They made me swear by their lives

Trigger warning!

They made me swear by their lives. I have sworn never to tell - or else. Now it's too late. It's all too late.

I was married. We were happy. We had two children. I think we still do, but I'm not so sure.

The bank I worked at was just a small branch. An Italian name, if you must know. I worked first at the counter, then they promoted me. Back office. Deputy manager. Manager. All that within a year.

And then the men came. There were four of them and they opened an account for a small company. I don't know why i had the account number written on my notebook. I must have told it to them or maybe they asked me to write it down. I wish I'd remember.

I checked just out of curiosity. It's something I did - not often, but once or twice a day. When a customer looks interesting and you are curious who they are - nothing is more enlightening to check their account.

The account was not even a day open. 700 million. Seven Zero Zero Million Dollar.

The money came from different accounts, not just one or two - hundreds of them.

I thought it was a money laundering scheme. I followed procedure - freeze the funds, send a message to the internal anti fraud team and another to the feds.

I felt fidgety and nervous for the rest of the day. I thought any moment someone might enter the bank with a weapon or bomb. Nobody came, not even the police.

I went home early, took the bus, carefully stayed in crowds.

When I got home the front door was locked. The light inside was on. A radio was playing.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. It smelt like stale tobacco.

"I'm home!"

I felt my voice quivering in my throat.

No response.

I grabbed my umbrella like a weapon.

"Hello?"

I stepped through the corridor and into the living room. I didn't take my shoes off.

"Hello? I'm home! Anybody in."

I was certain that I had seen her car outside.

And then I saw it. A white piece of paper with handwriting in blue pen. Three lines.

We have them.

We will keep them as long as we need you.

Don't make another mistake.

I ran frantically through the house. Her mobile was on the kitchen counter, right next to a chopping board with three half-sliced carrots. No knife.

I called her best friends and family. Nobody had any idea.

For half an hour I sat on the kitchen floor, my back curled against the hard wood of the pot cupboard. Then, without thought, I grabbed my phone. My fingers were shaking when I typed the three numbers.

There was a dial tone.

"You're not very smart, aren't you?"

The voice was deep and throaty.

"Sorry," I said. "I must have misdialed.

I hung up and typed the emergency number again.

"Welcome back," said the voice. "And now you listen."

He told me I would have to obey. He promised that they wouldn't hurt them.

"Although," he said. "Your wife is pretty attractive."