"Of course it would have mattered."
"Why?"
He frowned. "Because you're Dr. Richardson."
"And if I were not?"
He did not answer.
The elevator passed the twentieth floor.
"If I were a schoolteacher depositing a paycheck," Amelia continued, "would your words have been appropriate?"
Silence.
"If I were a home health aide opening her first savings account?"
The twenty-seventh floor.
"If I were unemployed and asking about fees?"
The thirty-first.
"If I had ten dollars in this bank instead of controlling interest?"
Webb shifted his weight.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then tell me what you meant."
He looked at Morrison as if expecting rescue.
None came.
"I was trying to protect the branch," Webb said finally.
"From what?"
"Potential disruption. Fraud. Security problems."
"What did I do that indicated fraud?"
He had no answer.
"What did I do that indicated a security threat?"
Nothing.
"What did I do that disrupted operations before you raised your voice?"
The elevator passed forty.
Webb's throat moved.
"You were... confrontational."
"Describe one confrontational act."
He could not.
The elevator chimed at forty-seven.
Amelia looked at him directly as the doors opened.
"The problem is not that you failed to recognize me," she said. "The problem is that you believed recognition was required before respect."
Then she stepped onto the executive floor.
The executive floor was designed to create calm. Thick carpet absorbed footsteps, acoustic panels softened voices, and floor-to-ceiling windows opened the city into a distant, almost abstract landscape of rooftops, traffic, and glass towers. On ordinary days, the space felt removed from the noise below. That afternoon the distance felt almost obscene.
Twelve board members sat around the conference table when Amelia entered. Quarterly performance charts filled the main screen. Coffee cups, tablets, and printed binders were arranged in neat rows, all evidence of a meeting that had expected to concern itself with capital ratios, loan growth, cybersecurity expenses, and the ordinary machinery of a profitable financial institution.
Robert Sterling was chairing the session. At seventy-one, he had been one of Amelia's earliest mentors and now served as Metropolitan Trust's lead independent director, a role that gave him the authority to challenge management without competing with Amelia for executive control. His silver hair and measured manner made him look gentler than he was; people who had negotiated with him knew better.