Without an Audience
written by: Lily Finch
Sylvester Willard’s résumé jumped off the page since he assembled it from the professions of leading men in his favourite movies. Nobody loved films more than Sylvester, and he spent most of his life believing his life resembled a movie.
At the bank, his position as loans manager meant everyone noticed him and his Hollywood smile. Drenched in confidence, he suggested he belonged behind the glass walls and was an authority on all things bank-related. As he performed life, his colleagues never suspected a thing out of place.
Sylvester thought, Well, soon I’ll be rid of these bubblehead bimbos and their annoying stories about their kids and little league games. They annoy me when I don’t have kids or a partner and don’t give a shit. I’ve more than earned that money because of putting up with that alone for years now.
Each night, he sat in his comfy chair and pictured his name in lights. Each morning, no one mentioned anything about missing money, and he smiled to himself. His stellar performance worked like a charm.
His method is more than straightforward. Every loan approval carried a quiet addition—too small to trigger alarms—slipped into an offshore account under the name “Ridley Randolph.” Sylvester created a fictitious man named Ridley Randolph, who would become his new alias when he hit the silver screen. The name led nowhere; even if someone followed the trail of money, it ultimately died in Prague.
Stanley, his cousin in Prague, handled the rest. He gathered together disguises and signed all the necessary documents. Stanley opened accounts and received electronic funds that moved with bureaucratic patience.
“Stanley, did you create the account and deposit the money?” Sylvester said.
“Of course. What do you think I am? An imbecile?”
“When I get there, you’ll be compensated. It won’t be long now. Even if you are an imbecile.”
“I’m waiting in earnest for my share. And who do you think you are calling me an imbecile?”
The men laughed and said their goodbyes.
Sylvester hung up and did the math again. With his salary and the skimming, the timeline he laid out came together well, and the end approached faster than he’d planned.
He came to work eager each morning, with Mondays being the best—previous clients, new ones, all with predictable needs. Between meetings, he rubbed his hands together like a man riding a winning streak.
Then Mary Ann arrived. A new employee. She learned fast to the teller gig and fit in well.
She also took an interest in Sylvester, which unnerved him. It wasn’t flirtation. Nor admiration. But attention. Since she’d started, he changed his timeline and halted his embezzlement scheme. He skimmed less. Watched more of the employees as they interacted and conversed.
“Sylvester, oh my God,” Bill said one afternoon, leaning close. “You wouldn’t believe how many questions Mary Ann’s asked me about you.”
“About me?” Sylvester smiled.
“Either she wants a date—or your job.”
“My job?” The words snagged in his throat. “What do you mean?”
“She asked what the largest loan you’ve approved is. How long have you been manager? Who audits us? Who holds you accountable?”
Sylvester laughed, a beat too late. “Why wouldn’t she just ask me?”
“Right,” Bill said. “You’d know better than anyone.”
“Yes,” Sylvester said. “How strange.”
A thin trickle of sweat slid down his spine. His legs weakened as if before a first audition. He grabbed the wall, then a chair, and sat hard.
“You okay?” Bill asked.
“Just dizzy,” Sylvester said.
***
Mary Ann had her secret, too.
Mary Ann held another title: an FBI agent from the fraud division, embedded in the bank undercover after more than a million dollars vanished without a trace. The national bank depository tipped the FBI off without a whisper to anyone at the bank.
Mary Ann stayed late to access files from other departments. She came in on closed days to further investigate. She also checked every location where money was expected to be distributed.
Loans. Cash payouts. Additionally, the system handles teller transactions with precision.
Clean, clean, and clean.
The system showed no discrepancies either.
After weeks of watching employees at work and having a few surveilled off the clock, Mary Ann reached an unnerving conclusion: the loss hid in incorrect numbers.
“Bill,” she said in the lunchroom one day, “I’m sorry I grilled you about everyone.”
Bill waved it off. “If you like someone, you should just ask him out.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve got eyes for Sylvester.”
“Oh,” she said. “You figured that out?”
***
Later that day, Mary Ann caught Sylvester outside his office.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he replied. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink sometime. Tomorrow’s busy,” he said. “Any night after that is free, though.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.
They settled for dinner two nights later, and the plan had them meeting back in front of the bank at 5:45 p.m.
Inside his office, Sylvester smiled to himself.
Tomorrow, I’ll be gone. She won’t know that I am gone until after I have disappeared.
That night, he packed his getaway bag and pulled on handyman clothes and his straw hat. He locked up his house behind him. To anyone watching, he looked ready for a renovation job.
At the airport, his new passport read: Ridley Randolph.
By the time the plane lifted off, Sylvester Willard had disappeared.
***
The following day at work, Sylvester failed to attend work. Bill and Mary Ann pushed the panic button when he didn’t call in (his rule for everyone) and didn’t come in.
Mary Ann called the police to perform a welfare check at his home.
The police informed Mary Ann that they had locked up the residence and found no one inside. The police suggested that the renovation Bill mentioned might have led to a night of drinking, during which Sylvester could have slept at his cousin’s house.
Both Bill and Mary Ann said, “Thank you, officer. We’re sure you’re right about this one.”
Mary Ann returned to the wicket. She needed a break. “I need to catch my breath for a minute; may I use Sylvester’s office?”
“I don’t see why not. Go ahead and take your time. I’ll handle the wicket.”
She went into the office and closed the door. She thought about their last interaction. She sat in the office chair. She saw her name written in his book and circled with the time. She raised her right eyebrow and said to herself aloud, “You’d better be there tonight, mister. Otherwise, I peg you as the bad boy and believe you’re on the run.”
Mary Ann arrived at the restaurant on time.
She ordered a drink she didn’t want and chose a table near the window. Outside, people passed with places to be. She checked her watch once, then didn’t again.
At seven fifteen, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Sorry. Something came up. Rain check?
She smiled and took a slow sip.
Across the Atlantic, Sylvester reclined in his seat, with an approved passport and his exit flawless. He closed his eyes and slept through the night, dreaming of a life with no audience.
By morning, the transfers hit.
Three jurisdictions. Two currencies. One repeated pattern.
Mary Ann watched the confirmation populate her screen just after midnight. Not the money itself—but the path it took. The signature behaviour. The thing no one noticed until it repeated.
She finished her drink and left a tip larger than necessary.
Sylvester dreamed somewhere over the ocean, already rewriting his legend.
At the bar, Mary Ann raised her empty glass.
Both believed they’d won.
For a little while, they were right.
Mary Ann had to make a phone call to her supervisor and arrange to fly to Europe. This occurred in the Eastern Bloc, where it is more challenging to locate individuals with money and connections. Mary Ann picked up her phone and dialled.
“Sir, our suspect has flown the coop. He’s in Europe in the Eastern Bloc. The suspect is in the Czech Republic, based on the money trail I have observed in the repeats. I’d… …”
“Don’t even ask. Of course, you may. Get to the nearest FBI air base and get going before we lose him down the rabbit hole. And agents, take your partner and alert Interpol and local authorities, including the airport he’s flying into. I’ll get the surveillance cameras from the airport here and call you when I know where he went, but you need to get into the air fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Mary Ann and her partner, Doug, boarded the plane an hour later. Mary Ann did everything her boss ordered her to do while she drove to the airport. They boarded, and the plane took off. Private jets were known to fly faster than commercial flights. Her flight to Europe may not be as bad as she thought.
The superintendent informed her about Interpol and the local authorities who would be scouring the landscape for Sylvester, aka Ridley Randolph, and who picked him up from the airport.
By the time they were 30 minutes out from the European landmass, they had enough information, and Mary Ann sent the jet to Switzerland. They arrived before the man they had discovered, who travelled with Ridley and drove his car.
Because they figured they were driving Stanley Yves’ car to Switzerland and had learned that the two men had taken all but 200 Euros out of the embezzlement account and disappeared from the streets of Prague.
Banks in Switzerland only take on clients by appointment. The agents, escorted by Interpol, entered the banks in Switzerland and asked every bank along the strip if they had an appointment with a man named Ridley Randolph until they found the bank where he did have an appointment.
The agents planted themselves outside and inside the bank. They waited and watched for the arrival of the men. They knew they carried a large sum of money to deposit at a Swiss bank.
The men arrived and entered the bank while the agents were on a break to eat dinner. The agents inside the bank switched off and remained inside. Mary Ann could see the bank entrance from where they ate. She jumped off her seat and headed toward the door.
The teams assembled outside the bank and waited. The agents inside the bank radioed that the men were leaving the bank.
Mary Ann focused on the bank doors. She watched, her eyes fixed on the men who came through them next. She saw Ridley not in his typical suit jacket and tie, with his hair gelled and his school ring on his left hand. No, this time he wore a pair of overalls with a plaid shirt and a straw hat.
This outfit was completely different from what he typically wore as a banker. Mary Ann waited until the men were halfway up the stairs of the bank, while the agents inside the bank remained outside behind them.
She focused on Ridley and crossed the street. As he looked around, he stopped when he saw her. He froze, and so did Stanley.
He put his hands out and waited for the cuffs. He smiled at her in the same way he had when he was at the bank the day he asked her out on a date. As she cuffed him, she told him, “You shouldn’t have stood me up.”
“You shouldn’t have stood me up.”
“Is that why you’re here? Shoot, if I’d known that, I would’ve taken you out before I left town.”
They laughed, and she read him his rights.
Stanley stood and observed the scene. Before he could clue in, he, too, had cuffs on. And someone read him his rights.
“Why am I getting handcuffed?”
“You are an accessory to the fraud.”
Stanley looked at his cousin and shook his head. “That’s the last time I help you with anything. Ridley. I mean it.”
The men were taken away, and Mary Ann got her man.
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