Closing the texting program, I opened my Internet browser. I typed 1199 Madison Avenue, Manhattan into a search window. In less than a second, the browser showed a list of links and descriptions, bragging about how that was just the tip of the approximately 413,000 results iceberg.
I scanned the links and descriptions. They were focused entirely on The Falcon. Specifically, its plan to reinvent city living, its much-hyped start date, and of course, the construction delays that had eventually consumed it.
I went back to the search window and added the word history into the mix. This cut my results way down and links to a couple of blogs — Lost Manhattan, The Borough Bros, New Amsterdam to New York — topped the list. I clicked one at random, opening an article entitled, From Finance to Falcon: The Brilliant Reinvention of 1199 Madison Avenue.
“Okay, it looks like multiple buildings have existed on this site over the years,” I said as I scanned the article. “The current one was erected in 1923.”
“The Roaring Twenties.” Graham looked thoughtful. “That fits with what you said about the board formed concrete layer.”
“The original occupant was a branch of Five Borough Bank. The name’s misleading since its branches were all in Manhattan. Regardless, it was pretty sizable for its day, with sixteen separate locations.”
“What happened to it?”
“It survived the Great Depression and World War II before going insolvent in 1952.” I read more. “Afterward, this building sat vacant for almost a decade until a couple of hotshot developers bought it. They built offices, upgraded the wiring, and made other improvements. Eventually, they convinced an advertising agency to take over the lease.”
For the next two minutes, I outlined the rest of 1199 Madison Avenue’s rather unremarkable history. When I was finished, Graham scrunched up his brow. “It’s got to be the bank,” he said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. When it went defunct, its owners must’ve left something — cash, maybe — behind.”
“Like in a floor safe?”
He nodded. “One built into the original concrete layer. If it was disguised somehow, it could’ve been overlooked when the bank got cleared out.”
I liked the idea, but ultimately discarded it. There simply wasn’t enough time to dig up an old floor safe. Whatever Malware wanted, it had to be easier to find.
Still, I was fairly certain it had something to do with the defunct bank branch. And so I thought about banks. I thought about the purpose of banks and how they worked. And I thought about money and how banks secured it.
“I’ve got another idea,” I said. “Follow me.”
I turned to the southeast. A concrete stairwell lay before me, its dust-covered steps rising to the heavens while simultaneously descending into the dark underworld.
I grabbed hold of a rickety railing. Instantly, I flashed back to my childhood. Specifically, one of those rare times I’d managed to sneak away from Dad while visiting one of his buildings. I recalled sprinting through an abandoned eighteen-floor structure, the sounds of a distant argument ringing in my ears. Running so fast I could feel the breeze whipping against my face and ruffling my hair. Flying down flights of steps, the odors of concrete and dust hanging heavy in my nostrils. Arriving in a giant basement, dark and foreboding and full of mysterious rubble.
My freedom had lasted mere minutes. And as Dad entered the basement, I recalled my chest tightening up. Not from fear, but from sadness. Sadness from knowing I’d never see that basement again. Sadness from knowing no one would ever see it again. For the building, that marvelous place of mystery and dark dreams, had been sentenced to death by none other than my own dad.
As the flashback melted back into the recesses of my mind, I descended the steps, using my flashlight function to light the way.
A basement, dark and musty, lay at the bottom of the stairwell. It featured a rather tall ceiling and was about a quarter of the lobby’s size. I aimed my beam around the space, taking note of the drywall construction, the wadded-up plastic sheets, the empty white buckets, and the piles of cement blocks.
“Whoa.” Graham wrinkled his nose as he walked off the last step. “It stinks down here.”
I sniffed at the air. It smelled like mold and mildew run amok. Which got me thinking.
Shifting my gaze from the floor to the ceiling, I hiked around the room. Then I walked to the west and studied the wall. It was unpainted and made from drywall paneling.
“Notice anything odd about this place?” I asked.
“Besides the smell?”
“It’s a whole lot smaller than the lobby.”
His one good eye widened in realization. “You think something’s behind that wall?”
“Malware said we were supposed to find a box. Bank vaults hold lots of boxes.” A smile creased my lips. “Safe deposit boxes.”
Chapter 18
“A safe deposit box?” Graham’s expression morphed from curiosity to sheer dubiousness. “I don’t know, Cy. That seems like a long shot to me.”
“The Five Borough Bank must’ve constructed a vault on these premises, right?”
He nodded.
“So, what do you do with an old bank vault anyway? It would’ve been expensive to move. And what if another bank wanted to take over the lease?”
“Okay, I see your point. The building’s owners might’ve decided to hold on to it for a little while.”
“Time passes,” I said. “Eventually, they sell the property to someone else. The new owners build offices, redo the floors. But they leave the vault alone for the same reasons as the previous owners. At some point, other firms take over the lease. Maybe the vault gets used for storage at first, maybe not. Either way, it’s still here and still requires cleaning and maintenance. In short, it becomes a nuisance. So, the owners board it up.”
“I’ll buy that,” he said. “But why would Malware care about some old safe deposit box? Especially since it would’ve been emptied out years ago.”
“Not if it wasn’t claimed.”
“How often does that happen?”
“More than you think,” I replied. “For instance, a lot of safe deposit boxes went unclaimed during the bank failures of the Great Depression. Eventually, they were transferred to Washington, D.C. In fact, I think the U.S. Treasury still has some of them.”
“Well, that blows your theory all to hell. Any unclaimed boxes from this bank were probably sent to D.C.”
“Maybe. But what if the building’s owners decided to hold on to them for a bit? Just in case the rightful owners came looking? Enough time passes and—”
“And they end up a permanent part of the landscape.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s a solid theory. But even if the boxes are here, what are the chances they still hold anything of value?”
“Not good. Valuables would’ve been looted a long time ago.” I thought for a moment. “So, maybe Malware isn’t interested in gold bars or jewelry. Maybe she wants something else.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure. But I know how we can find out.” I studied the west wall. “Find the utilities. Make sure everything’s off. Power, water, gas, everything.”
“On it.” Graham pulled out his satphone. Turning on the flashlight function, he hiked across the basement.
I’d pulled down my fair share of drywall in the past. Normally, preparation was essential in order to ensure a clean, efficient job. But I’d already spent five of my sixty minutes and anyway, I didn’t care about cleanliness or efficiency.
I looked around for a stud finder. Not seeing one, I walked parallel to the wall, knocking carefully on its surface. After about ten feet, I happened upon a large, hollow-sounding spot.