Catching Air Read Online Free PDF Page A

get out as quickly as possible.
    “Three hundred and forty thousand dollars,” the teller finally said. She pushed the deposit slip toward Dawn. “Thank you, Ms. Zukoski.”
    This was how their routine always ended. But today Dawn was working from a new script.
    “I need to wire some money into a client’s account,” she said. She’d rehearsed that line a hundred times, saying it aloud as she paced her apartment at night to get just the right inflection, but now the words felt sharp and coppery in her mouth. She realized she was clutching her handbag so tightly that her fingers were turning white, and she loosened her grip.
    “Of course,” the teller said, her face betraying no surprise. “Could you step over there”—she gestured to the couch closest to the security guard—“and wait for our manager?”
    “The manager?” Dawn asked. She felt faint. “Is that . . . the standard practice?”
    “Yes,” the teller said.
    Was she lying? Dawn wondered. Maybe the firm had learned of her plans. An errant e-mail, a conversation overheard—she’d thought she’d been so careful, but what if she’d made one tiny, crucial mistake? This could all be a setup. Maybe the other customers were undercover cops. Maybe the teller had been wired by the FBI.
    “Lady, let’s get a move on,” called an older man with a gruff voice from the back of the line.
    As Dawn walked over to the couch, one of her pumps skidded on the polished floor. She regained her balance just before she fell.
    The manager approached, his hand extended. “Ms. Zukoski?”
    How did he know her name? Dawn almost bolted, then she realized the teller might have told him.
    “I need to wire some money into a client’s account,” Dawn repeated, hoping her hand didn’t feel clammy in his. Her rehearsed line kept running through her mind, like one of those continual advertising loops in Times Square. Dawn wished she were there now, losing herself in the crowds of tourists, blending into the masses.
    No one will get hurt , she reminded herself. She was just shifting funds around for a few days—something banks did all the time, ironically.
    “Certainly,” the manager said. “Will you accompany me to my desk?”
    She followed him, and he pulled a form and pen from a drawer. “Please fill out the necessary information,” he said. “And I’ll need your identification. Do you have the account numbers for the transfers?”
    Dawn nodded. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. She’d been entrusted with some of the firm’s banking duties her first month at work. It had surprised her, until she’d realized that the firm had copies of her passport, driver’s license, address, and social security number as well as bookkeepers who regularly scrutinized every transaction.
    She pulled her license and a slip of paper out of her purse. She’d printed a fake document on the firm’s letterhead, so it would look official, but she’d used her home computer to do so. She copied down the account numbers carefully, pressing hard with the pen so her numbers wouldn’t reveal that her hand was shaking.
    “One hundred thousand dollars?” the bank manager asked as he reviewed the form.
    Dawn nodded again.
    “Just a moment,” the manager said.
    This was it. If she was going to be arrested, it would happen now. She couldn’t help it; she looked toward the security guard, but he was gone. Where was he? Could he be behind her? She glanced around wildly before she spotted him opening the door for an elderly woman with a walker.
    She exhaled slowly. The manager was coming back now, and he was smiling.
    “Excellent,” he said. “The transfer will go through by the end of the day. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
    “No,” Dawn said. She got to her feet quickly. “Thank you.”
    In twenty steps she’d be out the door. Maybe she wouldn’t go back to work today; she could pretend she’d come down with the stomach flu. But no, she had to go