Wild Fiction

‘Do you have a key?’ The wizen man behind the counter asked. He was wearing a suit that was at least one size too big for him. His grey eyes were magnified by his large square horn-rimmed glasses and matched the greying of his black hair at the temples.
‘I most certainly do,’ the author replied dangling it in the air. It was still on the cord that Rebecca had tied to it.
‘Please wait,’ he said and disappeared through a door at the back. He reappeared next to the author with a similar key in his had. ‘Please follow me,’ the tone of his voice matched his dull grey suit. The old man took the author through a security door and to the back of the bank and into a large vault. Small square gun-metal-grey doors lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Riveted to each door was a brass plate with a number stamped on it. At the edge of each door, one above the other, where two keyholes.
The old man looked at the piece of paper with the account number and walked along the right hand wall tapping absently at each door with the key in his hand. Three quarters of the way along he stopped and inserted his key into the top keyhole of one of the doors, turned it and stood back. The author stepped forward, inserted his key, turned it, and pulled open the door. Inside was a long metal box. The author gripped the handle with two fingers and slid it out. Fixed to the top of the box was a keypad with the numbers 1 to 9. There was no zero.
‘You have the PIN for the box?’ the old man said looking up at him.
‘Yes,’ the author said.
‘Let me show you to one of our private rooms.’
The polished oak table gleamed under the florescent lights in the windowless room. The author dropped the box on the table. He latched the door before testing it by pulling firmly at the handle. The palms of his hands were moist from sweat and he rubbed them together before wiping them on the seat of his trousers.
‘Three, one, five, four,’ he said as he pushed down each number with an extended forefinger. On four, a sharp click echoed around the room and the top of the box came away. A single manila envelope lay inside. His hands trembled as he pulled it out. He twisted the flat wire that held it closed and emptied a sheaf of beige printed papers onto the desk. He picked up the top one and looked at it.
Anglo American Bearer Bond
Nominal value: £1,000,000