The Mask

Dressed entirely in black, Nancy Dominguez prowled past a dozing police officer as he sat in a squad car, parked in front of the art gallery/museum. Unnoticed, Nancy sneaked into the building.  She was taking a big chance getting caught this late night, but this bit of business had to be taken care of immediately.  The lieutenant would have his safe cracker here tomorrow, and she had to secure the safe contents before that happened.

Last Sunday, Nancy had lied to Lieutenant Brown during her interrogation, having told him that she hadn’t known the combination to Victor’s safe.  But tonight, with the aid of a small flashlight, she now entered the final numbers into the keypad of the giant strong box in Victor’s private office, a safe that had been installed behind a door to a fake closet.

She twisted and then pulled on the safe handle.  The door swung easily open, triggering the bright light within to turn on.  Cringing, Nancy shot her gaze toward the set of windows that faced the front of the building.  She let out a breath of relief; the safe light would not be noticed from the outside because of the dense curtains, which were now drawn closed.  She partly drew the door to the safe, anyway . . . just to make sure.

On the top-most shelf, Nancy found numerous thick bundles of cash—bills bound in wrappers.  She reached for a bundle and read the markings on the wrapper—one hundred thousand.   She counted the rest of the similar packets as she dropped them into her black gym bag—a meager three and a half million, but it would do just in case she needed to make a quick escape later.

The second shelf contained documents pertaining to the business.  She left those alone, knowing that all business paperwork was indeed in order.

She placed her bag on the floor and with both gloved hands, reached for the third shelf, for a multi-page folded document, Victor’s will and trust.  Nancy opened the thick decree and scanned the record.  She inhaled abruptly when she read the name of Victor’s primary beneficiary. 

“Beth Gunther . . . mierda!”

She read on.  Beth Gunther was to receive three quarters of Victor’s estate, which today was worth roughly twenty-five million—not counting his off shore money, of course.   After another quick calculation, Nancy determined her cut, a mere six and a quarter million.

“No . . . this won’t do.”

She looked closely among the shelves for Victor’s overseas bank account numbers . . . but she found none.  “Dammit!”  He had moved them.

But to where, exactly?

Nancy folded the trust document and placed it into her bag.  She knew, of course, that Victor’s lawyer would eventually present this paperwork to the police, though hopefully this wouldn’t happen for a while, hopefully not before allowing her enough time to gather the important paintings scattered throughout the art gallery.  And hopefully not before she could leave town with them all.

The bottom shelf was a deep one and it contained numerous small and extremely valuable paintings.  One by one, Nancy rolled them up and placed them into her bag.

She was done.

Nancy had the safe door almost closed when she swung it open again.   Digging into her bag, she pulled out two of the paintings and placed them back in the vault.   She studied the contents of the shelves again; things still didn’t look quite right.  From her bag, she reached for several packets of money and deposited them on the upper shelf.  She also moved a few of the business documents from the second shelf down to the third shelf.

“There—that’s better.”

She closed the safe door, and pressing a few buttons, she secured it once again.