Donovan entered the Second City branch and noticed the lack of tellers. The last time he’d come to see Brenda, the tall blonde who had helped him and Amelia get their first mortgage and taught them how to set aside money for a rainy day, there had been four wickets carved into the barn-wood counter. Now there were two ATMs and two “virtual” greeters standing inside five-foot-tall LED screens. One was female and the other was male, young and gorgeous, and they both looked like real people except they didn’t blink and their background looked like something out of Second City’s head office boardroom.
“How can I help you today, Mr. Glass?” the screen on the right asked with the kind of smile that screamed virtual.
Donovan looked around. There was a younger man doing his banking at one of the machines, but other than that, the only other people in the branch were seated at booths that looked like they’d been repossessed from a fast-food restaurant and repurposed for the bank. There were people in the offices around the perimeter, too—Donovan could see their shadows through the frosted-glass walls.
“How did you know my name?” he asked the slim, blonde, computer-generated advisor on the screen.
“Your bank card is equipped with a tap feature. Our in-house, secure Wi-Fi helps us to identify you so that we can provide an enhanced and personalized banking experience for you at Second City.” Big smiles from the virtual greeter, something straight out of a sci-fi horror movie gone wrong. “I see you don’t have an appointment today, Mr. Glass. Are you looking for cash or to make changes to your accounts?”
He felt a little disturbed by the virtual greeter’s questions and knowledge. It was one thing to be able to detect his bank card and read the information stored in it, but how did the computer know he’d come for cash? Clearing his throat, Donovan stepped even closer to the blonde greeter.
“Actually, I’m looking for Brenda.”
“Ah, yes, Brenda is currently in a meeting. Her schedule is free in ninety minutes. Are you free in ninety minutes, Mr. Glass?”
Someone else entered the branch, and the male greeter welcomed Mrs. Sherman and asked if she was here for cash or to make changes to her accounts. When Donovan looked around, he saw that Mrs. Sherman was in her sixties and carried a check with one hand and raised her middle finger on the other.
Grinning, Donovan returned his attention to the blonde and said he would come back in ninety minutes. The computer greeter confirmed the appointment time.
As he left, Donovan heard Mrs. Sherman call the greeter an asshole, even though the older woman was now standing at the ATM to complete her banking.
This part of town had once been impassable for the average person. In fact, Donovan remembered when tall, poorly built, and poorly designed buildings lined the skyline in this area. Shootings, stabbings, and other violent crimes had been commonplace. One of the sociology professors at Saint Xavier had been instrumental in lobbying the city and state to tear down those buildings and transform the “projects” into this modern, trendy, and upscale area (better known as a commercial mousetrap) that it had become.
Walking back along North, Donovan surveyed the surprising number of shoppers. It was a Wednesday, half an hour before noon. He wondered how so many people could afford to be here instead of at work. Just past the Crate & Barrel was the next major intersection at Clybourn. Across that street, he passed another Starbucks and kept walking. And that was when he saw it—the silver-walled store with the bitten apple hanging above its glass front doors.
Entering the store, Donovan was surprised that there were just as many people inside the Apple Store as there were walking along North Avenue. Before he could take two steps, a woman in an Apple Store shirt approached him and asked if she could help.
“You’re real,” he said.
Although the woman kept smiling, she confirmed that she was.
“Never mind. I’m looking for a new laptop.”
Her eyes widened at the opportunity. “Oh, super. What are you using now?”
“It’s an IBM.”
The woman seemed doubtful. “That company hasn’t built a computer in over a decade.”
“Trust me, I know. It was a freebie from work.” He held back from adding when my daughter’s abduction consumed me to the point where I couldn’t perform my job anymore. “I need something quick. And up to date.”
The woman laughed. She had to be in her forties, too, a little younger than he was and also no stranger to catastrophic loss given those heavy wrinkles around her eyes. Unlike Donovan, she was wearing a wedding ring, a big one in fact.
“I’ve heard that these computers are pretty reliable,” Donovan said.
Nodding, the woman guided him to one of the tables. “What kind of work do you do, sir?”
He deliberated telling her the truth—he’d retired early on account of his inability to deal with a missing daughter and a wife who’d made a mess of their life when she bled out in their tub—but decided it was easier to say he was a professor. “I’m off on something of a sabbatical now, but I’m at Saint Xavier.”
Her eyes widened. “Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
She showed him to another table upon hearing that he was a professor, Donovan noticed. The only difference he could see was that the prices had increased by roughly $1,000. But no point in splitting hairs: today was going to be one of his most expensive regardless.
CHAPTER 13
Donovan returned to the Second City branch, carrying a big bag with the Apple logo on its side. He’d not only been upsold to the most expensive MacBook on the market—of course, he’d been informed that, at his advanced age, he would appreciate the fifteen-inch display—but the woman had convinced him that he also needed an iPhone. Apparently, his flip-phone Motorola was out of date even though he could make calls just fine.
When he entered the bank’s front doors, he noticed that Brenda appeared and intercepted him before he could check in with the virtual greeter.
“Mr. Glass, what a pleasant surprise!”
Donovan had met Brenda when she was fresh out of school, just starting out at Second City. She’d fumbled through their mortgage without causing any lasting mistakes and had redeemed herself when she’d demonstrated to them that a few tweaks to their savings behavior could really change the outcome of their financial plan. As it turned out, Donovan hadn’t had to return to work in those early years after Elizabeth was abducted, and then the insurance payouts had come in, and Brenda’s financial advice had been instrumental in helping him “retire early.”
“Hi, Brenda.” His banker was tall in heels and slender in a pantsuit. She was wearing trendy glasses and had dyed blonde hair with the dark roots starting to show. Although she wasn’t married, Brenda didn’t strike Donovan as the type of woman who had a tough time attracting men or taking the breath away from those who walked into the branch and saw her for the first time in over three or four or who knew how many years. Deep breath. “You look great.”
Instead of shaking his hand, Brenda opened her arms for a hug. Donovan couldn’t remember if they’d hugged the last time he’d seen her professionally. Maybe it was part of Second City’s new business model, all part of the change that happened when they fired their tellers and replaced them with machines.
“You look good, too.” She released him and adjusted her glasses. Her smile was bright and big, the kind that hinted at a history. “My office is back here.”
He followed her down a short hallway that led past a few offices. Most of the lights were turned off, but a few of those offices were occupied. Wednesday afternoons were clearly not overly busy for banking.
Brenda’s office was in the corner. There was no window, and judging from the bass pounding through the walls, the Best Buy home theater display was on the other side. It was just a desk with a computer monitor on it and three chairs—two on his side, one on Brenda’s. Nothing in the office identified it as “Brenda’s space,” and the lack of photos and degrees on display le
nt the square room a very sterile feel.
“This place sure has changed,” Donovan said, making a big show of checking out the emptiness. He admitted to himself that he was a little shy about making eye contact with her.
“This is our high-tech branch.” She shrugged. “It’s a pilot, but our new company president feels that we’re here to help our customers achieve their financial goals.”
“And a real-life teller who can give me cash isn’t helping me as much as a virtual teller who can do the same thing?” He didn’t quite buy it. “Sounds like straightforward cost-cutting to me.”
Chuckling, Brenda shook her head and smiled at him for a long two or three seconds before giving another shrug. “I just do as I’m told. I need the paycheck.”
“Until you’re replaced by a virtual banker.”
Brenda gave a what-can-you-do shrug.
“It’s just a shame, that’s all. But I understand.”
“So what brings you in, Donovan? I haven’t seen you in . . .”
“Roughly four years,” he said. “Your cousin’s wedding at that mansion in Twilight Creek.”
“Yes.” She smiled, possibly at the memory.
Glancing down and seeing the Apple bag next to him, Donovan told himself he’d better not forget it. Not the wedding, but the bag; nearly $3,000 worth of merchandise was inside that bag.
Brenda cleared her throat. Her light and joyful mood had shifted, Donovan saw when he raised his attention back to her. “How’ve you been?”
He gave a half smile. “It’s a day-by-day thing.”
“And today?”
“Today’s a great day.” He blurted the words so quickly that he had to look away and pray that his cheeks didn’t burn red.
Brenda giggled. “Well, I see you’ve done some shopping.”
“No, it’s always nice seeing you, Brenda.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you’ve helped me so much, I can’t even begin to thank you.” He gulped, watching the way Brenda’s eyes lit up as she studied him.
She smiled again, her face turning red as if she might be allergic to the flattery.
Change the subject. “And I’m hoping you can help me again, but seeing that you don’t have real-life tellers, I’m not sure if you can.”
Leaning forward on her desk, Brenda locked her eyes on his. They were nice eyes, the kind in which men could lose themselves, Donovan knew. Too easily.
“What’s going on, Donovan? Everything okay?”
“I need some cash. Ten thousand dollars.”
Brenda’s eyes popped wide. Their previous glitter turned flat. “That’s a lot of cash.”
“I know.” He’d known this could be a problem. “Five thousand is for me. You know, for those few times I need cash, which isn’t often because, as you’re aware, I rarely leave my house.”
“And the rest?”
“I’m having some work done at home.”
“The bathroom?” The question came so quickly that Brenda raised a hand to her mouth when she realized what she’d said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that you can’t exactly remodel a kitchen for that kind of money.”
Donovan reached across the desk and squeezed the hand that hadn’t snapped up to her mouth. “It’s okay, Brenda. I’ve already redone that bathroom. But my living room needs quite a bit of help.” He’d really thought this through.
As if his explanation made sense, Brenda nodded. He released her hand and watched her lean back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ten thousand is a lot of money. Can you take a little less, or is ten thousand a hard figure?”
“I need ten.” She seemed to be sending cues of some sort, but Donovan had never been an expert at detecting the kinds of hints that appeared in body language or tone of voice, especially when it came to women. He didn’t want to jump to any hasty conclusions, so he let go of the possibility completely.
“I see.” She sighed. “You’re sure about ten?”
“Yes, Brenda. Ten thousand in cash. I don’t care if they’re in tens or twenties or fifties or hundreds or a combination thereof.” He shrugged. “I just need ten thousand in cash, and I need to know how to get my hands on it.”
More nodding from Brenda. “Okay, give me a minute, Donovan.” She pushed her chair back and left the office, making sure to close her door once she was out.
Alone at the desk now, Donovan noticed that his underarms were damp. He knew that Brenda would probably identify his sweating as a sign of nervousness, so he began fanning at his armpits.
When he heard the office door open behind him, Donovan stopped and linked his hands together. He turned in his seat, but the smile melted off his face when he saw that Brenda had gone to fetch her manager, a balding man with a heavy belly who happened to be a good foot and a half shorter than his pretty employee.
“Mr. Glass,” Brenda said, “this is Paul, the branch manager.”
Donovan smiled and shook Paul’s hand, noticing how Brenda stood slightly behind the shorter man.
“Mr. Glass,” Paul said, pushing an expression onto his face that seemed like a medley of frown, grimace, and half wink, “Brenda tells me you’re looking at taking out ten thousand.”
“Dollars,” Donovan said with a nod. He noticed the amused smirk that rose on Brenda’s face. She bit down on her lower lip.
“Yes, it’s implied.” Paul had self-esteem issues, Donovan deducted.
“Can I get it? The ten thousand? Dollars?”
“Of course you can. We’re a bank, right? But with that kind of withdrawal, we have to meet certain regulatory requirements. Would you be willing to sign a statement and provide details of your request?”
Donovan glanced over at Brenda. She shrugged at him. “Sure. It’s for a bedroom renovation and a small stockpile of cash for when I need it. If I have it on hand, I won’t need to find a Second City ATM, which seem to have disappeared in Oak Park.”
The manager nodded. He turned to Brenda. “I’ll get Janice working on the request. Can you get the AML forms ready? I’ll sign off.” Without waiting for a response, the manager disappeared.
Brenda closed her office door.
“What’s AML?” Donovan asked.
“Anti–money laundering. For the IRS.” She sighed. “And there are three other documents our head office needs.”
“Is ten thousand the threshold?”
She nodded.
“But if I take nine thousand from you, I can stop at the machine on my way out and get the other thousand and then nothing needs to get filled in and reported?”
Another nod. “I’m not supposed to say, but yeah.”
“Screw it, then. I only need nine thousand.”
Brenda giggled, raising a hand to her mouth again. “Come on, Donovan, you don’t think that sounds suspicious? If Paul finds out I told you about the threshold, I could be in serious trouble. Are you going to renovate that bedroom for me, because I might need to move in once I lose my job.” Like the comment about the bathroom, that last one seemed to have slipped past her lips quicker than she could stop it, Donovan saw. “Shit, that’s not what—”
Raising a hand to stop her, Donovan saw just how red her face had turned. And then he knew. He glanced down at his lap and shook his head, disappointed that he hadn’t noticed it sooner. “I think I know what’s going on.”
Her face turned even redder. “I’m sorry, Donovan. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I screwed up with the room I’m renovating, didn’t I?”
Brenda tilted her head to the side, apparently a little confused. The redness seemed to bleed out, her complexion returning to normal.
“Initially, I told you I was renovating the living room, but then I told your happy manager that I was fixing up the bedroom.”
Frowning at him like he’d just missed the most obvious thing in the world, Brenda gave a confirming nod. “Yes. That’s exactly right.”
There was a knock at the door, and then Paul po
ked his head in. “Everything’s ready, Mr. Glass.”
“Actually,” Brenda said, “Mr. Glass says he’d prefer to keep less cash on hand.”
“Oh?”
Donovan turned around in his seat. “Yes. Nine thousand is good enough.”
Raising an eyebrow to Brenda, Paul asked her if that was correct.
She shrugged. “He’s the client, and it’s his money.”
At last, Paul nodded. “Then forget the paperwork, Brenda.” He turned his attention to Donovan. “It’ll just be another few minutes for the cash, Mr. Glass. I apologize for the delay.”
Waving off the manager, Donovan turned his attention back to Brenda. He felt a lot more at ease now. The younger woman chuckled and shook her head once Paul was gone and her office door had been closed again.
“You really do look good, Donovan.” Smiling at him, Brenda bit her lower lip just like she had while she stood behind her manager and watched Donovan screw up his account for why he needed the money. “You’re starting to look like the man I met when I first started at Second City. Before you bought that house and got married.”
Donovan smiled back at her, but he couldn’t help the sense of loss that tightened his gut. “They say everything happens for a reason.”
“All this time, I’ve been wondering if you really think she got pregnant on purpose.” Brenda’s face tightened as well; it was obviously a question that had been haunting her.
“We’d been together for a few years.” He swallowed and nodded, as if trying to convince himself.
“Exactly.”
Shifting in his seat, Donovan studied Brenda a little closer.
“You had separate accounts when I met you. Next thing I know, you’re buying a house together and setting up savings for Elizabeth.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know what else to say about that. Maybe he’d been too beaten up with guilt to think about it since Amelia’s suicide, but he’d definitely wondered about it during the pregnancy. While Elizabeth had been around, he’d stopped caring, because his daughter had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. And then, when she was taken from him, Donovan’s thinking changed. He’d begun to feel sorry for himself and wondered if some higher power had stripped him of the one thing that brought him happiness, almost as a way to test him.
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