Numbered Account

Wolfgang Kaiser stood a few feet away, a surprised look pasted on his face. His skin was gray and haggard. Dark pouches supported his eyes. He had removed the canvas of the Renoir oil from its gold leaf frame and was rolling it up tightly. A cardboard cylinder sat on the couch next to him.

"It's the best I can do," he said, in a light tone inappropriate for the occasion. "I haven't put aside any cash, and I imagine my accounts have already been frozen." He motioned with the rolled-up canvas. "In case you're wondering, it belongs to me, not to the bank."

Nick found his cane and pushed himself to his feet. "Of course. I know you wouldn't dream of stealing from the bank."

Kaiser stuffed the canvas into the cardboard cylinder, then popped on a plastic top. "I suppose I should thank you for killing Mevlevi."

"Anytime," said Nick. He was put off guard by Kaiser's collegial tone. He reminded himself that yesterday the same man had wanted him dead. "Where's Rita Sutter? I didn't see her at the assembly."

Kaiser opened his eyes a little wider and laughed. "So that's how you knew I was here? Clever of you. She's waiting for me downstairs. We came in through the gate at the rear. She stuffed me in the trunk of her car. Insisted it was safer."

"I'd say that makes her the clever one."

Kaiser placed the cardboard container on the couch behind him. He took a step away from Nick, absently brushing the end of his mustache. "You have no idea how thrilled I was when you decided to join the bank. Foolish of me, I know, to think you actually wanted a career with us. For a while, I thought you might take my place one day. Call it an old man's ego."

"I didn't come here for my career. Just to find out why my father was killed. He didn't deserve to die so you could leave your stamp on this bank."

"Oh, but you have it backward, Nicholas. I needed the bank to make sense of my life. I always viewed it as something greater than my own ambition, or at least something worthy of it. Your father was a different story. He wanted to shape it in his own image."

"The image of an honest man?"

Kaiser laughed wistfully. "We were both honest men. Just living in dishonest times. Surely you can see all I've done for the bank. We're up to three thousand employees. Think of their families, the community, the country even. God knows what would've happened had Alex taken over."

"At least he would have still been alive, along with Cerruti and Becker."

Kaiser frowned, then sighed. "Maybe. I only did what I had to do. You have no idea the pressure Mevlevi put me under."

Nick thought he knew it only too well. "You should have fought him."

"Impossible."

"Only because you're a weak man. Why didn't you tell my father that Mevlevi was going to kill him?"

"I did. I warned him time and time again. I had no idea things would get out of hand so quickly."

"You had every idea. You closed your eyes because you knew without my father there was no one to challenge you for the chairmanship of the bank."

Nick stared at him, allowing his anger to crest and flow over him. This one man whose actions were responsible for so much in his life. His father's death, his own wandering childhood, the struggle to pull himself from a foundering ship, and when he had, the decision to chuck it all and come to Switzerland. If he wanted to, he could lay every step he'd taken at this man's feet.

"Why?" he shouted. "I want a better reason than your stinking career."

Kaiser shook his head and a look of commiseration saddened his face. "Don't you see, Nicholas? It was the only way. Once we choose our paths, we are committed. You, me, your father. We're all the same. We're true to ourselves, victims of our character."

"No," Nick said. "We're not the same. We're different. Very, very different. You convinced yourself that your career was worth the sacrifice of your morals. Offer me ten million dollars and the chairmanship of the bank and I still wouldn't let you leave this building."

Kaiser started forward, an i

"I imagined that was why you were here," he said in a defeated tone.

Nick looked him in the eye. "You were right."

Kaiser managed a weak smile, then slid open a drawer to his right and removed a dark revolver. He lifted it in the air, admiring it, then lowered it to the desk, and with his thumb cocked the hammer. "Don't worry, Nicholas. I won't harm you, though I've plenty of reason. It's you who I have to blame for this mess, isn't it? Fu

Nick approached the desk slowly. He twirled the cane once in his hand, tightening his grip on its rubber handle. "I won't let you do this," he said softly in quiet counterpoint to his i

"Really? I thought it was the warrior's way."

"No," Nick said. "When defeated, a warrior lets the enemy decide his punishment."

Kaiser stared at him oddly, then raised the gun to his head. "But, Nick, as you yourself know, I am the enemy."

At that moment, a cry came from the doorway. Later, Nick realized it was Hugo Bru

Wolfgang Kaiser lay a few feet away, motionless. Blood flowed copiously from the wound to his skull. In a few seconds, his face was painted a dark red.

Nick stared at the body, cursing Kaiser for having gotten off so easily. He deserved to spend the rest of his life in a gray concrete cell, eating watery soup and ruing the loss of everything he had held dear.

Then Kaiser coughed. His head lifted a few inches off the rug before banging down again a moment later. His eyes blinked wildly and he gasped repeatedly, realizing at that instant that he was still alive. He brought a hand up to his head and when he pulled it away, Nick saw that the bullet had carved a three-inch furrow across his temple and into his hair. The wound was only a graze.

Nick scrambled across the carpet and pulled the gun from Kaiser's hand. He didn't plan on giving the Chairman a second chance.

"Stop," shouted Hugo Bru

Nick stared into the older man's gray eyes, and his heart sank. He was certain Bru

Nick sat on the couch, tired but content. The seesaw wail of a siren sounded in the distance and drew near. It was the sweetest noise he had ever heard.

Outside, the sky was a downy gray. A sharp wind blew from the south, teasing the air with the first intimations of spring. Nick paused on the steps of the bank and breathed in deeply. He had expected to feel happier, freer maybe, but deep inside him a doubt lingered, a certainty that he had somewhere to rush to, someone he had to see, but he couldn't quite remember who or what it was. For the first time since his arrival in his father's country two months ago, he had nowhere to go, no pressing schedule to meet. He was on his own.