"I'm asking you to process a legitimate check," Loretta said. "You may place whatever lawful hold your policy requires. I only need someone to tell me the proper procedure."
The word lawful changed his expression. Only slightly, but Loretta noticed. Some men disliked a raised voice. Others disliked being reminded that their authority had boundaries. Harlon was the second kind.
"Security," he called, lifting two fingers toward the entrance. "Come stand over here, please."
A guard named Barnes left his post and walked toward them. He was heavyset and younger than Harlon, with a radio clipped to his belt. He looked from Loretta's gloves to the open folder and seemed uncertain what danger he had been summoned to prevent. Harlon solved his uncertainty by nodding toward her handbag.
"We're conducting an enhanced verification. Mrs. Johnson, place your purse on the counter and remove the contents."
"My purse?"
"Yes. The contents. We have to be sure there aren't additional suspicious instruments or identification documents."
Nina's face tightened. There was no standard bank policy requiring a customer to empty her personal belongings merely to deposit a check. She knew it, and Harlon knew she knew it. When she reached toward the procedure manual stored beneath her counter, he fixed her with a warning stare.
Loretta glanced at the people behind her. A man in a business suit looked away. An older woman with a carefully pinned hat stared at Harlon as though trying to decide whether to object.
Nobody did. Loretta could have refused and walked out, but the tax notice was folded inside her folder and the deadline felt closer every hour. She had spent too long being redirected from one desk to another. She wanted this transaction completed.
She placed her purse on the marble. Out came a worn brown wallet, a packet of peppermints, tissues, reading glasses, a bus pass, her small leather Bible, and a folded photograph of Thomas she carried behind her identification. She arranged everything neatly in a row, resisting the humiliation of having her private life turned into an exhibit.
Harlon picked up the bus pass. "You came by bus?"
"Yes, sir."
"No vehicle?"
"I don't see what that has to do with my deposit."
"Just establishing a profile," he said, smiling. "Large checks generally come with a certain lifestyle. We're trained to notice inconsistencies."
He lifted the photograph next, glanced at the young man in work clothes standing beside Loretta on an unfinished porch, and set it down carelessly beside the tissues. "Who's this?"
"My husband."
"Where is he?"
"He passed away."
For an instant, the young guard looked embarrassed enough to speak. Harlon did not give him the chance. He had already picked up her Bible and opened it as if he might discover counterfeit bills between the pages. When a pressed violet slipped out, Loretta reached forward to keep it from falling.
"Please," she said. "That flower was from his memorial service."
Harlon released the Bible onto the counter with a dismissive tap. "Sensitive, aren't we?"