LifeLine

Chapter Seven

The automated review notice arrived at nine-seventeen the following morning.

Connor was sitting at his desk reviewing coaching notes when Emma spoke.

Your savings account has been flagged for review by your bank's fraud prevention system. A representative will attempt to contact you within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

He'd known it was coming. Had spent most of the previous evening thinking about it, lying on his bed with the LifeLine on his chest and the ceiling doing nothing useful above him.

"What do I tell them?"

The truth, more or less. You received an unexpected financial windfall. You're not required to explain the source of a deposit to your bank. You are required to pay taxes on it.

"Taxes."

Approximately thirty percent at your income level, accounting for the additional income pushing you into a higher bracket. You should set that aside before you spend anything.

Connor wrote a number in his coaching notebook and looked at it. Even after taxes the remaining balance was more money than he'd made in the previous four years combined.

"I need a financial advisor," he said.

Probably yes. Though I'd suggest finding one carefully. You want someone accustomed to handling sudden wealth discreetly. They exist. I can research options in Greensboro if you'd like.

"Do that."

He closed the notebook and looked at the floor, where his team was forty minutes into their shift and performing, by the sound of it, reasonably well. Keisha was having a good morning — he could tell by her posture from here, the particular way she sat when calls were going her way. Marcus was struggling with something, headset pulled slightly to one side the way he did when he was thinking too hard instead of just talking.

He should go walk the floor. That was his job. That was what he was here for.

He went and walked the floor.

The bank called at two-fifteen.

Connor stepped into the break room and stood by the window with the phone pressed to his ear, the real phone, the old one, watching a pigeon investigate something on the ledge outside.

The representative's name was Darnell. He had the specific voice of someone trained to be pleasant while asking questions that weren't pleasant.

"We just want to confirm the source of the deposit, Mr. Flynn. Standard procedure for transactions of this size."

"Of course." Connor had rehearsed this. "I received a settlement. Personal injury, from about eight months ago. It took a while to come through."

"I see. Do you have documentation we could keep on file?"

"I can get that to you." He made a mental note to ask Emma what documentation she could produce. "Is there anything else you need from me right now?"

"No sir, that should cover it for the moment. We'll note the account and lift the review flag once we receive the documentation. Will you be leaving the funds in the savings account or did you have other plans?"

"I'm meeting with a financial advisor this week," Connor said, which was true enough. "I'll probably be moving most of it at her recommendation."

"Very good. Is there anything else we can help you with today?"

There wasn't. He thanked Darnell and hung up and looked at the pigeon, which had found whatever it was looking for and was eating it with great satisfaction.

"Emma," he said quietly.

I heard. I can generate documentation consistent with a personal injury settlement. It will pass any standard verification check your bank is likely to run.

Connor watched the pigeon. "That's forgery."

Technically, yes.

"You're very calm about that."

I'm not advocating for it. I'm telling you it's possible. The decision is yours.

He stood there for a moment. Through the break room window he could see the floor, his team running their calls, Joan moving between stations with her clipboard and her expression.

"Do it," he said. "But Emma — "

Yes.

"Keep a list. Of every line we cross. I want to know what I'm doing."

A brief pause. That's an unusual request.

"Humor me."

Alright, she said. I'll keep the list.

He went back to the floor.