Not realizing they'd already been made, the three genuine old-timers continued to "work" according to their usual routine.
Like they'd rehearsed it a thousand times, they appeared relaxed on the surface, but their stiff hands and feet gave away how tense they were as the robbery began.
"Don't move! Don't touch the alarm!"
"Unless you want a bullet straight through your skull!"
"Down! Everyone down!"
Their division of labor was surprisingly clear. One man stood watch and kept time, while the other two went to the teller windows to grab the cash.
Bella cast Invisibility on herself and Natasha. To avoid looking suspicious, the two simply crouched in a corner and waited.
Wait for what? For the robbers to finish and leave so they could continue their business, of course. Didn't they see how cooperative the clerks and customers were? Besides, the money being stolen belonged to the bank. Any compensation issues were a problem for management and the board. It had nothing to do with individual employees.
Workers worrying about their bosses' money? Don't be ridiculous. Just stay still and let things play out.
Bella couldn't help sighing. Look at the evil of capitalism. Three old men—easily in their eighties—still had to hustle under the scorching three o'clock sun, wearing rubber masks. Those things were basically children's toys, barely breathable at all. Just looking at them made Bella feel hot on their behalf.
Watching the three elderly men shuffle around on osteoporosis-ridden legs, panting as they stuffed money into their bags, Bella felt conflicted. Was this moral decay? A distortion of humanity? She didn't know—but it was certainly a tragedy.
Yet even in the middle of a robbery, the old men displayed a kind of integrity. They said they were here to rob a bank, so they robbed a bank. They didn't snatch wallets, phones, or valuables from customers like unscrupulous thieves would.
The customers and staff lost no personal property at all. The whole operation was a textbook example of a "clean robbery."
In just two minutes, the robbers filled three duffel bags and quickly fled the bank.
Bella dispelled the invisibility spell. The two of them poked their heads out and emerged from hiding.
Natasha, whose senses were extremely sharp, looked around in confusion. She had felt something the instant the spell ended, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was.
Since neither of them had been affected by the robbery, they finished handling the paperwork for Bella's education fund. Bella also opened a bank card at Bank of the West. She'd been in this world for two months and didn't even have a bank card yet—truly embarrassing.
The two continued shopping and roasting each other, wandering from store to store without buying anything.
What could they do? Bella was broke—completely broke—with zero income and heavy spending on cosmetics. Natasha's parents had just divorced, so her disposable funds had dropped sharply. They might look young and pretty, but not a single item they wore was branded—certified broke girls.
After wandering around for half a day without buying anything, they agreed to meet again next time and went their separate ways.
…
Bank of the West had enough influence that, since the criminals weren't supernatural beings like Death or Magneto, the real FBI moved extremely fast. Under pressure from the bank, they arrested the three suspects that very evening.
Bella had finished showering and was lying on her bed watching TV when the robbers' faces appeared on the screen.
Old. That was her first impression.
The subtitles below showed their ages: 85, 82, and 81.
Among all the people Bella knew, only a handful of vampires were older than these three.
The FBI doctors conducted quick examinations and found that all three suffered from high blood pressure, diabetes, osteoporosis, arthritis, gout, and various skin conditions. The eighty-five-year-old even had severe kidney failure.
Yet none of them looked flustered in front of the cameras. Each remained calm as an old dog. For them, this had been a single all-in gamble. If they won, they'd enjoy life with young beauties. If they lost—well, there was no need to work anymore.
Even going to prison didn't matter. Prison provided food, shelter, and doctors. Honestly, they might live longer inside than outside.
"Due to technological upgrades and labor costs, Wexler Steel Company has decided to move its U.S. production facilities overseas… Potential buyers are concerned about the massive pension liabilities left behind by this eighty-year-old factory…"
"Many elderly workers had their pensions frozen indefinitely under the pretext of 're-reviewing and verification,' pushing the three men into a corner and ultimately forcing them down the path of crime…"
"Bank of the West's investment products caused the three men's life savings to evaporate. Their homes were even used as collateral… The bank is currently demanding repayment."
The case itself wasn't complicated. With a bit of information released by the FBI, plus each reporter's own sources, the media quickly pieced together nearly the entire story.
Reporters—who thrived on chaos—had no interest in protecting a bank's reputation. They swarmed the story from social, legal, and moral angles, dissecting it with fierce enthusiasm.
At eleven o'clock the next morning, the FBI released the three old men without pressing charges.
Despite all their illnesses, the trio remained mentally steady. We're already this old—what can you possibly do to us?
Arizona abolished the death penalty on November 15, 1992. Even if convicted, the worst outcome would be prison time.
The alibis they arranged weren't clever. Any serious investigation would uncover holes.
But suspicion alone wasn't evidence.
The people who interacted with them regularly were all elderly as well. They weren't trying to cover anything up—but they couldn't provide anything useful either.
The FBI supervisor asked, "Mr. William, what was your coworker Joe doing between 2:15 p.m. and 4:15 p.m.?"
Old William, suffering from dementia, stared blankly, drool hanging from his chin. He looked at the supervisor in utter confusion.
"No… no, I don't want… I already… ate…"
This was a genuine illness, not an act. The supervisor drew a cross next to his name. There was no point asking further. Maybe God Himself could get answers, but he certainly couldn't.
The next witness was brought in. The supervisor repeated like a broken record, "Ms. Linda, what was your coworker Joe doing between 2:15 p.m. and 4:15 p.m.?"
The elderly woman, still somewhat lucid, listened carefully. She thought for a moment, then—
"Cough—cough—cough—COUGH!"
The violent coughing fit lasted over a minute. Her lungs sounded like they were trying to crawl out of her chest. The supervisor panicked. If she died right in front of him, how was he supposed to explain that?
"Don't answer anymore—we're calling a doctor! Please take your medicine and go home to rest!"