Chapter 1
It was unlike any financial institution Annie Boucher had ever visited before. She sat in the small waiting area of a Swiss bank in Geneva, in one of several plush leather-covered walnut tub chairs. A sea of deep pile, vivid red carpeting, surrounded the island of seats. This led to a small, gold enhanced, white marble counter area to her right. The opulence of the institution in which she sat was a statement. It worked. She was in awe of the staggering, ostentatious surroundings.
The directions she’d received were quite specific, which made the property easy to locate. They were necessary, as she would have passed it off as a solicitor’s or accountant’s office at home in Paris. The only sign of its purpose to anyone passing was a simple brass nameplate to the left of a pair of large oak double-doors. These lead into what appeared to be a nondescript three-storey building.
Annie had rung ahead for an appointment, as outlined in documents received on Valentine’s Day, from a hitherto unknown solicitor. She quoted a code number, as specified. The bank arranged a meeting for the following week. On arrival, they requested the code again when she pressed the intercom button by the door. Identity confirmed, a latch snicked, and the door opened a half-inch for her to push its heft inward. Despite being the heaviest door she’d ever encountered outside a church, it glided open and made just a gentle click as it shut behind her. On approaching the counter, she handed in a sheet received from the solicitor. This resulted in her being asked by a genteel lady to sit and await service. She sat alone in the foyer among luscious ivory walls, dotted with expensive looking paintings, highlighted by gold picture lights. Annie did not recognise any, but presumed they were by famous Dutch masters. Priceless originals, she suspected.
“Madame Boucher?” The owner of a German accented female voice approached from behind the counter area. The lady was middle-aged, tall, with bobbed blonde hair, dressed in a stunning, figure hugging royal blue dress. Expensive apparel that required a sensational figure to carry it.
’Bet she’s never had children,’ Annie mused to herself. A gentle scent of ostentatious perfume moved with her hostess like an aura. Annie didn’t know the brand. She could never afford high-end perfumes, but the expense was obvious. That was the point.
“I am Madeline Durand. You prefer French, German or English for speaking?”
“English, please. I’ve spoken it most of my life,” Annie felt compelled to explain.
“OK. Please come with me.”
She followed Madeline along the foyer, which curved a little to the left before turning right. Madeleine held a security card up to a scanner before entering through a single door past the counter and into a corridor with half a dozen expensive looking solid wood doors on either side. She opened the third door on the left and indicated for Annie to go inside. “Please wait here, Jerome will be with you presently.”
“Thank you.” Annie felt ill at ease. Imposter syndrome, that was a thing, wasn’t it? This must be what she was experiencing right now, expecting someone to remove her from the premises, stating that she had no business here. Madeline shut the door and Annie sat alone in the small room. It was about the size of the kitchen area in her small, rented Parisian apartment.
The interior was just as plush as the foyer, with sumptuous upholstered futons, rather than tub chairs. A regal shade of purple adorned the walls. Sound seemed to deaden in the room, like a recording studio. Annie presumed the booths were all sound proofed.
Several minutes passed before Jerome entered. A short, willowy and effeminate thirty-something man; all movement from the hips. At the futon to her side, he dipped down and placed a rectangular metal box about the size of a small laptop, stepped away from it in ceremonial fashion, and stood in front of her. Before leaving, he held out a key and waited for Annie to open her hand before setting it in the centre of her palm.
“If there is anything else, or you wish to leave, please ring the bell.” He gestured, open-handed, to a brass doorbell in a circular surround on the wall; then nodded, reversed two paces, and left the room.
As expected, the key opened the box, which appeared to be a steel construct. The top hinged upward to reveal a C4 brown envelope, the size accommodating a standard A4 sheet of paper. Inside was a batch of documents: copies of two birth certificates and a passport, a lengthy letter in French, and a single USB key. Annie took the envelope, replaced the documents in it, and checked the box. Satisfied there were no further contents, she rang the bell to leave.
