“I’m sorry, Miss Fox, but that is not how this bank works. We have rules and regulations we have to adhere to. I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Lizzie leaned back and crossed her legs. Then she smiled. She thought she saw a flicker of alarm in the banker’s eyes just as a discreet knock sounded. The door opened, and Annette Bloom walked over to Sooner’s desk and handed him a sheaf of papers. Lizzie knew what the papers were; her own Google profile with a short summary on a sticky note affixed to the first page for Sooner’s immediate reading pleasure.

“Oh, I think you can help me, Mr. Sooner. In fact, I know you can. Before I came here, I stopped at the Post and had a rather lengthy conference with the editor-in-chief, Maggie Spritzer. They’re planning an all-out exposé of identity thefts that have arisen out of the banks in the area, and your sixteen branches are at the top of the list. Now, I am prepared to work with you, as is Miss Spritzer, so that you and your sixteen branches will come off as saviors instead of a bunch of uncaring, hard-nosed bankers. Front-page coverage, top of the fold, Mr. Sooner. Personally speaking, Mr. Sooner, as a bank customer, nothing would give me more confidence than to know my bankers care about me and my deposits, as opposed to a…say, a run on your sixteen branches.”

Lizzie looked down at the diamond watch on her wrist and smiled. “Time is money, Mr. Sooner. My offer is on the table for exactly five minutes. After that…” She threw her hands in the air and shrugged.

“I need more than five minutes, Miss Fox. I have people I need to call.”

“Please, Mr. Sooner, don’t insult my intelligence. Read through those papers your secretary just gave you. I never say anything I don’t mean. You have full authority to do what I asked, and we both know it. It would be a wise man who comes in before the time expires. If you need an incentive, let me be the first to tell you that I heard from a very reliable source that the Post is going to be receiving some unorthodox help in the way of the vigilantes.”

Sooner flopped back into the depths of his burgundy Naugahyde chair, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and said, “Sweet Jesus! All right, Miss Fox, you win. I’ll bring our legal counsel in, and the two of you can work out the details.” He pressed a button and asked Ms. Bloom to come into the office. She poked her head in the door and waited for instructions. “Tell John Tyson to come to my office, then get the keys to Mr. Wong’s property out of the vault and bring them to me.”

“See,” Lizzie said brightly, “that wasn’t so hard, now, was it? And you’re doing the right thing, Mr. Sooner.” She offered up a wicked smile. “Let’s not kid each other, Mr. Sooner, you don’t want to go a few rounds with the notorious vigilantes. I can’t say that I blame you.”