Hannah felt heat rise in her face. The customer had been polite, his papers were orderly, and the verification process was straightforward if the issuing account and signatures matched. She could see the number she needed at the bottom of the check, but Sloan kept one manicured finger pressed over it as if the information were irrelevant.
“Is that sawdust from your work?” Sloan asked. “Yes,” the man replied. “I finished a job this morning.”
A few people in the lobby turned toward them. At the next window, an elderly woman in a lavender coat stopped searching her purse and listened. A construction worker waiting near the entrance shifted his hard hat from one arm to the other, his jaw tightening as he recognized the tone of the exchange. Hannah tried again. “Ms. Mercer, I can call the verification number and follow the large-deposit protocol,” she said. “The check has an account reference and a fund designation.”
“Stay at your window, Hannah.” Sloan raised the check to eye level, then lowered it with a dismissive movement. “One hundred and eighty thousand dollars from Bell Construction,” she said loudly enough for the people behind the customer to hear. “Do you expect us to believe somebody walked off a job site with this kind of money in his pocket?”
The man kept his hands resting on the counter. “I expect you to verify a check,” he answered. “That's all I'm asking you to do.”
“You might want to be careful about telling me how to run my branch.”
The man's name was Isaiah Bell, although Sloan had not bothered to read the identification he had placed beside the deposit slip. He was forty-three years old and had spent the morning standing in the skeletal frame of a new community center, showing two apprentices how to set a doorway square before hanging its heavy exterior doors. The project had fallen behind after a week of rain, and he had gone there himself because the crew needed another pair of experienced hands. He had come directly to the bank because the scholarship fund's annual disbursement meeting was approaching, and the money had to be received before Thursday's deadline.
Isaiah could have explained all of that. He could have explained that Bell Construction had issued the check, that he was authorized to sign it, and that the fund had received an equivalent contribution for years without incident. But those were details the bank's own systems could establish faster than any speech he might give. He pushed the deposit slip a little closer to Sloan. “Call the number printed on the check,” he said. “It will take a minute.”
Instead, Sloan turned the check over as if searching for a flaw that would justify the conclusion she had already reached. “This is not a real check,” she announced. Hannah rose halfway from her chair, startled by the certainty of the statement. “Ms. Mercer, we haven't checked the issuing account,” she said. Sloan's eyes snapped toward her. “I told you to stay at your station.”