“He’ll be at the country club bar in an hour,” Nash says, the smirk evident in his voice now. “Just get the key. Don’t ruin his life.”
“No promises,” she says, and hangs up.
A wave of relief and admiration washes through the room. “Okay,” Malachi says, his focus snapping back to the blueprints. “Ruby gets us the guard key. That still leaves the entry.”
Knox points to the screen. “The bank’s primary security system does a full reboot every morning at 0400. There’s a seventeen-second window where the motion sensors and the cameras on the ground floor are offline.”
“Seventeen seconds,” Nash states, his voice flat. “That’s an impossibly tight window. One slip, one sticky lock, and the whole place lights up.”
“We don’t need the vault,” I say. “Darla said the box is in a separate room off the main lobby. And she gave us the entry point: a maintenance access panel behind a portrait in the west hallway. It bypasses the lobby door alarm.”
A slow, appreciative smile touches Knox’s lips. “Old money banks. Arrogant. I love it.”
Malachi scrubs a hand over his jaw, his expression grim. “Seventeen seconds is too tight for just a two-man team. We need an ace. We need Arden.”
He pulls out his phone, hits a number, and puts it on speaker. It rings once, twice, then Frankie’s voice, sounding distracted. “What’s up, Malachi? I’m kind of busy.”
“I need Arden,” Malachi says, no preamble. “We have a situation. A tight window. His... skillset... would be invaluable.”
Knox murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for me and Nash to hear. “Yeah, his freaky vampire speed.” I bite back a smirk.
Frankie lets out a long, tired sigh. “Good luck. He’s been… preoccupied… ever since the Holloway bombing. The fallout from Donovan’s death and Alice’s return is consuming him. Calls aren’t exactly being taken.”
“Frankie,” Malachi’s voice is a low, hard command. “It’s for the video. The one that nails Graves.”
A beat of silence. “Shit,” she says, her voice suddenly focused. “Okay. I’ll try. No promises. But I’ll try to get a message to him.” The line clicks dead.
Malachi stares at his phone, his jaw tight. He looks at me and Nash. “We don’t wait. We can’t. The plan stands. Ruby gets the guard key. Knox, you’re on comms. East, you and Nash go in at 0400. Clean and quiet. If Arden shows, it’s a bonus. If not, you do not miss that window.”
The plan is set. The air in the room is thick with the tension of the coming heist.
Knox, however, lets out a long, weary sigh and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay, good. The bank is handled. Now can we please talk about the real problem?”
Malachi raises an eyebrow. “The real problem?”
“Yeah,” Knox grumbles, leaning back in his chair. “That I can’t take a shit in my house without checking the shower fora goddamn clown doll. I’m seeing red balloons in my sleep, Malachi.”
A beat of silence, then Nash speaks, his voice a deadpan monotone. “There was something breathing in my room last night. I think it was a possum. It was watching me.”
The tension in the room doesn’t just break; it shatters. I let out a bark of laughter, and even Malachi cracks a smile.
“You think that’s bad?” Malachi says, a hint of dark humor in his voice. “I’m being haunted by a glittery, pink ghost-child who keeps replacing my toothbrush.”
The room erupts. It’s a pressure valve releasing, a much-needed moment of gallows humor. We’ve been living in a war zone for days—first the gala, then the shipyard, now planning a bank heist. The girls’ ridiculous, chaotic prank war isn’t just an annoyance; it’s a lifeline.
I lean back, a real, easy smile on my face for the first time all morning. “Gentlemen.” My voice is full of mock seriousness. “They’ve had their fun. Patience has been key, and our focus remains on the real war.” My grin turns predatory. “But after we hit this bank tonight... I think it’s time we put Operation: Payback into action. Time to escalate. Properly.”
Knox’s eyes light up. “It’s about damn time.”
“We’re all still good on the plan?” Malachi asks, looking around the table.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, my mind already running through the beautiful, chaotic details. “Candace gets the ‘Baby Shark’ notebook and the ‘Kokomo’ tiki bar.”
Malachi’s grin is pure evil. “I’ve already ordered the inflatable parrots.”
“Knox, the med-supplies stunt worked—Sloane’s closet was a hit—but you still got that clown dummy?” Malachi asks, turning to him.
“It’s in the trunk,” Knox says, satisfied. “Just waiting for its medical emergency moment.”
