The so-called "shooting schedule confirmation" was basically just hashing out what the Fox News crew was actually allowed to film.
As the "temp cameraman," Lawson needed to listen in, but the heavy lifting of the conversation fell to Michael and the bank's General Manager, Lopez.
When dealing with Michael, Lopez's entire demeanor shifted. He was completely checked out, bordering on impatient.
Fortunately, Michael was a seasoned industry veteran. As long as nobody brought up his recent... performance issues at home, he rarely lost his temper on the job.
"The lobby, the administrative offices, and the VIP lounges are all cleared for filming," Lopez stated flatly. "Just ensure you do not disrupt normal banking operations."
"Can we shoot the teller counters?" Michael asked.
"Absolutely not! There is highly sensitive client data and proprietary equipment back there." Lopez shot him down instantly.
Hearing this, Lawson frowned. If they were restricted to public areas, he wasn't going to get eyes on the critical infrastructure he actually needed to see. What was the point of this infiltration if he couldn't scout the vault?
Lawson decided to casually inject himself into the conversation.
"Don't you think a shooting schedule like that is going to be incredibly generic?"
Lopez immediately picked up on the criticism and shot Lawson an annoyed glare.
"Excuse me? What do you mean by that?"
"Mr. Lopez," Lawson said smoothly, his voice taking on a persuasive rhythm, "this television segment is a massive, free promotional opportunity for your bank. Don't you think you need to feature something unique? Something that actually grabs the audience's attention?"
Lopez paused, looking thoughtful. "What do you have in mind?"
"As a commercial bank, who is your most vital demographic? It's the ultra-wealthy, isn't it?"
Lawson was actively layering the Joker Trump Card into his speech, making his words highly hypnotic and agreeable.
Lopez nodded vigorously, the words hitting him right in the chest.
"Exactly! I'd trade a thousand minimum-wage accounts for a single high-net-worth client!"
"So," Lawson continued, "I think we need to highlight St. Martin's Bank's most unique feature. We need to focus on what rich people care about the most."
Lopez took the bait hook, line, and sinker.
"Security! We need to make them feel invincible! This is the perfect time to contrast our facility with the recent disaster at Pacific Standard Bank! Mr. De Santa, I think we need to adjust the shooting schedule!"
Michael stared at "Jack Cole" in disbelief. The guy had completely manipulated the General Manager in three sentences. But since an exclusive look at bank security made for better television, Michael wasn't about to argue.
"Of course, Mr. Lopez. The client dictates the shoot."
"Dammit! I need to talk to the Head of Security right now to figure out the best way to showcase our countermeasures! Wait right here, I'll be back in five minutes!"
Lopez practically sprinted off, looking like he'd just snorted a line of premium adrenaline.
Michael nudged Lawson's arm. "Jack, you got a silver tongue on you, man."
"That was nothing. Watch, he's going to come back and thank me."
Right on cue, Lopez suddenly jogged back into the room, walked straight up to Lawson, and handed him a glossy business card.
"Sir, I have to say, I think your talents are completely wasted behind a camera. You should come work for St. Martin's. I'm always looking for capable men."
Lawson smiled and pocketed the card. "I'll give it some serious thought, Mr. Lopez."
Michael watched the entire exchange with his jaw practically hitting the floor. He didn't speak until Lopez disappeared out the front doors.
"What the fuck, Jack? Did you put a spell on that guy or something?"
"Maybe. Come on, let's get to work."
Lawson turned back to the camera rig, running through a final gear check under Franklin's supervision while Michael pulled Megan aside to review the script.
When Lopez returned, he had a heavily revised shooting schedule. While they would still capture the bank's aesthetics, the core focus of the segment would now be its state-of-the-art security apparatus.
"Ahem! Are we ready to begin, Ms. Kelly?"
"Mr. Lopez, just relax and act natural. This is pre-recorded. If you stumble, we can just fix it in editing, so there's no need to be nervous."
Even though Megan found Lopez utterly repulsive, she was a professional who cared deeply about the quality of her show. She wasn't going to let him make a fool of himself on camera.
"Right. Okay. Deep breaths."
You don't become a bank General Manager without decent psychological resilience. After a few seconds, Lopez centered himself, and his posture returned to normal.
The camera rolled.
"Welcome back to Fox News, I'm your host, Megan Kelly!"
They started with a standard intro, with Lopez standing beside her acting as a human prop.
The actual filming process was tedious. They had to shoot the intro multiple times because Lopez kept freezing up. It was his first time in front of a professional camera crew. He either flubbed his lines or missed his cues entirely.
Eventually, Megan gave up and directed Lawson to minimize Lopez's screen time and focus purely on the bank's interior.
With the heavy camera resting on his shoulder, Lawson followed Megan as she walked through the grand lobby.
"...As you can see, the building we are standing in was originally a historic museum. It has a rich, storied past, and you can still see the heavy influence of the Spanish Colonial era in its architecture..."
Megan was completely freestyling, weaving a narrative out of thin air.
The lobby of St. Martin's had been renovated multiple times over the decades and looked nothing like the original museum layout. The current "classic" aesthetic was entirely artificial.
Lopez had intentionally ordered the retro-classic redesign because he knew "old money" clients ate that stuff up. They loved anything that felt aristocratic or deeply rooted in history. If the bank looked too sleek and modern, they found it tacky.
Because of this, the lobby, the hallways, and the VIP lounges were heavily draped in an artificial Spanish Colonial vibe.
As he followed Megan, Lawson moved with smooth, practiced steps, seamlessly sweeping the camera lens over the bank's blind spots, panning across the security cameras, and capturing the exact locations of the alarm triggers. To anyone watching, it looked like cinematic b-roll. To Lawson, he was building a tactical map.
Megan led the crew straight into the General Manager's office.
The decor in here was aggressive. It was pure opulence, complete with a massive, transparent skylight that bathed the room in natural light.
Lawson immediately zeroed in on a compact, heavy-duty safe tucked into the corner—likely used for highly sensitive corporate documents.
The next shot required Lopez to sit behind his massive mahogany desk and essentially deliver a commercial.
He rattled off talking points about St. Martin's deep historical roots, its bottomless capital reserves, and its impenetrable, world-class security.
"Cut! That's a wrap, Mr. Lopez. Good job."
"Ms. Kelly, is that it?"
Lopez licked his lips, looking slightly disappointed. He had finally pushed past his stage fright and was starting to enjoy the spotlight. Especially the part where he got to sit behind his desk and flex his power for the camera. Few men can resist the intoxicating high of televised self-importance.
"We have enough A-roll for the segment. However, my cameraman still needs to capture some b-roll of the bank's interior. We'll overlay it with voiceovers in post-production."
"Ah, understood! I'll have someone assist Mr. Cole immediately."
Lopez was still highly impressed with Lawson, so he buzzed his personal secretary and ordered her to give the cameraman full access.
Lawson gave Megan a subtle nod before hoisting the rig and following the secretary out the door.
As they left, Lawson could hear Lopez's slimy voice trying one last time.
"Ms. Kelly, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lopez, but I have to be back at the network for the evening broadcast."
Lopez's secretary was a classic California blonde.
Sure, she couldn't hold a candle to Megan naturally, and the plastic surgery was painfully obvious—her chest was aggressively enhanced, and her hips had definitely seen a surgeon's knife.
"Mr. Cole, where would you like to start?"
Her tone was frigid. To her, "Jack Cole" was just a scrawny, unremarkable nobody. If Lopez hadn't explicitly ordered her to cooperate, she wouldn't have even looked at him.
If Lawson had been wearing his real face, her attitude would have been entirely different.
"Can I get some wide shots of the teller counters first?"
"Fine. But absolutely no filming of the staff while they are processing transactions."
"Not a problem. I just need establishing shots of the architecture. An empty counter works perfectly."
After clearing the counters, Lawson requested access to the security monitoring room, and finally, the corridor leading to the underground vault.
The secretary, adhering strictly to Lopez's orders, accommodated every request, allowing Lawson to build a massive library of tactical reconnaissance.
"I think we have enough here, don't you?" she asked, clearly bored.
"Ma'am, is there any possibility I could get some footage inside the main vault?"
"Inside the vault? Are you insane?"
"I think the audience would be absolutely fascinated to see what a modern bank vault looks like from the inside."
The secretary crossed her arms tightly, her brow furrowing. Granting a news crew access to the physical interior of the vault was miles above her pay grade.
"Ma'am, if you don't have the clearance, why don't we just ask Mr. Lopez?"
She rolled her eyes, visibly annoyed.
"Fine. Wait here. I'll go ask him."
A few minutes later, Lopez walked down the hall.
"Mr. Cole, I hear you want to shoot inside the vault?"
"Yes, Mr. Lopez. I firmly believe it will cause a massive spike in viewership. The general public is incredibly curious about high-level financial security. The network could even run promos teasing the 'exclusive vault footage.'"
Lopez's corporate instincts flared. "Exclusive footage" meant higher ratings. Higher ratings meant more eyeballs on St. Martin's brand. It was free, top-tier advertising.
Despite his earlier claim that he only cared about the ultra-wealthy, he knew that a bank's daily operational liquidity still relied heavily on thousands of average, middle-class accounts.
"But exposing the interior of the vault could present a severe security risk!"
"Mr. Lopez, you will have total oversight in the editing room. You can personally review the footage and instruct us to cut any angles or details that compromise your security protocols. The risk is zero."
Lawson didn't care about the final broadcast cut. He was keeping the raw tapes anyway.
The promise of total editorial control was the tipping point. Lopez agreed.
"Very well. But I have to sign off on every second of that footage before it airs."
Lopez immediately tracked down Michael and drafted a quick supplemental contract.
Michael signed it without hesitation—vault footage was ratings gold—but internally, his suspicion regarding "Jack Cole" was redlining.
Finding a quiet moment, Michael pulled Megan aside.
"Megan, what the hell is that guy planning?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to! I'll tell you this: the people backing him saved my life. Just keep your mouth shut and pretend we're shooting a normal segment!"
"Fuck! Is this guy gonna get me killed before I hit my pension?"
"Michael, you're forty-nine. You aren't retiring anytime soon! Just relax, he's just a temp cameraman!"
Temps were the universal scapegoats. Whether it was in the East or in America, every industry loved a temp they could throw under the bus.
"Fine. But if the cops or the Feds drag me into an interrogation room, I'm telling them exactly what happened."
Franklin, who had been hovering nearby doing absolutely nothing, suddenly leaned in.
"Michael, I highly suggest you don't do that. You do not want that kind of heat."
"Don't tell me this guy is connected to something crazy!"
"Ahem. Let me put it this way," Franklin whispered. "The guy pulling Jack Cole's strings? He's the one who took down Francis Ricci and the Bonanno family. If it wasn't for him, Megan and I would probably be at the bottom of the ocean right now."
Michael's eyes went wide as saucers. He lived in Los Angeles; he knew exactly who the Bonannos were and what Francis Ricci was capable of. The mob war had been front-page news for a week. Fox News had literally run a special on it.
"Holy shit. You win. I'm legally blind and deaf starting right now."
Michael instantly folded. This wasn't about risking his pension anymore; this was about avoiding an unmarked grave in the desert.
Meanwhile, Lawson was currently standing in the subterranean levels, watching Lopez initiate the unlocking sequence for St. Martin's primary vault.
The vault door was a massive, classic circular steel barricade—exactly the kind you'd see in a high-end heist movie.
The unlocking protocol was paranoid and complex.
First, it required dual keycard authorization. Lopez swiped his card, and the Head of Security had to swipe his on a secondary terminal within ten seconds.
Second, it required a complex alphanumeric passcode followed by a biometric facial scan.
Finally, even after the electronic locks disengaged, a physical pressure wheel had to be rotated in a specific sequence to retract the massive internal steel deadbolts.
Watching the gigantic circular door slowly swing open on its heavy hinges, Lawson visually calculated its thickness. It was easily twenty inches of solid, high-density steel.
Even if Lawson slapped every block of C4 he owned onto that door, he wouldn't even dent it.
He stepped forward, eager to get the camera inside, but Lopez threw an arm out, blocking him.
"Hold on. You can't cross the threshold yet."
"Why not?"
"The entrance is rigged with a localized infrared grid. Once the door opens, you must wait exactly sixty seconds before crossing. If the grid is broken within that first minute, the door will automatically slam shut, lock down for five minutes, and trigger a silent alarm directly to the LAPD."
Lawson felt a chill run down his spine. If he hadn't known about that trap, he would have walked right into it during the heist.
Getting locked inside that vault meant game over.
Noticing the smug, self-satisfied look on Lopez's face, Lawson immediately fed his ego.
"That is brilliant. Who came up with a countermeasure like that?"
"Hahaha! That was my design, actually. It's nothing, really, just a little extra precaution!"
Lopez waved it off, but his face screamed, tell me how much of a genius I am.
Right on cue, the Head of Security and the plastic secretary started aggressively kissing his ass. Even Megan forced out a hollow compliment to keep the peace.
Once the sixty-second timer cleared, the infrared grid deactivated, and Lopez led the crew into the vault.
The first thing that caught Lawson's eye was the pallets.
Stacked neatly on reinforced wooden shipping pallets were massive, rectangular blocks of solid, glittering gold.
Megan froze, staring at the pallets in total shock. The secretary audibly gulped.
It is incredibly rare for an average person to see that much raw, physical gold in one place. The sheer, gravitational pull of that much wealth is almost impossible to resist.
"Well? What do you think?" Lopez asked, grinning. "Breathtaking, isn't it?"