Ten minutes meant nothing.
At 10:12, the frosted double doors leading to the private offices opened.
A woman in a dark green suit walked into the lobby.
She was in her mid-forties, tall, composed, and carried a tablet beneath one arm.
Brittany looked up instantly.
“Good morning, Ms. Stratton.”
Elaine Stratton.
Walter stood slightly.
Elaine looked toward him.
Their eyes met.
Walter expected her to walk over.
Instead, Brittany said:
“Your ten o’clock is here.”
Elaine glanced at Walter’s boots.
Then the briefcase.
Then looked back at Brittany.
“I’ll be a few minutes.”
“Of course.”
She disappeared through the frosted doors again.
Walter sat down.
That was the first moment something felt wrong.
Not enough to accuse anyone.
Enough to notice.
At 10:19, another customer entered.
A white-haired man in a dark tailored suit carrying a leather portfolio.
Brittany’s demeanor changed instantly.
“Mr. Caldwell.”
“Morning, Brittany.”
“How are you?”
“Trying to stay out of trouble.”
She laughed.
“You’ve come to the wrong bank.”
He grinned.
Elaine appeared less than two minutes later.
“Charles, come on back.”
Walter looked at his watch.
10:22.
Mr. Caldwell disappeared through the frosted doors.
Walter told himself there could be reasons.
Maybe Charles had a scheduled appointment too.
Maybe his meeting was urgent.
Maybe Elaine was handling something complicated before Walter’s review.
At 10:37, Charles left.
He stopped at the reception desk and said something that made Brittany laugh again.
Then he walked out.
Walter straightened slightly.
Elaine did not appear.
At 10:41, a woman entered wearing high heels, a cream coat, and a patterned silk scarf Walter recognized only because Margaret had once shown him a magazine advertisement featuring something similar.
The woman barely reached the reception desk before Brittany said:
“Mrs. Whitmore, she’s expecting you.”
The woman smiled.
“Wonderful.”
No name search.
No wait.
A junior banker came through the doors and escorted her back.
Walter stared at the folded appointment confirmation visible through the opening of his briefcase.
10:48.
His stomach began to tighten.
Still, he waited.
He had driven seventy miles.
The loan mattered.
Starting an argument in a lobby would accomplish nothing.
He reminded himself that discomfort was not evidence.
At 10:55, Brittany picked up her phone and showed something on the screen to another employee. They laughed quietly.
Walter looked toward the frosted doors.
No one came.
At eleven o’clock, he stood.
Took his hat in one hand.
Walked back to reception.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
Brittany looked up.
“Yes?”
“Just wondering if Ms. Stratton’s running behind.”
“She’s with another client.”
Walter glanced toward the doors.
“All right.”
“She shouldn’t be long.”
“My appointment was at ten.”
“Yes, I know.”
Walter waited for more.
There was none.
“Do you know roughly how long?”
Brittany sighed.
“Sir, she’ll call you when she’s ready.”
Walter’s cheeks warmed.
Not because she had technically said anything terrible.
Because of the difference.
Charles had received a joke.
Mrs. Whitmore had received a smile.
Walter received sir in the way people sometimes used the word to end a conversation rather than show respect.
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
Returned to his chair.
At 11:08, Mrs. Whitmore left.
Elaine followed her into the lobby.
They spoke near the doors.