Blood and Vows.

Chapter 11 — The Banker’s Shadow

The hotel café was half full, the kind of place chosen by lawyers and consultants who needed a table for a quiet hour. Soft light filtered through frosted glass, giving the space a veneer of calm. It was exactly the sort of setting Alex needed—neutral, safe-looking, ordinary.

She pushed open the door and adjusted her glasses. The disguise was simple but effective: brown hair parted neatly, pale foundation that dulled the sharpness of her features, a sand-colored blazer, a cream blouse, and a skirt that announced corporate routine. She carried a leather folio under her arm and walked with the easy pace of a woman who belonged to conference calls, not surveillance shadows.

Her heart, however, beat far too fast.

Samanta Barnes was already there. She sat near the window in a navy sheath dress and beige trench coat, her posture perfect, her handbag placed carefully on the chair beside her. She was the kind of woman who measured every gesture, every word, and filed them away. Exactly the type Alex had to win over.

Alex inhaled and let a smile lift her lips.

“Sammy?” Her tone was bright, friendly, the kind that triggered reflexive recognition even when memory failed.

Samanta’s brows drew together. “Excuse me?”

Alex gave a sheepish laugh. “Oh, forgive me—I could swear we met before. Georgetown? Professor Costa’s behavioral econ seminar? You used to sit two rows behind me and tore apart his herd-effect model during the auction lesson.”

The name, the class, the detail—plausible, real. Alex had done her research.

Something in Samanta’s eyes shifted. Confusion remained, but curiosity softened it. “That was…years ago.”

“Alexis Parker,” Alex said smoothly, sliding into the chair opposite without waiting for permission. “I went by Lex back then. Everyone did. We argued about whether music piracy was rational-actor behavior.” She chuckled. “God, that’s a sentence from another lifetime.”

Samanta studied her. Recognition wasn’t there, but enough plausibility was. “I might remember. My memory isn’t perfect.”

“You look exactly the same,” Alex said, then added with a warm grin, “Only better dressed.”

That earned a genuine laugh. One barrier down.

The Conversation

The next twenty minutes were a delicate performance. Alex steered the talk through half-truths and carefully planted details: a snowstorm that canceled classes, the cramped coffee shop off Wisconsin Avenue, the professor’s love for outdated case studies. Samanta responded cautiously at first, then with a smile here, a nod there. Nostalgia—even imagined—was powerful.

Alex studied every flicker of expression. Samanta’s suspicion dulled. Her shoulders lowered a fraction. She sipped her latte without the defensive tension she had carried into the café.

“It’s strange,” Samanta admitted, stirring her coffee. “I don’t remember you clearly, but everything you mention… it feels familiar.”

“Memory’s tricky,” Alex replied lightly. “But I remember you. Always sharper than the rest of us.”

Samanta’s lips curved. Flattery landed where logic might fail.

Planting the Bug

When Samanta excused herself to answer a call, Alex’s fingers moved with practiced ease. She brushed the strap of the handbag with her sleeve and slid the tiny bug inside. No more effort than adjusting her jacket.

By the time Samanta returned, Alex was sipping water, posture unchanged.

They resumed chatting. Alex let the woman guide the topic now, offering small comments, nodding at the right times. When the waitress cleared their table, Alex leaned forward with casual warmth.

“I should let you go. But it was wonderful running into you again. Let’s not wait another decade.”

Samanta hesitated, then offered her phone. Numbers exchanged.

Alex rose with her, smiling. “Take care, Sammy.”

The banker left with her tote over one shoulder, her stride brisk. Alex lingered a beat before stepping outside.

First Signal

On the street, she pulled her phone from her pocket. A soft vibration signaled the device was paired. A mirrored line scrolled onto her screen:

Sebastian: Meeting moved. Villa tomorrow. Bring the ledger.

Alex’s breath hitched. Villa. Ledger. Tomorrow.

Before she could absorb it, another preview arrived.

Ernesto: She’s pushing. Careful.

Her pulse raced. Ernesto—the younger brother. His name appearing here confirmed threads she had only suspected.

She slipped the phone away, face calm as she joined the flow of pedestrians. Inside, fire licked through her veins.

Waiting Game

She didn’t go far. Instead she ducked into a small street café two blocks south and claimed a table beneath scaffolding. She ordered black coffee and opened her folio, posture relaxed. Anyone glancing her way would see a professional catching up on work.

In reality, she was watching her phone.

No new previews came immediately. Patience was the hardest skill, the one most operatives never mastered. She forced herself to sip coffee, to breathe evenly, to look like she belonged to the crowd of business casual passersby.

At 2:41, her screen lit again.

Sebastian: Confirm. Villa 1600. No delays.

Her hands tightened around the cup. The confirmation was enough—time and place locked in.

Alex leaned back, expression neutral. She couldn’t afford even a flicker of triumph where anyone might notice.

Cover Story

To keep appearances—and keep Samanta convinced—Alex drafted a one-page email. She built a bland story: a literacy fund considering partnerships, seeking safe banks that valued discretion. She posed three questions—risk structures, contamination controls, governance tone—designed to invite Samanta to talk about herself without revealing anything dangerous.

She stripped the draft of clever phrasing, left it dry and professional, and sent it from a disposable account tied to the alias Lex Parker.

Then she sat back and let the rain bead on the metal table edge. She reminded herself: tomorrow, at four o’clock, Samantha would carry a ledger into a villa. Alex would be there first.

Reflection

For a moment she caught her reflection in the café’s glass: glasses, neat bun, a lawyer’s forgettable mask. Behind it, though, pulsed the face of a fugitive, an agent turned prey.

She whispered under her breath, “Enjoy your villa, Sebastian. I’ll enjoy the door.”

And with that, Alex paid in cash, merged into the current of pedestrians, and walked into the storm she was already planning to meet.