Christopher Reich - Numbered Account

The lights dimmed, and Rudolf Ott rose from the table and walked to the dais. A heckler from the rear of the auditorium yelled, “Where is the Chairman?” His cry was quickly picked up by others. Nick craned his neck in the direction of the catcalls, then after a moment, returned his gaze to the stage. Two rows in front of him, all seats were filled but one. Only Rita Sutter had not yet arrived.

Ott placed a sheaf of papers on the lectern, then removed his glasses and laboriously polished them as he waited for the jeers to die off. He adjusted the microphone and very audibly cleared his throat. The audience quieted and soon an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Waiting for Ott to begin, Nick couldn’t keep Sylvia’s words from playing over and over in his head. “You’ve got the wrong woman.” Where was Rita Sutter? he began to wonder in earnest. Why wasn’t she attending the most important general assembly in the bank’s history? He recalled the photograph of Rita Sutter kissing Kaiser’s hand at his father’s going-away party in 1967. Had it been more than just a show for the camera? He remembered wondering why Rita Sutter would settle for a job as Kaiser’s secretary when she was clearly capable of so much more.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ott said, finally, “normally, I would open the proceedings with a brief welcome followed by a summary of the past year’s activities. However, recent events dictate that I depart from our traditional schedule. I have news of a special nature that frankly, I cannot keep to myself any longer.”

Nick sat up straighter, as did every other living, breathing being in the auditorium.

“Following the directives of Klaus Konig, the Adler Bank no longer wishes to present its own slate of candidates for election to the executive board of the United Swiss Bank. Therefore, I am pleased to hereby nominate all sitting members to a term of one year.”

A cheer erupted from the gathered employees. It rippled through the hall and spilled into the foyer and washed out onto the street. A string of reporters ran from the auditorium. An orgy of flashbulbs exploded.

With one sentence, the monster had been defanged.

No explanation was given, though Nick figured he knew why. All shares held in the Ciragan Trading account had been indefinitely frozen by the Swiss federal prosecutor’s office. The Adler Bank would be prohibited from exercising its proxy on the shares until such time as rightful ownership could be determined—meaning that for the next several years the shares would be without any voting power. When it could be proved that the shares belonged to Mr. Ali Mevlevi, a heroin-smuggling murderer, now deceased, the Adler Bank would file claim to their unfortunate client’s assets in Federal Court—as would the United States Drug Enforcement Administration and any other agency that had the least bit to do with the pursuit of Mevlevi. No decision regarding the ultimate disposition of the shares would be made for a decade. The United Swiss Bank could rest easy until then.

Nick remained seated while everyone around him stood and cheered. He told himself he should be happy too. USB was rid of Kaiser and free of Mevlevi. The bank would stand alone as it had for the past one hundred twenty-five years. Its continued independence might be his only victory.

In front of him, Martin Maeder pumped Sepp Zwicki’s hands. Ott paraded up and down the dais, patting his fellow board members on the back. The king is dead, Nick thought, staring at his pudgy figure. Long live the king.

Nick lowered his eyes and found himself staring at Rita Sutter’s empty chair. Practically the entire bank was here, but not her.

“You’ve got the wrong woman.”

And then he knew.

Abruptly, Nick rose and made his way to the aisle. He had to get to the bank. Wolfgang Kaiser was there. Now. Forcing his way through the exuberant crowd, Nick ran his suppositions through his mind over and over again. Kaiser had never expected to be a fugitive from justice. Faced with the prospect of an uncertain term in a Swiss jail or flight to a country with lax extradition laws, he would choose the latter. Nick had been foolish to think Kaiser might show up at the general assembly, but he was certain that the Chairman wouldn’t flee before learning that Konig had lost his battle for seats on USB’s board. Kaiser was too prideful for that. Before leaving, he would need to retrieve some belongings—cash, passport, who knew what—from the bank. And this was the only time that had been left him. The bank would be nearly deserted, with only a skeleton staff on duty. And one very efficient executive assistant.

Nick reached the end of the row and started up the aisle. His leg argued for him to slow. He ignored it and moved even faster, passing through a pair of swinging doors into the foyer. The long, low room was packed to bursting with the overflow crowd. Reporters hovered in every corner, urgently filing dispatches by cellular phone. Nick threaded his way through all of them. He had a strong desire to yell at the top of his lungs for every goddamned person to get out of his way, but somehow he was able to check it, and after another minute he was outside. He rushed down the broad flight of granite stairs. A fleet of taxis had assembled along the curb. He jumped into the first in line and barked his instructions. “Take me to the United Swiss Bank.”

Three minutes later, the taxi lurched to a halt in front of the imperious gray building. Nick paid the driver and got out. He hurried up the stairs, noting the uniformed policemen loitering on the pavement nearby.

Hugo Brunner stood behind the lectern inside the lobby, and when he saw Nick, he came forward shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Neumann. I have strict orders you are not to be allowed into the bank.”

Nick leaned on his cane, a little out of breath. “From who, Hugo? The Chairman? Is he here?”

“That is none of your business, sir. Now if you please…”

Nick stood up straight and slugged Brunner in the stomach. The hall porter gasped, and as he doubled over, Nick rewarded him with a jab to the chin. Brunner collapsed to the marble floor and lay still. Apologizing silently to the older man, Nick bent forward and dragged him behind the lectern. The bank was so quiet that not a soul had noticed.

The Emperor’s Lair was deserted. Lights burned in offices on either side of the corridor, but all were empty. Nick limped toward the Chairman’s anteroom, his only company the echo of his own uneven gait. The double doors to the Chairman’s office were closed. Nick took a deep breath, then placed his ear against the smooth paneling and listened. He heard a rustle inside, then something heavy hitting the floor. He gripped the handle and turned it slowly. It was locked. He took a step backward, lowered his shoulder, and threw himself at the door. It buckled inward and he stumbled into the room, unable to stop himself from falling to one knee.

Wolfgang Kaiser stood a few feet away, a surprised look pasted on his face. His skin was gray and haggard. Dark pouches supported his eyes. He had removed the canvas of the Renoir oil from its gold leaf frame and was rolling it up tightly. A cardboard cylinder sat on the couch next to him.

“It’s the best I can do,” he said, in a light tone inappropriate for the occasion. “I haven’t put aside any cash, and I imagine my accounts have already been frozen.” He motioned with the rolled-up canvas. “In case you’re wondering, it belongs to me, not to the bank.”

Nick found his cane and pushed himself to his feet. “Of course. I know you wouldn’t dream of stealing from the bank.”

Kaiser stuffed the canvas into the cardboard cylinder, then popped on a plastic top. “I suppose I should thank you for killing Mevlevi.”