I went very still.
Behind me, I heard a sharp breath. I turned around.
Harvey Kessler was standing up at his loan desk. Seventy-one years old. Forty-seven years at Farmers & Merchants. His face was gray.
“I’m sorry,” Brandon was saying into the phone. “Yes. Yes, I’ll wait. Yes, sir.”
He hung up.
He turned around slowly. He looked at me. Then at Harvey. Then at the floor.
“Mr. Pierce,” I said.
My voice was very calm. Calmer than I felt.
“Did I hear that correctly? You’re closing this bank?”
He didn’t answer.
“And you’ve fired Shelly?”
He swallowed. “Laid off. It’s a restructuring. It’s not personal.”
“Shelly’s been at that window for twenty-eight years,” I said. “Her husband’s on disability. She’s got a grandson with asthma. That’s pretty personal.”
He looked at the floor again.
“And Harvey,” I said. I turned and looked at Harvey. “Harvey, did you know?”
