Chapter 6: The Woman at the Teller Line
Nora did not leave when Derek showed her out. He had promised her folder back, then Pierce called him upstairs, and no one returned. So she waited in the lobby.
She watched the counters. At Nine, a new associate smiled at an empty rope.
Nora opened her green notebook, wrote the time, and looked up. A voice at the general line had changed the room.
"Mr. Doyle," the teller said. "Come on up, honey. I saved you the good stool."
The man who came forward wore a work jacket with dark cuffs, his cap in his hand, his boots leaving a faint print.
"Beg your pardon, Betty," he said. "Came straight from the yard."
"You came straight to your bank," Betty said. "That is exactly right. Sit."
She came around the gate herself and set the stool before her window. Sixty one, gray hair pinned back, glasses on a chain, Betty Kaminski, said her nameplate.
"What are we doing today?" she asked.
"Deposit," he said. "And I messed the slip again."
"Let me see." She studied it without a sigh. "You wrote the number backwards in two places. The money knows where it lives. We will help it home."
He laughed, relieved. "My eyes are not what they were."
"Whose are?" she said. "Fresh slip, together. Slow is fine. Slow gets it right."
Nora watched her print each number, turn the paper toward him, and wait while he checked it.
"That is my name spelled right," he said.
"It is your name," Betty said. "It deserves to be spelled right. Large print receipt again?"
"Please."
"I will staple it where you can find it." She stamped it and put it in his hand, not under the glass. "Anything else your bank can do, Mr. Doyle?"
He held the receipt carefully. "That was plenty. Thank you, Betty."
When he had gone, Nora stepped forward.
"You did not have to come around," Nora said.
Betty looked up. "I know. I wanted to. Chairs are easier to offer standing up." She glanced at her window. "This is general business, hon."
"I am general business at the moment," Nora said. "I am waiting for my folder."
"Waiting is general business everywhere," Betty said. "How long have they had you?"
"Long enough to observe the best service in the building," Nora said.
Betty snorted. "Do not flatter a teller before lunch. It makes her careless. Your name?"
"Nora."
"Nora," Betty repeated, her hands going still. She looked past the coat and shoes, into Nora's face. "Nora what?"
"Wexford," Nora said.
Her glasses slipped a little. "Well," she said softly. "Well, now."
"You knew my family," Nora said.
"I knew your grandfather," Betty said. "I was junior then. He walked this floor every morning and spoke to the tellers first, before managers, before money." Her eyes stayed on Nora's face. "You have your grandfather's eyes. Same way of looking straight and waiting for the true answer."
"I have been told I have my father's stubbornness," Nora said.
"You have that too, maybe. I remember Michael, standing right there, asking questions so quiet the room leaned in." She lowered her voice. "I was sorry when he passed."
"What are they doing with you upstairs, if I may ask?" Betty asked.
"A deposit," Nora said. "Six point four million dollars, certified. They are expediting the verification."
Betty laughed without humor. "Expediting. That word has learned to walk backwards."
"I noticed," Nora said.
"You would." Betty glanced toward the stairs. "I should not say this on the floor."
"Then say only what is true on the floor," Nora said.
"Years ago, the old lease file lived upstairs in records. The trust one, your family's building file. One week it was gone. Moved to storage, they said, which was odd, because active files stayed upstairs and that one was always being asked for."
"Who said it was moved?" Nora asked.
"Mr. Pierce's office," Betty said. "A memo came down. No discussion. Storage is where paper goes to be forgotten politely."
Nora took out her notebook. "May I write that down?"
"You may write that Betty Kaminski has a long memory and short patience for nonsense," Betty said.
Nora wrote, and Betty smiled. "He would have liked that notebook, your grandfather. He said a bank is a promise you keep in public. You are keeping yours in public."
"I am trying," Nora said.
"Try at my window anytime," Betty said. "General business. No appointment. I will spell your name right too."
Behind them, Derek called her name from Counter Nine, thin with hurry. Nora closed the notebook.
"Thank you, Betty," she said.
"Come back and tell me if they expedite you to next week," Betty said.
Nora walked back across the marble, unhurried, while Betty called the next person forward by name.