Neal had picked out the most exclusive three-piece suit that his wardrobe had to offer. He also was sure it was shown with a class of someone aware of his money.

"What do you think?" he asked Sara as he dressed. "Do I look like monsieur Duponte?"

"You are a veritable master of disguise," she said, looking at him in the mirror. "Zip me up?" She turned and held up her hair, keeping it away from the zipper.

"You know, helping you dress seems so counterproductive." He did close the zipper, though.

"Monsieur Duponte!" Sara said in a shocked, theatrical voice. "If only we didn't have a previous engagement." They hugged, and his hands explored her body. "Neal."

A completely different tone to that.

"Mm?"

"There was a box on the bed."

"The banker's box?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I moved it."

"Where?"

"Right there." He pointed. It was on the floor by the wall, not far from its original spot.

"That is a box of Sterling Bosch case files, which means it is very off-limits." Her whole body and gestures accentuated the 'very off-limits' part of what she said. Neal had to admit he found it sexy.

"Ooh. Now you got me curious." He took a step towards the box just to tease her. But she grabbed his wrist and halted him.

"Stop it. I'm serious. All right? Some things are private."

"I thought this was about not having any secrets." He was just having a bit of fun. He understood the concept. It was the same thing with FBI files.

"Okay, well, then what about the exceptionally well-forged passport that is behind that painting?"

The fun was gone.

"You searched my apartment?" Neal could not believe it.

"No. You left it open," she said. "And now you're changing the subject."

He remembered that he had held the passport in his hand, working on getting his new name to work, when Sara arrived. Yes, he might have been too quick and left the door ajar.

"They're work-related," he lied. He hated hit. But he could not tell her the truth.

"So Peter knows about them?"

"Let's just say he wouldn't be surprised."

"So you're not skipping town?"

"Look, there are a lot of reasons someone in my position would need a good alias." He had to make a diversion. A good one. One that returned the focus to the task at hand. "You know what? Ask Mr. Duponte." He held up the passport he had arranged the day before for him as Mr. Duponte. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Come on." He wanted her to smile again and succeeded.

"But you're keeping your hands off my banker's box."

"Oh, yeah?" Her hands returned to be around his body. "We'll see about that," he mumbled. She chuckled.

"You're trouble."

"Uhm, Peter?" Jones called his attention. Peter walked down to Jones' desk right away.

"You found something in the virus?"

"Oh, did I," he said and typed on the keyboard to get the screen he wanted to show. "Okay, so, line 2,219 is an unreachable script."

"A portion of the code that the program has no way of executing."

"Yes, the program can't execute it," Jones agreed, "but look what happens when I treat the code as an object file." He typed again and… zooming out…. "Boom. We get an image."

It was a seal of sorts with a vulture in the middle.

"The Vulture," Peter breathed and felt his pulse rise in excitement. "One of cyber crimes' top 10 most wanted."

"Pendergrass talked to the Vulture for six months before he realized he was getting strung along."

"Well, hackers like that can smell a trap right through the fiber optics." It was a huge problem. The best hackers were usually better at their job than the FBI. One reason was that the FBI was an authority that could only act within certain frames.

"So, we have a name but no face."

"And the Vulture's got a hundred and twenty-five million that doesn't belong to him."

They both stared at the vulture image on Jones' screen.

"Can we make him panic in some way?" Jones asked. "Make him think the money is gone, making him make a rash move?"

"I don't know," Peter sighed. "I don't know. How could we get that kind of access?"

"I don't know," Jones said too.

Mozzie showed him a burner phone.

"So, the first number on autodial is Marjorie, the head of accounts. And the second is Jacob, her assistant," he said, and Neal took the phone. "Now, this bank I.D. badge should lend you an air of credibility." He handed it to Sara.

"Oh. Are we concerned about cameras?" she asked.

"Well, if we do this right, there'll be no need to check the video."

"How long to replace the account info?" Neal asked.

"Well, once I have the daily clearance code, five minutes," Sara said.

"Five minutes, I can deftly provide," Moz assured them.

"Then I use the new account information to verify myself as Duponte," Neal said, and his friend nodded with a smile. He looked at Sara. "Let's get your money back."

They separated to not appear as a group and walked the last block to the bank. Mozzie strolled in, and Sara next.

Neal pressed the first autodial Mozzie prepared.

"Marjorie Cowell," a woman answered. Neal could see her through the glass wall across the street. She sat up on the balcony, over the public area.

"Hi, I'm interested in opening a combined MMA and checking account," Neal said. "My name is Timothy Blackhouse Astor IV."

There was a slight pause.

"Of the Astors?" she asked.

"That's right, Marjorie."

"Of course, Mr. Astor," she said, sounding eager. "Let's get you set up."

He got eye-contact with Mozzie through the window and gave him a slight nod. Mozzie strolled up to a counter and would now do one of those things he was so incredibly good at when he wanted to: being a pain in the ass. And request to speak to Marjorie Cowell.

"I'll be shifting accounts from several different financial institutions," he kept on talking.

"Uh, Mr. Astor," Marjorie said, "can I please put you on hold for a moment?"

"Certainly."

"Great."

Neal watched her rise and walk down the stairs to deal with the troublesome customer.

Sara rose and slid up the stairs with impeccable ease as if she belonged there.

Neal used the second speed dial.

"Jacob Geery."

"Hey, Jacob. This is Timothy Astor from the Chicago branch. Listen, your head of accounts sent over a P-204 marked 'urgent.' The thing is, she left out today's clearance code, so I'm not authorized to send this baby back."

"Uh, I can't give you the clearance code. You'll have to talk to Marjorie."

"I'm aware of that, Jacob. I've been trying to call her."

"S-she's busy at the moment." Trying to sort out whatever strange creature Mozzie was.

"All right. You know how it is with P-204s. It's not my butt in the meat grinder."

"Marjorie?" he heard Jacob call out. "Marjorie, I have a Timothy Astor —"

Neal walked up the front stairs to the bank.

"Yes! Help him with anything he needs!" he heard in the background.

"The code today is green 5," Jacob told him.

Neal was now in the mess Mozzie had caused in the bank.

"You nailed it, Jacob. I'll send that P-204 right over. All right. Have a good one."

He texted Sara 'Green 5'. He saw her receive it and sit down by Marjorie's computer, as he lined up to get help from a bank teller.

"Hi. Cameron Duponte," he said and showed her his passport. "I lost my wallet." She typed on the keyboard and saw that the man on the other side of the counter was good for one-hundred and twenty-five million dollars. He saw her eyebrows skyrocket. "Before you ask, I don't expect any special treatment."

"Of course, Mr. Duponte. I do have to verify some personal information before I can reissue you a debit card."

"Not a problem."

She typed again to get the information, which Sara was entering upstairs.

Neal's phone rang. It was Peter.

"Excuse me," he said to the woman behind the counter and took the call. "Hey."

"You're late. Why?"

He turned away a bit so the clerk would not hear all of it.

"I am at the bank, helping Sara out."

"Ah, domestic partnership. Hey, does she make you iron your shirts in the morning?"

"Mother's maiden name?" the teller asked. Neal put a hand over the microphone on the phone.

"Uh, Mitchell," Neal answered. "Elizabeth has to make you iron your shirts?"

"If I'm wearing a jacket, you can only see the middle."

"Street you grew up on?"

"Portage Avenue."

"Who are you talking to?"

"I am with the bank teller. Did you call to find out if my shirt has wrinkles?"

"Jones found a signature in the virus. It belongs to the Vulture."

"The Vulture would be a big catch," Neal answered and could not miss the look from the teller. "My friend's an avid ornithologist."

"No name yet, but we'll track it down. How's Sara holding up?"

Neal watched the woman he loved walk down the stairs back to the main floor and Mozzie's spectacle.

"She's making the best of a bad situation."

"Good. I'll leave you to the bank issues then, but I want you back in the office as soon you're done, okay?"

"Sure, Peter. I'll be there shortly, I'm sure." Neal ended the call.

"Mr. Duponte, here is your new debit card."

"Thank you." Neal noted that Mozzie had gone quiet. So he had left the building as well.

"Anything else?"

"No, thank you. This was all I needed."

"Have a nice day, Mr. Duponte."

"I'm sure I will. You too."

Outside, a block away, Sara and Mozzie were waiting.

"What were you reading back there?" he heard Sara ask.

"Oh, the court issuance from Watergate, with the word 'president' excised. I just grabbed the first thing lying around."

"All right, we're in," he told them. "All the Duponte information's changed?"

"Everything but the balance login," she said. "The thief can't touch the account, but he can see it."

"All right." He pulled out his new debit card. "Let's give him something to look at."