Page 32 of Angel's Flight
“Don’t you think it’s a bit uncouth to use an inheritance from a father you killed, that you kept from a brother whose life you ended,” Bidaut asked as if he was discussing the weather.
Erik was grateful for the mask now because it hid any shock that might have shown on his face.So, this man thought he knew the circumstances of the death of Alfred and Antoine de Martiniac.Very few people were aware of Erik’s involvement in his father’s death, and even fewer knew for sure that Antoine was dead.No one but Erik, Christine, and Shaya knew it was Antoine who had killed their father, and that Antoine’s body now rested in Erik’s makeshift grave below the Opéra.
“Who told you that fascinating story, Monsieur Bidaut?”Erik replied, his mind filled with the hateful face of the one noble who had any chance at spreading such a story, but if de Chagny was aware of Erik’s continued survival, he would have been employing much blunter methods.He certainly wouldn’t care about the money.“It’s quite outlandish, I must say.”
“Antoine had, if not friends, those invested in his financial affairs, whom he kept apprised of certain matters.That is all you need to know.”Bidaut was smart, not giving Erik any confirmation either way.“Now, I think we can stop stalling.”
“Why?This is such a fascinating conversation,” Erik quipped, but Bidaut laid a hand on his side, above where his pistol rested.The threat was clear, and Erik could only hope that he had given poor Monsieur Martin enough time.“Lead on then.”
Erik walked slowly behind Bidaut into the cavernous front hall of the bank, where they waited.He watched as Bidaut scanned the quiet lobby, taking stock of the men behind their brass bars opening up for the day, looking for someone specific...
“Is your accomplice sleeping in?”Erik asked, but it didn’t rattle the other man – assassin or paid detective, Erik was unsure of what to call him.Just in time, a harried-looking banker with a white beard appeared at the back of the lobby and waved to Bidaut.His bald head was shining with sweat, and he was out of breath, which Erik hoped indicated the sort of morning he was having.
“Good day, Monsieur Bidaut,” the man said in French, with a slight German accent.“And is this Monsieur Gilbride as promised?”
“Yes, Herr Knopf,” Bidaut replied.Knopf looked terrified as he surveyed Erik.He didn’t attempt to make himself look natural under Knopf’s gaze and fixed him with his more withering stare.
“Yes.I'm here, as promised,” Erik hissed.
“The paperwork is all ready,” Knopf said in a quavering voice.Erik and Bidaut followed the quivering man into the back of the bank, past accountants and clerks beginning their days amid quiet conversation.The place smelled of metal and paper – money.Erik detested it.
Knopf’s private office was small, and a desk with papers was set out already and prepared for them.
“This should be quick and simple, but you are free to read over the transfer paperwork, Monsieur,” Bidaut said.
“Oh, I trust everything has been done correctly,” Erik said casually, but made sure to fix Knopf with one more long look as he spoke.The man went even paler under his sodden beard.“Forgive me.I should take this off to make sure you know everything is above board.”
Knopf gave a cry and looked like he might faint when Erik removed the mask.Sometimes the fear and horror his face evoked was worth it, Erik thought.So too was the relief of fresh air against his skin.He turned to Bidaut, who didn’t seem shocked at all by his visage.
“Please sign,” Bidaut said, indicating the papers.
Erik did make a cursory read of the contract as he took up the quill and dipped it into the inkwell.All his assets held by the Augsburg bank were to be transferred to the care of a separate bank, where only the account number was listed.How very mysterious.
Erik marked the page without hesitation, though it was still odd to sign his full name.He imagined Christine’s face upon discovering that they had gone from having the means to go anywhere and do anything to having nothing.Would she still want him if that were the case?He hoped not to find out.
“There, easy,” Bidaut said cheerfully.“Herr Knopf, would you summon someone to send a telegram for me?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” Knopf said and rushed from the office.Erik replaced his mask before looking back at Bidaut.He was holding out a telegram for Erik to examine.
“As promised,” Bidaut said as Erik took the paper.The message was short, in French: All is well.Go Home.
“This will ensure your agent in Lucca won’t harm my wife?”Erik asked, just as calmly as Bidaut.The other man nodded as Knopf returned with a young man in tow.Erik watched, holding his breath as Bidaut handed the boy the form and money to send the telegram.
“We need never see one another again,” Bidaut declared.“Our business is done.I bid you good day, gentlemen.”
Erik wanted to follow as Bidaut left, but he knew it would be suspicious.
“And my accounts are closed?”Erik asked lightly of Knopf when they were alone.The man nodded vigorously.
“Yes, good Monsieur, exactly as Monsieur Martin explained they were to be.”
Erik let out a sigh of relief.“Is London the farthest institution that could be reached?”
Knopf nodded vehemently.“And the safest.Monsieur, all of this is so irregular, I would ask that—”
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”
Erik was quick about it, moving through the lobby, where he finally saw Martin cowering in a corner.Erik met his eye, to which Martin responded with an indication ofleft.Erik nodded in thanks, and the man bolted.He went, Erik noted when he exited, as fast as he could to the right.Erik went left, and soon enough, he saw Bidaut’s brown bowler hat moving down the streets.
