When the envelope bearing the royal crest was set down upon the desk—neither heavily nor lightly—
George Adler's expression instantly froze.
The contempt and impatience on his face, along with those gray eyes that always carried a hint of arrogance, seemed to congeal all at once.
The air in the office sank into stillness at that moment—so quiet a falling pin could be heard.
George's gaze studied the letter for a long while, then slowly he reached out, picked it up, and brought it close to his face.
His brows knitted tightly, his eyes fixed deadly upon that crest, as if trying to discern even the faintest trace of forgery upon it.
"Don't just stare at the envelope," Russell's voice rang out at the right moment, breaking the silence.
"What's the point of just looking at an envelope—there's a letter inside, Mr. Adler."
As he said this, he nodded toward George, signaling him to open the envelope.
As though possessed, George Adler did exactly as he was told.
The envelope opened, and inside was a sheet of writing paper whose very material set it apart from ordinary paper.
Upon it were exquisite prints, along with a crest identical to the one on the envelope.
His gaze swept across a line of neat handwriting; the content was simple—nothing more than Buckingham Palace authorizing Russell and Charlotte, demanding that Lloyds Bank cooperate.
At the end was a seal from Buckingham Palace.
A letter of authorization with every procedure complete, the format correct, without a single flaw to be picked at.
"This..." George Adler opened his mouth, only to find his voice somewhat dry.
"You want to say this is fake?" Russell said with a smile.
"What a coincidence—I also think it might be fake."
As his words fell, the other two turned to look at Russell at the same time.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow, her face carrying a touch of amused spectatorship, while George Adler's face was full of utter bewilderment.
"After all, you said last week that Moriarty's counterfeiting techniques are nearly impossible for anyone to identify, didn't you?"
Russell said.
"So how, exactly, can we be certain whether this letter of authorization was forged by Moriarty or not?"
"That... that's right..." George forced himself to nod. "So..."
"So, you now have three choices, Mr. Adler."
Russell stood up and stepped, one pace at a time, until he stood before George.
"The first choice: you can call Buckingham Palace and confirm whether this authorization is genuine."
He paused, then extended a second finger.
"The second choice: you can resolutely refuse to believe this authorization, and call the police, letting Scotland Yard deal with us two scheming troublemakers. If your conjecture is correct, then you'll be the great hero of Lloyds Bank.
Of course, if it isn't... then I do hope I'll still get to see you again next week."
George opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Russell gave him no opportunity, instead immediately extending a third finger.
"Or, the third choice." His voice dropped a few notches, carrying threat and impatience.
"Right now, this instant, immediately—take us to that damned underground storage room."
The office was utterly silent.
George Adler looked at this young man before him—the very one he had sneered at just last week—his brain spinning at full speed.
"I like the third choice."
Charlotte's voice drifted out languidly as she leaned lazily against the back of her chair.
"Simple, efficient, doesn't waste time."
A fine bead of sweat seeped from George's temple.
He could feel himself being cornered into a dilemma.
These two young people before him—one playing the good cop, one playing the bad cop—coordinated seamlessly, without the slightest flaw.
"It seems you've already made your choice," Russell's voice rang out again.
This time, his tone was much gentler.
Under George's gaze, with the utmost naturalness he picked up the desktop telephone beside him.
And then, that receiver was held out before George's face.
"Buckingham Palace's number."
"What... I didn't..."
"I told you to take it, George Adler."
Russell's voice turned cold, his finger tapping lightly upon the dial.
As if the moment he dared to take that receiver, the very next instant he would hear the Queen's voice, brimming with authority.
And then, within five minutes, a call from the board of directors would come through, telling him to pack his things and get out of the bank at once.
George Adler's brain nearly stopped functioning at this moment.
He stared stiffly at the black receiver held before his eyes, that cold plastic shell now seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, pressing down on him until he could scarcely breathe.
His throat was dry, his lips trembling, yet not a single word would come out.
"I..."
At last, he raised his head, forcing an ingratiating smile onto his face.
"I think there's really no need to waste Her Majesty's precious time on such a trivial matter."
As George Adler spoke, he rose to his feet.
"Please, follow me, both of you."
Russell and Charlotte exchanged a smile.
The three of them, one ahead and the others behind, once again came to that dim and narrow passage leading to the underground storage room.
"The place you two wish to go is..." George asked respectfully.
"Section A-3."
Charlotte said.
"I believe I said so last week."
"Yes... yes, that's right..." George gave two dry laughs and said nothing more, only silently quickening his pace.
Before long, the three of them arrived at Section A-3.
The traces of the last attack had been completely cleared away; only the security force was noticeably larger.
"This is the place, both of you."
"Where is door number 12?"
Charlotte asked.
"Right here." George led the two of them before door number 12.
"Open it."
George dared not show the slightest negligence, hurriedly pulling out a heavy ring of keys from his pocket.
With a muffled clicking of turning tumblers, the heavy iron door slowly swung open.
Inside the door, rows of perfectly aligned safes stood silently in the shadows, like so many silent tombstones.
"All right, both of you," George stood at the doorway, with no intention of entering. "This is as far as I can take you."
Charlotte paid him no mind and walked straight in, with Russell following closely behind.
"None of the safes have names on them," Russell said.
"I want a list of names." Charlotte turned her head to look at George.
"Apologies, madam, but to protect client privacy, we have no such thing."
George shook his head.
"Then how do you normally lead clients to find their safes?" Russell retorted.
"Every client, upon signing the agreement, receives a unique number, and that number corresponds to the location of their safe," George explained.
"So, where's the list?" Charlotte asked again.
"The list is in my head, madam." George pointed to his own head.
"Are you sure?" Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "Do you know what I find even more detestable than an idiot?"
"Wh... what?"
"An idiot who likes to think himself clever."
Charlotte said.
"He just gave you three choices, so now I'll give you three choices as well."
As she spoke, she extended three fingers.
"First: we return to the office, and I go make a phone call right now, telling Buckingham Palace that you refuse to cooperate.
Second: we return to the office right now, and you copy down all these clients' names for me, right before my eyes.
Third: we still return to the office."
Charlotte said.
"And then, you bring out that damned list for me."
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