A faint, coppery smell of sweat and paper and coin rose from the money. Jenner selected packets of bills, riffled them to see they were all real, not just real hundreds disguising stacks of white paper. He pulled bills out at random, squinted at them, looking for forgeries; he didn’t really know how to spot a good forgery, but these looked real, and when he held them to the bedside lamp, a ghostly gray watermark appeared in every one.

They were real.

He grabbed the overnight bag and scrutinized it. How large were electronic trackers? On TV they were tiny, but what about in real life?

Jenner opened his jackknife and cut open the lining of the bag, tearing it up with a coarse rip as the blade sawed along the thick green satin. It took several cuts to free the lining completely; underneath, Jenner saw nothing that wasn’t leather or some structural element from the world of luxury luggage.

He shoveled the cash back into the bag, zipped it, then carried it into the bathroom. He was surprised at the weight—a good fifty pounds, he figured. He wedged the bag under the vanity, then draped a towel over the part that stuck out. He slid the stool in front for additional cover, then reached into the shower stall and turned the tap.

With the water roaring, he went back into the main room, pulling the bathroom door shut behind him. He grabbed his car keys and sunglasses and stepped out into the hallway, turning to drape the do not disturb sign over the doorknob.