A Wanted Criminal

Heavy boots thudded against the polished marble floor, shattering the tense silence around the teller’s counter. Less than ten seconds after the silent alarm had been triggered beneath the heavy mahogany desk, two burly security guards materialized behind Miriam. Their expressions were grim, their postures rigid and unyielding.

"Lady, we suspect that you're involved in the fraudulent, illegal use of a third-party's premium bank card," the taller guard barked, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the lobby.

Before Miriam could even blink, thick hands clamped down on her arms like iron vises. They hoisted her off her feet with effortless force, dragging her away from the teller's window.

"Let go of me! What are you doing?" Miriam shrieked. She dug her heels into the floor, thrashing and kicking her legs, but the men maintained their brutal grip. "I didn't do anything! Take your hands off me!"

The commotion rippled through the waiting area. Customers paused their conversations, turning to stare at the struggling woman being hauled toward the secure back corridors. Standing near the entrance, the burly taxi driver who had brought Miriam flinched. He watched her scream, his eyes widening in alarm. He took a step backward, his mind racing. He remembered a recent internet notice searching for a dangerous human trafficker on the run—a middle-aged woman who looked strikingly similar to the frantic passenger now being dragged away by security.

Deciding he wanted no part of a federal investigation, the driver turned on his heel. He abandoned his unpaid fare, shoved through the revolving glass doors, and sprinted back to his taxi, speeding away from the curb before the police could arrive.

Meanwhile, behind the counter, the young teller's heart raced. She stared at the gleaming rose gold card resting on her desk. She recognized it not just as a piece of metal, but as a profound symbol of global prestige. Only a fraction of the world’s elite qualified for such an account. She figured if she could return this stolen artifact to its unimaginable billionaire owner, she might score a life-changing reward. Snatching the card, she hurried away from her station, rushing straight toward the branch manager's office to deliver the news.

The branch manager, a bald man in his late forties wearing a sharp custom suit, listened to the teller’s breathless report. His eyes locked onto the rose gold metal in her hand. A greedy spark ignited in his chest. If he personally handled this high-profile case and returned the card to the VIP, the headquarters would undoubtedly reward him with a massive promotion. He could leave this regional branch behind forever.

Snatching the card from her fingers, he stepped out into the hallway and faced his subordinate. "I already got the gist of the situation," he ordered, his tone flat and dismissive. "You can get back to your desk. I'll personally handle this case myself."

The teller opened her mouth, wanting a share of the glory. "But sir, I was the one who—"

"I said get back to work," he snapped, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. He stepped back and slammed the heavy wooden door shut, cutting off her protests.

Inside the sterile, fluorescent-lit back office, the two guards pushed Miriam down onto a leather sofa. She sprang right back up, her chest heaving with fury.

"This is illegal confinement!" Miriam screamed, pointing a trembling finger at the guards. "Let me go right now! Get me your manager! I'll file a massive complaint against every single one of you!"

"There's no need for that. I'm the manager here," a chilling voice announced.

Miriam turned to see the bald man stepping into the room. He walked with a predatory arrogance, pacing slowly toward the sofa. He raised his hand, pinching the confiscated rose gold card between his index and middle fingers so the light caught its surface.

"Tell me the truth right now," the manager demanded, his voice dropping to an icy threat. "How exactly did you possess this card?"

Miriam stared at the glowing metal. Her stomach dropped. It was Kaelen's card. She had pulled it from his old jacket. But Kaelen was just a poor, abandoned son-in-law. He was a loser who slept in the study and cooked their meals. He had no job, no assets, no power. There was only one logical explanation for why he possessed something the bank treated with such gravity. He was involved in a massive criminal enterprise. He was laundering dirty money.

A surge of terror hit Miriam. If she admitted she took it from her son-in-law, her entire family would be dragged into a federal investigation. Her daughter, who she believed was pregnant, would be ruined. Her reputation would be shattered.

"T-This card isn't mine!" Miriam stammered, her voice cracking. She stepped back, her eyes darting around the windowless room, desperate to avoid the manager's piercing gaze. "I don't know what you're saying! I've never seen it before!"

The manager smirked. He recognized the dodging eyes and trembling hands of a guilty thief. Without another word, he walked over to the monitor sitting on his desk. He tapped a few keys, pulling up the bank lobby's high-definition surveillance system. He turned the screen toward her. The crisp footage clearly showed Miriam standing at the counter, reaching into her purse, and confidently slapping the rose gold card onto the marble surface.

"Got nothing to say now, don't you?" the manager sneered, crossing his arms.

Pale and sweating, Miriam shook her head, clinging to her fragile lie. "I don't know how it got in my bag! Someone must have planted it! I swear!"

The manager ground his teeth. He needed a written, signed confession to present to the billionaire owner, proving his competence. He had no patience for a stubborn thief. He turned his cold gaze toward the two security guards standing by the door.

"You two," the manager commanded, his tone devoid of any mercy. "Beat her up. Don't hold back until she talks. I'll take full responsibility if anything goes wrong."

The younger guard’s eyes widened in shock. He looked at the middle-aged woman cowering on the sofa, then back at his boss. He took a hesitant step back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, sir. Beating people up without trial is against the law. Plus, she's a defenseless woman. I can't do it."

The manager’s face twisted in rage. "Worthless trash! If you don't beat her up right this second, then pack your things and scram. You don't have a job here anymore."

The young guard’s jaw tightened. Infuriated by the blatant corruption and the demand to assault an unarmed woman, he reached up, tore the brass security badge off his uniform shirt, and threw it onto the floor. "Keep your lousy job," he spat. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the oppressive room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The manager scoffed, kicking the discarded badge aside. He glared at the remaining guard. "What about you? Are you going to walk out too?"

The older, grayer guard swallowed hard. His hands trembled by his sides. He had a sick wife at home and a mountain of mounting debt. If he lost this job, his family would starve on the streets. He couldn't afford the luxury of morals. Bowing to the crushing pressure of his reality, he stepped forward.

"I'll do it, sir," the older guard muttered.

He walked up to Miriam. Before she could raise her arms to defend herself, he raised his heavy hand. He swung his arm in a wide arc, delivering a swift, merciless slap directly across her pale face.

The crack echoed like a gunshot in the small room.

The sheer force of the blow snapped Miriam's head to the side. She stumbled backward, crashing down onto the leather sofa. A sharp, stinging heat exploded across her right cheek. She brought a trembling hand up to her skin, feeling the rapid swelling beneath her fingertips. She stared at the old guard in sheer disbelief, the metallic taste of blood pooling in her mouth.

"How dare you hit me!" Miriam cried out in agony, her voice muffled by her shock. "I'll sue you... I'll ruin you! You can't do this!"

"Spit it out! Where did you get this card?" the manager demanded again, stepping closer, pacing over her like a predator cornering wounded prey.

Miriam bit her lip. She clamped her eyes shut, trying to summon every ounce of motherly resolve she possessed. She pictured Elena’s face. She pictured her unborn grandchild. If she confessed that the criminal Kaelen lived in their house, the police would tear their home apart. She had to endure this. She had to keep her mouth shut to protect her daughter from the crosshairs of the law.

"I don't know!" Miriam sobbed, curling into a ball on the couch.

"Hit her again," the manager barked, his patience shattered. "Don't stop until she gives us a name."

The older guard raised his hand again. He swung down, striking Miriam on the other cheek. Then again. And again. The relentless, brutal barrage of slaps rained down on her. The room filled with the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh and Miriam's piercing, helpless screams. Each strike wore down her defenses, breaking past her maternal resolve, reducing her to a terrified, crying mess. Her face burned with pain, tears streaming down her bruised cheeks, ruining her makeup.

She couldn't take it anymore. The agony was too much. Her fragile resolve finally shattered.

"Okay! Okay!" Miriam shrieked, throwing her hands up to cover her head. She slid off the couch, dropping to her knees on the cold tile floor. "I'll talk! Please, please stop hitting me!"

The manager raised a hand, signaling the guard to step back. A victorious smirk played on his lips. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his own smartphone, and tossed it onto the floor in front of her.

"Call whoever gave you this card," the manager ordered. "Tell them to get down here right now."

Miriam grabbed the phone with trembling, bloodstained fingers. She couldn't remember Kaelen's number—she had never bothered to save it. Panic-stricken, she dialed the only number she knew by heart. Her husband's.

The line rang twice before Gareth picked up.

"Hubby!" Miriam sobbed uncontrollably into the speaker, her voice hoarse and broken. "I got beaten up by the people in the bank! They locked me in the back room! Hurry up and bring that wanted criminal Kaelen here right now! Bring him here!"

Standing over her, the manager overheard the desperate, tear-soaked plea. He crossed his arms, his smirk widening into a grin of triumph. His brilliant speculations were confirmed. She just called the card's original owner a criminal. He was certain now. Only a desperate, foolish fugitive with a literal death wish would ever dare steal a rose gold card of this astronomical magnitude and send an ignorant woman to cash it out. When this criminal showed up, he would hand them both over to the authorities and secure his place in the bank's headquarters.