Chapter 291 Center.

Chapter 291: 291 Center.

I parked the Cruiser out front and walked through the sliding glass doors with Glacia hanging elegantly off my arm, poised with that flawless, cool aristocracy she practically weaponized.

Even if I hadn’t officially booked an appointment, I highly doubted we would have had any trouble securing a meeting with the branch manager.

Glacia just naturally radiated the exact sort of cold, hard cash that any financial institution would immediately roll out the red carpet for.

Dressed in a pristine, white fur-trimmed coat, a pair of oversized designer sunglasses, and with her silvery hair sparkling under the fluorescents like it was laced with crushed diamonds, she didn’t just look like she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth—she looked like she owned the rest of the cutlery, too.

But as we stepped into the lobby, there was another, distinct feeling I couldn’t quite shake. A heavy, prickling sensation of being intently watched.

I subtly scanned the bank floor, letting my magnetic awareness sweep the room, but I didn’t pick out anything glaringly obvious. My eyes flicked up to the black domes of the security cameras.

Was someone tracking us through the feed? I didn’t know. I forced my shoulders to relax, shrugging the paranoid feeling off. It was probably just the entire floor staring at Glacia.

The clerk at the central information desk instantly sat up straighter as we approached. "Hello!" she chirped, absolutely radiating eager, desperate politeness. "Welcome to Metropolis First National. How can I help you today?"

"We’re here to see Mr. Mong," I said smoothly. "We have a scheduled appointment."

"Of course, sir. Just one moment," she said, quickly picking up her desk phone and dialing an extension.

I let her work, taking a moment to professionally scan the bank’s layout. It was a pretty good setup for a brawl. Fairly standard, really.

An enclosed main floor, distinct queue lines leading up to the tellers behind thick acrylic dividers, and a handful of glass-walled perimeter offices where the financial advisors took their meetings.

The whole place had unfortunately foregone the classic, imposing art-deco bank aesthetic, opting instead for a modern, sterile ’tech startup’ open concept with hard angles and exposed brick. We could definitely work with it, though.

Honestly, I was just deeply relieved we could even find a functional physical branch in this zip code.

So many banks were actively migrating their services entirely online these days, or leaving maybe two human tellers in a lobby that was otherwise entirely populated by ATMs.

And sure, you could technically stage a supervillain robbery at an ATM vestibule, but it severely lacked the necessary theatrical drama.

There were far fewer terrified people screaming. Some of those automated branches didn’t even have a physical vault to blow open. It just wasn’t... stylish.

As I mused on the tragic decline of brick-and-mortar banking,

I spotted a man who could only be Mong hurrying out from the back hallway, puffing slightly as he rushed toward us. He was a somewhat pudgy, middle-aged guy in a moderately expensive suit, with a receding hairline and a pair of thick, square glasses perched nervously on his nose.

He visibly forced himself to slow down when he got close, trying to approach at a more casual, authoritative walk, but I wasn’t fooled for a second.

The guy desperately wanted this corporate job to happen, and that was always a massive negotiating bonus.

"Hello!" Mong breathed as he reached us, actively wringing his sweaty hands. "Welcome. Please, right this way. We can talk much more comfortably in my private office, of course."

"Of course," I said, letting him lead the way.

We crossed the main floor, Glacia drawing more than a few wide eyes as we slipped into the back corridors, passing through a set of heavy security doors Mong unlocked with a quick swipe of his keycard.

His office was the exact physical manifestation of middle management: a generic watercolor painting of the bay on one wall, his framed university diplomas hung with perfect symmetry on the other, and a solid mahogany desk decorated with a few golf knickknacks and one of those dipping water bird toys that incredibly boring people found hilarious.

Mong quickly slid behind his desk, still maintaining a tight, strained smile. His small eyes darted rapidly between us as if he was terrified to miss a single micro-expression.

"Good to meet you in person," I said as I took one of the leather guest chairs, Glacia gracefully claiming the one beside me. "I mentioned over the phone that my league was looking for a suitable set for an upcoming job we’re staging..."

"Yes! Yes, you did," Mong said quickly, nodding his head. "And after running the numbers and checking with upper management, we at Metro First would be absolutely delighted to have you use our primary facilities! We have all the logistical resources you will need to make this theatrical event a wonderful success! And we sincerely hope you will be able to be... ah, thwarted with great ease."

"Good to hear," I said, leaning back. "We won’t need too much heavy lifting from your end. Just the main floor, maybe a dozen canvas sacks of dummy money stacked near the vault, and for your on-shift employees that day to explicitly know the score. But absolutely no leaking it to the press beforehand," I added, hardening my tone.

"Yes, I understand. I understand completely," Mong stammered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The guy looked like he was already starting to sweat straight through his undershirt.

He kept nervously glancing up at the blinking camera in the corner of his ceiling as we talked. "Not to worry at all. I’ll personally ensure our floor personnel know the exact protocols."

"Good," I replied. Fidgety guy. I’d have to make absolutely sure he wasn’t scheduled to be on the floor during the actual fight. Middle managers with nervous dispositions were exactly the sort of people who panicked and made a staged job infinitely harder.

"We’ll do a fair bit of superficial damage to make it look nice and showy for the cameras, but we can easily keep the destruction contained to the main foyer and completely away from the back offices.

"There will be a massive amount of frost, some structural concrete cracking, and heavy water damage by the time the ice melts, but it should be highly manageable for your insurance adjusters.

"The date will be exactly four days from today at..." I paused, checking the analog clock on his wall. "Let’s say one o’clock sharp. That way we capture the downtown lunch crowd for a proper audience."

"Sounds wonderful," Mong said eagerly, tapping his pen against his desk. "We heartily endorse it. I’ll be sure to have absolutely everything in order by then. Is there anything else in particular you need from us beforehand?"

I thought about the logistics for a moment. Standard bank jobs were usually pretty straightforward. It wasn’t like an actual, complex heist at all.

It was considerably more focused on breaching the front doors loudly, doing visually impressive damage, monologuing, and taking a dive. I looked over at Glacia. "Anything you need?"

"The overhead sprinkler systems might be severely damaged by the rapid expansion of my freezing powers," she noted coolly.

"Oh, not to worry about that! Ours is specially reinforced and heavily pressurized specifically in the event of supers using their powers indoors," Mong assured her quickly.

"Then I am entirely satisfied," Glacia said serenely.

"We’ll let you know if anything changes," I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. "We have your direct line."

"Yes, yes. Quite right," Mong said, scrambling to his feet to see us out. "Naturally. Please, let us know."

I offered a curt nod and headed back out through the labyrinth of hallways, Glacia gliding effortlessly at my side. As we finally stepped out of the bank and back into the afternoon sun, I stretched my arms over my head, feeling my spine crack satisfyingly to release the subtle corporate tension. "Mmm," I exhaled. "That went really well."

"Very well, sir," Glacia agreed. "I will absolutely not let you down."

"No worries there," I assured her, unlocking the Cruiser. "You’ve yet to ever disappoint me."

Glacia actually blushed, a faint dusting of pink appearing on her pale cheeks. "Thank you, sir," she said softly. "You actively inspire me every single day to improve myself and hone my lethal skills even further."

"Always happy to help," I told her.

"There... is one minor thing, sir," Glacia noted, pausing with her hand on the passenger door handle. "That specific scheduled job will directly intersect with your planned meeting with Chamelea. Will that scheduling conflict be a problem?"

Damn. I had completely forgotten about that one. It was a massive shame to miss out on watching Glacia work a live set, but I simply couldn’t be in two places at once.

"No," I said thoughtfully, looking over the roof of the car at her. "You’ve successfully executed a few jobs solo by now. I think you are more than capable of handling a big meathead like No Whey without me actively breathing down your neck from the command center."

Glacia visibly preened, and I could tell she was trying incredibly hard not to squirm in absolute pleasure at the high-level delegation. "Thank you, sir. I will not let you down."

"You haven’t yet," I told her with a warm chuckle.

Still, as I slid into the driver’s seat, I made a mental note that I really needed to get my calendar drastically more organized. I couldn’t afford to let vital scheduling conflicts just fly over my head like this.

Who knew what else I might accidentally miss?