A giggle escaped through her fingers. The manager will be right with you, ma'am. Sylvia nodded and stepped to the side. Elijah stood behind her, arms crossed.
You okay? he whispered. I'm fine. Just watch. Gerald Crawford appeared from a hallway behind the teller line.
42. 6 ft tall, charcoal suit, French cuffs, silver cufflinks shaped like tiny anchors, Rolex Submariner on his left wrist. He walked the way men walk when they believe the ground exists specifically to hold them up. He approached Sylvia with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, extended his hand, then pulled it back before she could take it, pretending to adjust his tie.
Good morning. I'm Gerald Crawford, branch manager. Amanda tells me you'd like to make a withdrawal.
Yes, sir. $1 million. I have my account information and identification right here. Sylvia opened her purse and placed her driver's license and account card on the counter. Gerald picked up the license with two fingers, holding it at arm's length like it smelled bad.
He looked at it, looked at her, looked at the license again. Sylvia Bennett, he read aloud. And you're saying you have $1 million in an account here?
I'm not saying it. It's there. You can check. Gerald's jaw tightened. He turned to his computer terminal behind Amanda's station and typed.
The screen loaded. His eyebrows moved a fraction, just a fraction, before his face reset to its default setting of polished contempt. He had seen the balance. Sylvia knew he had seen it. And she watched him decide in real time that it didn't matter.
"Mrs. Bennett, I appreciate you coming in, but we have certain protocols for transactions of this size. I'm going to need additional documentation." "Such as?"
"A secondary form of government-issued ID, proof of funds origin, a notarized letter of intent, and we typically require 72 hours notice for cash withdrawals above 50,000." "I've been a client of this bank for 23 years. My account is held well above this amount for the last decade. You saw the balance yourself." Gerald crossed his arms.
"Ma'am, I've seen a lot of things on screens. Glitches happen. Errors happen. I'm not going to process a million-dollar withdrawal based on what might be a system error."
"A system error?" Sylvia said flatly. "That's right. For all I know, someone deposited funds into the wrong account. It happens more often than you'd think."
He smiled at Amanda. She smiled back. Colin suddenly found something interesting on his keyboard.
"My husband built a real estate company worth more than this entire branch, Mr. Crawford. The money in that account has been there longer than you've had this job." Gerald's smile didn't crack.
"Ma'am, I'm not going to argue about your husband or your history. What I am going to tell you is that this transaction is not happening today. Not like this. Not without proper documentation. And frankly," he lowered his voice, but not enough, "not with someone I can't verify."