Page 102 of The Last Morgan

Barnaby did a small happy dance at the thought of getting this part of the mission done. Damien smirked and shook his head.

"I need a moment to get ready," Lucy said, already backing toward the hallway. "I’ll be back."

Without waiting for their responses, she darted upstairs. Lucy pushed open her bedroom door. The sound of running water from her ensuite bathroom filled the space. Byron was in the shower, steam swirling from the slightly open door.

She shouted. "Hurry up and get ready! Barnaby found the bank where the deposit box is, and we’re leaving shortly!"

From inside the bathroom, Byron's voice rumbled out. "Yes, boss."

Lucy rolled her eyes, amused by the way he always responded to her commands with that signature blend of obedience and sarcasm.

She quickly changed into black tactical pants, a fitted black long-sleeve top, and boots — sleek, fast, and practical. She checked her reflection once and tugged her hair into a low ponytail.

Byron emerged a minute later, a towel low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his sharp torso. His muscles flexed as he ruffled a towel through his hair.

Lucy caught herself staring — again. She turned away, grabbing her jacket to mask the heat rising up her cheeks.

"Five minutes," Byron promised, flashing a cocky grin.

"You have three," Lucy called back as she left the room, heading back down to the others.

By the time she returned, Corey and Barnaby were already outside near the cars, checking their gear. Damien leaned against one of the SUVs, sunglasses on, arms crossed, looking every inch the professional bodyguard.

"Ready?" Corey asked.

Lucy nodded. "Give Byron a minute, he will be down shortly”

Corey, still not all together happy with the idea of his sister being with the grim reaper, nodded and turned, shaking his head.

Engines roared to life. They piled into two separate black SUVs — Corey driving one, Damien the other. The drive toward the city was tense but quick. Gray clouds still hung heavy overhead, casting everything in a muted silver hue.

"Same place, different mission," Lucy muttered as they turned onto the boulevard leading toward Marpo Bank.

The sun cast a low glare across the glistening streets as the convoy of sleek black SUVs pulled into the marble-lined entrance of Marpo Bank. The building stood as an opulent monolith amidst a street of modern steel and glass. A place of secrets, of power. Of wealth. And now, of stolen truth.

Lucy stepped out of the lead SUV, there was purpose in her stride, an unspoken command in her posture. Inside, the bank was near silent, as Lucy approached the reception desk, the teller's eyes widened in recognition.

"I need to speak to the branch manager, please."

Within moments, a tall, silver-haired man emerged from a side door. His face split into a practiced smile. "Miss Morgan," he greeted warmly. "Back so soon."

Lucy accepted his handshake with a nod. "We need access to a security deposit box. One that corresponds with this key."

Barnaby stepped forward and presented the small brass key.

The manager examined it, turning it over in his palm. "Ah... one of our legacy boxes. We’ve not used this particular series in over a decade. Follow me."

They were ushered through a secured hallway lined with framed portraits of past banking magnates. As they walked, Lucy glanced at Corey, who gave her the slightest nod. The manager led them to a private waiting chamber—marble floors, high-backed chairs, a glass water pitcher sitting untouched on a side table.

"Wait here, please. I’ll fetch the box."

He disappeared through another door, locking it behind him.

Minutes passed.

Then more minutes.

Barnaby had already begun fidgeting, tapping furiously on his phone and pacing with nervous energy. "Something’s not right," he muttered.