Ten months earlier, a massive circular hole had punctured the riveted steel expanse, revealing the opening to Coffre, a swanky supper club located in the bank’s former vault. It had opened in November 2019 with a long, lacquered bar, glass shelves stocked with glittering, golden whiskeys, and a menu serving up gourmet bistro fare long after most NYC kitchens closed. The “new hotness,” as it had been dubbed by none other than New York magazine, was among the pandemic’s first casualties. The tight space lacked windows, preventing business from resuming even after indoor dining had temporarily reopened in the fall. The vault had closed at the end of March, just four months after its launch. It had stayed shut.

As Tonya approached the kitchen, she got a strong whiff of fish, a sign of less-than-fresh catch. More pungent aromas presented themselves as she drew closer to the refurbished security grates: black pepper, cumin, frying oil, tomato sauce. Such smells were new. A small army had once made sure that the odors of the various ingredients never escaped the kitchen.

She shouted through the metal grates. “Two slice chocolate cake.”

Samuel, the garde-manger in charge of the pantry and cold first courses, made eye contact and dropped his chin. He’d added the dessert station to his duties after the pastry chef had been let go. The takeout orders that had become the majority of the restaurant’s business tended not to include decadent sweets. It had been easier for the kitchen to cut the dessert menu to three inexpensive options prepared by the neighboring patisserie.

Order conveyed, Tonya jogged over to the bar and the handsome man behind it. Mike looked like the movie star that he one day hoped to become with a diamond jaw, piercing eyes, and a height several inches shy of six feet.

Of all his features, Tonya might have appreciated Mike’s size most of all. Had he been tall, his youth would have been wasted on starstruck, immature girls, shaping him into an insufferable womanizer lacking in wit or real talent. As it was, Mike had developed a charming, flirty personality, a fun sense of humor, and an ability to play piano. He might make it in the movies, Tonya thought. Topping thirty wasn’t the career ender for actors that it was for actresses yet to hit the big time.

“Four hot toddies, please,” she said.

“That’s a sick person’s drink. They’re not hacking up lungs, are they?”

“Just cold, I think.”

“Well, keep your distance as you deliver it.”

Tonya’s smile was genuine this time, though her mask still covered it. “You’re always looking out.”

The corners of Mike’s eyes crinkled. “It’s such a nice view.”