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Left standing at the desk, he suppressed the urge to fidget, and forcibly restrained himself from overtly scanning the huge lobby for guards or security.

Take it easy, he ordered himself. You know that with a withdrawal this big, they have to get it okayed. At least I know for sure that Okanor transferred the funds the way I told him to …

Han saw the clerk speaking rapidly to a big, heavyset man in a posh business suit. The man nodded, took Han’s ID card, and approached him on Han’s side of the barrier. “Jenos Idanian?” he asked courteously. He had a chubby, pink face, pale blue eyes, and a balding pate with sparse white hair.

“Yeah,” Han said.

“I am Parq Yewgeen Plancke, the manager of this facility. I have authorized your withdrawal, sir, but before I can give you back your card, I would like to see an additional piece of ID, purely as a formality.” The man smiled politely. “Financial institutions are subject to these rules, I’m afraid. Will you step into my office?”

He waved at a glassine-enclosed cubicle. Han’s hackles rose, but he could see the entire office, and there was no one else in there, no guards anywhere in evidence. “Okay,” he said, “but I’m kinda in a hurry, so I hope it doesn’t take long.”

“Only a second,” Plancke assured him, waving Han on ahead.

The Corellian walked into the office confidently, but every sense was alert, every muscle coiled for action. Plancke’s office was blandly reassuring—an expensive black marble-topped desk, with a stylus and styl-pad resting atop it. An ultra-modern flower arrangement of black lorchads graced the corner of the desk. There were two visitor chairs, and Plancke’s expensive cloned black leather chair.

“Have a seat, Master Idanian,” Plancke said, gesturing to a chair. Han sat down. “Now, if you will give me another source of ID, I can scan it in and you will be on your way.”

Han got the ID out without demur, but he didn’t miss a move Plancke made. For two credits, I’d hightail it outta here, he thought. I got a bad feeling about this …

Plancke took the ID, scanned it in. “Oh, dear,” he said, not sounding at all surprised or regretful, “I’m afraid we have a problem, sir. I have been ordered to place a freeze on your account. I cannot give you any of your money.”

Han was up and out of his chair. “What? But I—what in the name of the galaxy is going on here?”

Plancke shook his head. “I only know that the Bank has been contacted by Inspector Hal Horn of CorSec. Your funds are suspected of being illegally accrued, and are frozen, pending a thorough investigation by Imperial and Corellian Security.”

Han didn’t waste his breath arguing, just headed for the door. His chest felt as though it were caught in a gee-vise. No … it can’t end like this …

He was a meter from the thick, smoked-glassine door when he heard an electronic click. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I’ve been advised to hold you here for Imperial security forces,” Plancke said, sounding as if he was enjoying his chance to be a hero. “Have a seat.”

Han turned and looked back at the fat man. He was smiling blandly, his round little pink cheeks making him look like a jolly sprite out of a child’s story. “I’ve also signaled for our guard. He should be here any moment. Please … have a seat while you wait to be arrested.”

Rage filled Han with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. “Over my dead body!” he snarled, bounding forward. He threw himself over the desk, grabbing the bank manager’s writing stylus as he did so. Slamming into the astonished Plancke, he took him over backward in his expensive chair. In a second, he had the sharp point of the stylus positioned just behind Plancke’s chubby pink earlobe. “One shove,” he gritted, “and this slides between your jawbone and your skull, straight into your brain, Plancke. If you have one. You got a brain, Plancke?”

“Yes …”

“Good, then use it. I’m already mad … so don’t push me any further, understand?”

Han could feel all the muscles of Plancke’s throat contract as he swallowed. His voice was hoarse and shrill with fear. “Yes