Chapter 30: The Check They Laughed At
The envelope arrived at the Foundation office just after nine.
Nora Wexford opened it at her desk, her old leather document case beside her.
Inside lay a single check, drawn on another bank, made out to the Wexford Foundation scholarship fund, and a short letter on plain paper.
"Is it what they promised?" Angela Torres asked from the doorway.
"It is more," Nora said. "They doubled it."
"That will fund a great many students," Angela said.
"Two hundred places, if we are careful," Nora said.
"Shall I have it couriered to the bank?" Angela asked.
"No," Nora said. "I will take it in myself."
Angela smiled, because she already understood. "Counter Nine?"
"Counter Nine," Nora said. "Some deposits should be made in person."
"Peter will want to know it arrived," Angela said.
"I will call him from the lobby," Nora said. "He worries less when there is a receipt."
She placed the check in a clear sleeve, set the letter beneath it, and put both in the document case, beside her grandfather's brass fountain pen and a new green notebook, already half full.
The walk to LaSalle Street took eleven minutes. She simply walked, in her worn gray coat and plain shoes, and let herself be glad.
The lobby of Wexford Private Bank opened as always. Marble rose in pale columns, brass gleamed along nine counters, and the fountain ran clear and steady, as it had on the morning no one had looked up for her.
Nora did not wait by the rope.
A young attendant met her with a real smile. "Good morning. How may we help you today?"
"Good morning," Nora said. "I need to make a deposit at Counter Nine, please."
"Of course," the attendant said. "Mr. Lawson is free. I will walk you over."
"Thank you," Nora said.
At Counter Nine, Derek Lawson stood as she approached. He stood fully and waited behind the counter.
"Good morning, Ms. Wexford," he said.
"Good morning, Derek," Nora said.
"It is good to see you," he said. "What can I do for you today?"
Nora set the document case down squarely and opened it. "I have a check for the scholarship fund. It is drawn on another bank. I would like it deposited to the Foundation account, please, with a stamped receipt."
"Certainly," Derek said. "May I take it?"
"You may," she said, and placed the sleeve on the brass tray between them, face up.
He took it with both hands. His hands were steady.
He read the payee line aloud, the amount, and the name of the bank it was drawn on, so she could confirm each one.
"That is correct," Nora said.
"And the account ending in four one seven?" he asked. "The scholarship fund account, not your personal account?"
"The scholarship fund account," Nora said. "Every dollar of it belongs to students who have not met us yet."
"Then I will credit it there," he said. "Because it is drawn on another bank, the full amount will show as pending today. The first portion will be available tomorrow, and the balance once it clears. I will note the exact dates on your receipt, so you have them in writing."
"Thank you," Nora said. "I like dates in writing."
"I remember," he said, and for a moment neither of them looked away.
He asked for her identification, though he knew her name, because the rule was the rule for everyone. He checked the endorsement, entered the deposit in order, and did not skip a single step for familiarity or haste.
"Would you like me to copy the check for your records as well?" he asked.
"I would," Nora said. "Angela will ask, and I enjoy disappointing her expectations of banks."
He smiled, a small and honest smile. "Then I will make two copies. One for you, and one for Ms. Torres, if you would like to take it to her."
"That is thoughtful," Nora said. "She will pretend not to be pleased."
He stamped the receipt, set it beside the copies, and turned the screen so she could see the account, the amount, and the time, all correct.
"Is there anything else I can do for you while you are here?" he asked.
"No," Nora said. "You have done all of it."
He slid the tray toward her, receipt on top, and said, simply: "Thank you for banking with us, Ms. Wexford."
Nora smiled and answered: "Thank you for seeing me, Derek."
She gathered her papers, closed the document case, and walked back through the lobby past the small brass plaque by the counters, engraved with the words "Serve first. Judge never." while the fountain ran on, clear and unhurried, behind her, and in her case the brass pen rested beside the new green notebook, already half full.