
Ryan stared straight at the shiny stainless steel box. He could only shake his head. His father had led a simple life. So simple, his secrets were locked in a cold steel box in Central America.
To his surprise, he felt numb, nearly paralyzed. Even just five minutes ago, he had been so eager to open the box that he thought he might conceivably break the key in the process. Now, however, he wasn’t so courageous. He felt his mother’s trepidation. Norm’s warning haunted him. He did have a choice. He could open the box. Or not. It wasn’t just a matter of wanting to know the truth. The question was, could he deal with it?
Slowly, he brought the key to the lock and inserted it. With a turn of the wrist, the tumblers clicked. He grabbed the handle and tugged. The box slid forward a few inches, opening like a small drawer. He froze. He felt a sudden impulse to shove it back in place, closing it forever. There was still time to turn back. He could not yet see inside. He hadn’t come this far just to pay homage to the past, however, leaving it safely buried.
With a steady pull he removed the box from its sleeve. He laid it on the bench behind him. It was no larger than a shoe box, sealed all the way around. With the truth so close, curiosity took over. He didn’t bother taking the box to the back room with the table. His heart quickened. He flipped the latch and opened the top.
He stared inside. He wasn’t sure what