Jay Giles by Blindsided (A Thriller)

sunglasses and carrying a slim briefcase got out, walked confidently into the building. Don D’Onifrio had arrived.
          My plan, which had made such sense back at the condo, now seemed foolish. All the warnings Tory had issued about D’Onifrio reverberated in my head. My heart started beating faster. If I sat there a minute longer, I’d chicken out. I paid my check, summoned my courage. I slid out of the booth, headed across the street to pay my respects.
          I kept telling myself I wasn’t walking into a den of evil. I was going into a bank, a normal work place with lots of people. Anything out of the ordinary—especially something bad—would be noticed. They didn’t want that. They didn’t want to attract any attention.
          I rationalized my way through the revolving doors and into the bank’s lobby. Inside, Shore looked like any other bank. Against the back wall were the tellers; in front by the windows the desk personnel cordoned off by a waist-high railing. I walked to an opening in the railing and stood there until one of them, a young black woman, waved me over. She indicated a visitor’s chair in front of her desk. “How may I help you?” she asked with a smile.
          I gave her an even bigger smile and one of my business cards. “I need to see Mr. D’Onifrio concerning some stocks. I don’t have an appointment, but I know he wants to see me. So if you could just let him know I’m here.”
          Her eyes immediately became wary, her smile a frown. “Mr. D’Onifrio has a very busy schedule. I’m afraid he won’t want to be interrupted.”
          “Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’m not selling anything. This is business he wants to talk about. Believe me, he won’t mind.”
          She looked dubious.
          “Please.”
          She hesitated, took a breath, reached for the phone. She watched me. “Ann, I have a gentleman here to see Mr. D’Onifrio. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says Mr. D’Onifrio wants to see him.” She glanced quickly at my business card, still in her hand. “Mathew Seattle. Can you check?”
          I kept smiling while we waited.
          “I’ll tell him.” She hung up, looked over at me. “Mr. D’Onifrio says he will see you. Ann will be down to get you in a moment.”
          Ann turned out to be a young blond girl in a tailored gray suit. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Seattle,” she said in a melodious voice.
          I did. To the elevator. Up to five. Down the hall to a corner office. The door was closed. She knocked lightly, opened it.
          “Come in, Mr. Seattle,” a refined voice said. I stepped through the doorway into a large, well-appointed office. D’Onifrio sat behind a carved Mahogany desk. The picture Tory had shown me of him didn’t do him justice. Even seated, he had a powerful presence that exuded strength and authority. Part of that was his size. He was bigger than I expected. Part of it was his looks. His gaze was intelligent, penetrating. He wore a dark blue shirt, deeper blue tie. He held out a hand indicating one of the visitor’s chairs. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”
          I took the seat, declined the coffee.
          “Ann, hold my calls. Mr. Seattle and I do not wish to be disturbed.”
          “Yes, sir.” I heard her say, followed by a soft whoosh and click of the door closing.
          We were alone. With the door closed, there was an odd, irritating high-pitched hum in the room. It took me a second to realize it was coming from his hearing aids.
          D’Onifrio studied me, smiled, a condescending smile. The smile of a predator toying with prey.
          I resisted the temptation to turn and flee, took a deep breath. I had to get this on an adult-to-adult basis. If I dealt with him from a frightened-child position, I was dead meat. “Thanks for seeing me.” I tried to sound