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“Very well,” McEwen said. “Do you have the paperwork and information from the American institution?”
Alex pulled the folder from her backpack and handed over the information. McEwen scanned the page quickly.
“I’ll need to verify this. Do you have a photo ID?”
Alex handed over her ID card.
“This will take a few minutes.”
“Sure,” Alex said.
Samuel McEwen left his office and disappeared for fifteen minutes. When he returned, he carried a jubilant smile. It was funny what money could do.
“Everything checks out,” he said. “We should be able to make the transfer without incident and have everything wrapped up this morning.”
Alex spent the next hour filling out forms and signing her name at the bottom of a dozen documents. When they finished, she was the proud new owner of a Swiss bank account at the Sparhafen Bank in Zürich, where one million US dollars now resided, transferred from a brokerage account in America.
Samuel McEwen promised to keep in touch and help Alex with any further banking needs.
“Just let me know if there is anything else I can do for you,” he said.
“There is, actually,” Alex said, now that she had the man’s attention. Now that he took her seriously.
McEwen offered a warm smile. “Of course.”
From her folder Alex removed a piece of paper.
“This is an old statement from your bank,” Alex said, handing the page across the desk. “I found it in my father’s belongings and wanted to know if you could give me any information about the account.”
McEwen took the page and analyzed it. After a moment of study, he spoke while still scanning the information.
“This is a numbered account. No formal name is attached to it.”
“Yes,” Alex said. “I figured that much out. But my father’s accounting firm is listed as the custodian. I’m looking for information about the account owner and why my parents’ firm was listed as a curator.”
“I can’t offer information about private accounts, Ms. Quinlan. Perhaps you should ask your father.”
“He’s dead.”
The bluntness caught McEwen off guard. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”
“Here’s the thing,” Alex said. “Both my parents have passed. Everything they had now belongs to me, according to their will.” Alex slid her parents’ last will and testament across the desk.
“You’ll see that I’m listed as the sole beneficiary. So when I found this bank statement in my father’s belongings, I figured I’d try to get to the bottom of it. As in, does this account still exist?”
“Ms. Quinlan, I’m not able to provide information on this account without proper documentation proving what you’re telling me is true. And even then, there would be many legal hoops to jump through.”
“I’m just trying to figure out if the account still exists. And if it does, who opened it. I have more money I need to invest, and if you could do me this favor, I’d consider your bank for my other investments.”
“I see,” McEwen said. “I’m honored to serve you in any way I can.” He then added, handing the pages back to her, “Unfortunately, I’m not able to help with this. There are laws that prohibit me from doing what you’re asking, and I’m afraid I’d be no use to you, or any of my other clients, if I lost my license.”
Alex removed a different sheet of paper from the folder and slid it across the desk. “I have another million dollars I’d be willing to move to your bank if you could help me with this. I just need a name.”
“Ms. Quinlan, I’m terribly sorry. I’m not at liberty to give you information about a numbered account without proper documentation proving the account belongs to you. This will be the case no matter how much money you invest with us.”
Alex stood and smiled. The old version of herself may have stewed and protested at this obstacle in her path. The new Alex would simply find another way around it. If the last two years had taught her anything, it was that sitting on the sidelines, frozen with inaction, brought nothing good to her life.
“Thank you for your time,” she said before leaving.
