Chapter 13: Eight O'Clock

I read the sheet a third time, standing in the hotel doorway in a borrowed robe.

My name was on a bank account I had never opened.

"He's going to wire two hundred million dollars to a woman who doesn't know she has an account," I said.

"And then call you a thief," Nick said behind me.

Shelby wrapped her arms around herself.

"That's what he told me in the car," she said. "'By Monday, Leigh Stannard will be the one on the news.' I thought he meant the stalker story."

"Come in, Shelby," I said. "Sit down."

She came in this time.

Nick found her a chair and a glass of water, and he did it without a word, which I noticed.

"Did he say who opened it?" he asked.

"No. He said he had a friend at the bank."

"Then the bank is the second crime," Nick said. "I'll make a call."

He took his phone into the bathroom and shut the door.

I heard his voice through the wood, low and fast. I could not make out the words.

I did not ask.

At four, I called my father.

He answered on the first ring, in the voice of a man who had never been asleep.

"Say the word," he said.

"I have a wire, a bank in the Caymans and a closing in six hours."

"I know a woman at the U.S. Attorney's office," he said. "She owes me for a railroad fraud I handed her in 2009. I'll have her in your lobby by six."

"Dad."

"Yes?"

"Shelby said you fell asleep in a chair. Where's your overcoat?"

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