Gold of Kings Read Online Free

day, Ms….”
    â€œEmma Webb. I understand. But this can’t wait.”
    â€œIt has to.”
    â€œMs. Syrrell, I’ve been by three times a day since your grandfather’s demise. I was specifically ordered not to phone. His instructions were, ‘Only in person.’ And ‘Do this immediately .’”
    Digesting this information took Storm through several long breaths. “Sean told you to contact me after he died?”
    Emma Webb backed out the door. “Can we go, please? Now?”
    The attorney waited in the courtyard as Storm locked the shop and reset the alarm. “I was ordered to make contact the moment notice came of his demise. And not before. Mr. Syrrell did everything but tattoo his instructions on my arm.”
    â€œThat sounds like Sean.”
    Emma Webb pointed them east along Worth Avenue, toward the ocean. The woman was perhaps a decade older than Storm’s twenty-five years and moved like a tennis pro. Strong tanned legs stretched the fabric of her skirt with each stride. “I’m sorry for your loss. I should have started with that. But to be honest, I’m a little shook being here at all.”
    â€œHow long ago did my grandfather contact you?”
    â€œFifteen days.”
    Storm stalled in midstride. “Sean came to you two weeks ago and said, if I die, do this?”
    â€œCan we keep walking, please?”
    Storm remained planted on the pavement. “Did that sound the least bit suspicious to you?”
    â€œOf course it did. And to answer your next question, Mr. Syrrell’s exact instructions were, ‘Don’t bother with the cops.’” She tugged on Storm’s arm. Hard. “Ms. Syrrell, your grandfather told me this was extremely urgent.”
    The Worth Avenue Bank predated the arrival of serious money. The building anchored a block containing a Hermès emporium, Storm’s largest competitor, and a jeweler whose principal address was the Place Vendôme. The bank specialized in clients who used other people’s fingers to count their loot. Storm said, “We operate through First American.”
    â€œI know.” Emma Webb approached a guard stationed by a central stairway and said, “We have business in the safety-deposit vault.”
    Downstairs, Emma Webb set a bank card on a waist-high counter manned by yet another uniformed officer. “This is as far as I go.”
    â€œI don’t understand any of this.”
    â€œThat makes two of us. My law firm has never represented Syrrell. Do you have any idea why your grandfather would come to us now?”
    â€œNo. But my grandfather was notorious for being secretive.”
    The security guard checked the card’s number on his computer, then swiveled a logbook around.
    â€œShow the guard your ID, Ms. Syrrell.” When Storm had done so, Emma Webb reached into her shoulder bag and came up with a manila folder. She said to the officer, “Would you witness this handover, please?”
    â€œNo problem.”
    The attorney slapped the file onto the marble counter. “These are ownership documents for a safety-deposit box. The fee for this box is paid through the next five years. This card acts as your key. Don’t lose it. And your grandfather instructed me to give you this.”
    The folder contained a medical fitness report for Sean Syrrell, dated three weeks earlier. Storm leafed through the pages. “Did you read this?”
    â€œBasically, it states that your grandfather was in perfect health.” The attorney gave Storm a tight look. “Ms. Syrrell, do you have legal representation?”
    She had trouble dragging her gaze from the pages. “No.”
    â€œYour grandfather obviously had concerns about a number of things. Including the legal group that normally represents your company’s interests.” Emma Webb flipped the pages over to a form imprinted with her firm’s name. “The items