The sky over Zurich was a flat, oppressive sheet of brushed pewter. Beneath it, the city hummed with the quiet, terrifying efficiency of old money and deep secrets. This was the world’s vault, a place where the ghosts of the wealthy came to hide their sins in numbered accounts and lead-lined safety deposit boxes.
Ethan stood on the Bahnhofstrasse, the collar of his charcoal overcoat turned up against the biting Alpine wind. He looked like any other high-end consultant, but beneath the coat, his ribs were taped, and his pulse was a frantic, human drumbeat.
"The security at Bank von Strauss isn't digital, Lila," Ethan whispered into his lapel, his breath hitching in the cold. "It’s mechanical. Weight-sensitive floors, air-pressure monitors, and a three-key system that requires three diffe
