Edward Vicquers was the youngest number three man in the bank’s history. That said, he was in his early fifties and his formerly raven-black hair now held a distinguished streak of gray. He was tall and lean and kept himself physically fit as well as impeccably dressed. Indeed, the suit of clothing he wore he had picked up from his Savile Row tailors only the day before. It was dark and as handsome as the gentleman who wore it.
Mr. Vicquers stepped into the lift to ride up to his office and pushed the button for the twenty-fifth floor.
Just before the doors closed, Emily Chardenne slipped between them.