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EVERY heist takes place during a ticking clock. The goal is to get in and out as quickly and cleanly as possible. With so many factors working against them, their greatest threat was time.
When Clarence got past the doorman, he knew he'd only have 10 minutes. 10 minutes to steal and leave the bank with $5 grand. He could still back out, but he'd already taken the first step.
He marked the room-small, few occupants, and in front were three counter's, occupied by ladies in navy working with the customers.
The surveillance cams were placed at the ceiling. Fuck them cameras, Clarence thought. He knew the silent alarms had to be underneath the tellers' stools or the marble counter. Clarence looked back to mark possible exits, seeing only one, the door that two minutes ago, he was able to get past.
He knew there must have been another one, or several, within the inner rooms. But he only had to rob one of the tellers, make away with $5 grand. That would take only ten minutes.
"Eight minutes, Clare." his wife's voice reflected through his earpiece, disguised as AirPods to avoid suspicions.
Nothing was certain, robbing a bank never was. Clarence could still get killed by an armed officer, or a valiant citizen. A digital alarm somewhere could go off, alerting the security guard, who could alert the police. But he had already crossed the threshold.
And Lori was still outside.
Clarence took a deep breath, before joining the farthest line, the emptiest. Conveniently, the old lady gathered her purse and turned to exit the line. Without hesitation, Clarence stepped up to the teller while reaching into his pocket to pull out a note.
Pressing it against the glass, the note read- DO NOT SCREAM OR PUSH AN ALARM!
