Grace lowered her eyes. "I was the first woman," she said. "I entered the dispute. I put in the details and asked for a fee review, but Bradley declined the reversal. I checked again later, and the complaint wasn't showing in our normal queue."
Doris reached into the tin and pulled out a printed acknowledgment with a reference number. "I kept this," she said. "If I hadn't, they would have made me believe I dreamed the whole thing."
Nathan held the page by its edges and read it carefully. It carried the bank's logo, the date, and the confirmation that a complaint had been submitted. The record did not establish whether the charge was unauthorized by itself, but it established that Doris had complained, and that fact should never have disappeared. He asked permission to photograph the document and explained that she should keep the original.
"Can you get my money back?" Doris asked. It was a practical question, made more painful by the absence of hope in her voice. "Grace tried, and I know she did. But I'm tired of hearing that somebody's looking into it."
Nathan could have answered by telling her who he was. He could have pulled out his phone and had the account reviewed before dinner, and the first refund might have been a matter of hours rather than days. But that would have revealed the investigation before he understood how far the misconduct reached, and a promise made without a proper review could compromise the people he meant to help. He chose the only honest response he could give without disclosing more than he was ready to say.
"I can help make sure these records reach people who have to take them seriously," he replied. "I won't promise an outcome I haven't earned. But you deserve a real answer in writing."
Doris studied him. "You don't talk like a man who came in to open a checking account."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe I have more experience with banks than I look like I do."
"Well, I hope so," she said. "Because I've had enough of the other kind."
When they left, Doris pressed two foil-wrapped biscuits into Grace's hand and told her to take care of herself. She had heard that Grace was out of work and immediately offered to make a few calls around the church. Grace thanked her and promised to call later. Nathan watched the exchange from the landing and felt a familiar shame: the people harmed by the bank were still trying to look after the employee who had tried to protect them.
They drove toward the eastern side of town, where a distribution warehouse was rising behind an old rail spur. Grace had called Tyrone Brooks while they were still in Doris's kitchen, and he had asked them to meet him after his crew finished its safety briefing. The construction site was surrounded by orange fencing, and the constant metallic rhythm of work carried across the gravel parking area. Nathan parked beside a row of pickup trucks and waited until a broad-shouldered man in a green safety vest approached.
"Grace?" Tyrone said, his face brightening before he noticed her expression. "You shouldn't be here during work hours. Did something happen?"
"I don't work there anymore," she told him. "Bradley fired me this morning."
Tyrone stopped. "Over what?"
"An account. A customer who asked whether the extras were mandatory. I told him the truth."