I walked into Kutek Ashê Tower with the looming weight of a promised favour on my shoulders. I was in fresh clothes, a proper blouse, pants and knock-off designer shoes, and was freshly showered and cleaned as well. The Javieran had even forced a wallet stuffed with three hundred dollar bills into my hands.
"Renumeration," he joked. "Sendin' da bills back to da compound."
Also in the wallet was a fake driver's license, a fake compound ID card and, most importantly, a real insurance investigator's card. The Javieran had gotten a couple of his girls to do my make-up, just enough to change my appearance into someone who was trying very, very hard to look western. It was uncomfortable and not my fucking style, but that worked to my favour. I barely recognized myself in the reflections I saw as I passed windows in the Capitol District. If I was being followed, the two extra inches from the heels I was wearing and the straightness of my hair after an hour with an iron and thinning scissors would throw nearly anyone off. With everything I had, I could walk in to the bank without worry and get my work done.
And all of this for some unknown, hateful favour. In my entire career, I had never once taken a bribe or cooperated with the criminals. I prided myself on being, maybe, the only clean cop on the force. All that up in smoke for a possible clue on a man I wasn't fully convinced was in on the case I was pursuing. I'd kick myself for months, years maybe. This was all going to blow up in my face, I could feel it on the wind. But someone, and someone with some power, was fucking dedicated to getting me off his trail, and that meant I was on to something. I just needed to follow the scent. I needed to be a rotehound, tracking a meerkat down its burrow. When the squeeze became too tight, it was a sign you were going the right way.
The tower lobby was all marble and straight lines. The Mkeku Family Bank branch took up the majority of the first floor, off to the right of the entrance to the Tower and across from a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out towards a courtyard with a fountain. I turned to the bank and approached the armed guards who stood at the entrance. I was already reaching into my faux-designer purse and grabbing the wallet. I pulled out the compound card and insurance investigator license and handed them over.
"I am armed," I said, approximating a subtle eastern accent to match the tribal mark on the compound card.
"Bank policy is to take any weapons at the door," the bored guard replied. "We'll mark it as yours and you'll get it back on the way out."
I tapped the investigator card with a fingertip. "Not my first time investigating something like this," I said. "I figured as much."
I reached into the purse again and pulled out my gun, my actual police sidearm. I handed it to the guard. He marked a claim ticket and handed it over with my cards, then waved me through to the bank.
I walked in and found myself in a richly appointed main lobby. Tellers tapped away at computer keys, and people lined up in queues to handle their business. There was a client service representative desk to the right with the words "Questions? Here to Help!" printed in block letters in both English and Mênnan on the front. A young man with a gap in his front teeth and wearing a black button up shirt sat behind it. A name tag on his chest read " Siêsu".
I approached the young man with a smile. He glanced up to me with a winning customer service grin.
"Welcome to Mkeku Family Bank," he said with an upbeat timbre. "How can I be of service today?"
I passed him the investigator license. "Good afternoon," I said. "I'm here on behalf of Brex Insurance Company. We're investigating a claim by the ex-wife of one Arin Faard. Do you have a manager available who I could speak to?"
Kihâtkut Hik handed me the card back, still smiling. "Just one moment please."
He stood and walked towards an office to the side of the room. A moment later, a woman emerged with him. I raised my eyebrows slightly at seeing her. She wore an identical blouse-pant-shoe combo to myself, although her shirt was in a sky blue while mine was white. It made me feel suddenly ridiculous, my warrior instincts kicking me from inside. I had to repeat the word "camoflauge" a dozen times in my head to keep my face from showing anything.
"Hello there," she said, offering a hand. "I'm Kiavêvit Iktuta Mpek. Kihâtkut Hik says you are an insurance investigator?"
I shook. "Yes," I replied. "Kilu Tuketa Shaka wit Brex Insurance. Do you mind if we step into your office?"
A few moments later, she was shutting the door and I was sitting down across from her at the desk in her comfortable, white-carpetted office. A small, potted palm sat in one corner and the walls were covered in safari photos. I clenched my jaw slightly. Only overly westernized city folk went on safari and framed the photos. One lion was as good as another. Both would gut you if they caught you in a bad moment.
"So, Kilu," she said. "How can I help you today?"
I sighed. "Look, I'm going to be blunt, Kiavêvit," I replied. "We're in a bit of a situation here, and its not tasteful."
She raised an eyebrow. "Go on?"
"We're in the midst of divorce proceedings in Ostehaar for a man named Arin Faard and his wife, Mrs. Anya Faard," I replied. "Part of this involves certain insured assets which Mr. Faard holds. As per their prenuptial agreement, certain held assets are to be held after a break in the marriage contract by Mr. Faard. However, if he is caught...in flagrante, so to speak, these assets are to go to Mrs. Faard."
"And I am to assume that Mr. Faard was caught in an indelicate position?" The judge asked.
I nodded, letting an amount of distaste cross my face. "Locally. In a brothel."
"Oh," she said. Her eyes went a little wide.
"Which is where things involve your bank, madam," I continued onwards. "Mrs. Faard is claiming that certain assets held by Mr. Faard were being offshored to protect them in case of this very situation. She is stating that he is trying to hide them from insurers so as to prevent them from being tied into the divorce proceedings. If this is the case, he's not only in violation of his prenuptial agreement and Oster law, but his contract with Brex Insurance."
"You think that he is using our bank to hold these assets?" she asked.
"We know that he has an account through you," I replied. "We know it isn't under his name."
"We have many accounts," she said. "We can't be held liable if..."
I waved a hand. "You're not being held liable. I'm just trying to make sure my company's interests are respected. I was hoping you could help me with that."
She leaned back. "It's against bank policy to..."
I smiled broadly. "You and I both know that policy in these situations isn't really that important," I said. I snapped open my wallet and went to withdraw the compound card. Deliberately, I let the bills fall out and drop to the floor under the desk.
"Oops," I said dryly, making no move to pick them up. She glanced down, not moving more than her eyes.
"You said he is in violation of Oster law?" she said.
I nodded. "Indeed."
"Then we wouldn't want to impede a foreign criminal investigation," she said. She waved a hand at the door. "If you'd be so kind?"
I stood and walked over, locking the door. By the time I'd returned, the bills were gone off the floor. The judge hadn't moved.
"So," she said, turning on her computer monitor. "Do you have an account number?"
