Brandon looked at his own hands. Smooth. Soft. Clean nails.
“Your grandmother had working hands,” I said. “Thirty-one years of cleaning offices at night. She’d have paid back any loan you ever gave her. Every cent. Early. That teller couldn’t see that. All she could see were bleach-stained sneakers.”
He was crying again.
“You don’t owe your grandmother a nice suit, Brandon,” I said. “You owe her a bank that would have cashed her check.”
Mr. Hale cleared his throat.
He’d been very quiet through all of this. Listening.
“Mrs. Whitaker,” he said. “The closure is canceled. Obviously. Effective immediately. Shelly’s job is restored. Harvey’s job is restored. I’ll put it in writing today.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll also be reviewing every branch in our system,” he said. “Every small-town branch we’ve flagged. I want to know how many other Millbrooks we were about to close.” He shook his head. “I’ve been looking at the numbers for so long, I forgot what they stood for.”
