They got to Ashford Private Bank at 7:58 AM.
Two minutes before the doors opened to the public.
The building looked normal. Glass doors. Security guard. Coffee shop across the street. But Anthony didn’t like normal.
“Whitmore will be here,” he said quietly. “And so will the man from the vault.”
“Then we don’t give them time,” Benjamin said, gripping the notched key. “In and out.”
Evelyn held both keys in her pocket. 317. 318. Her grandfather’s entire plan fit in her palm.
The doors unlocked. Charles Whitmore was already inside, behind the desk, tie perfect, smile practiced.
“Mrs. Grayson,” he said, like nothing had happened at St. Marrow. “Back so soon?”
Evelyn met his eyes. “We need access to Box 318.”
Whitmore’s smile flickered. Just for a second. “I’m afraid Box 318 requires s
