I couldn’t hear what he was saying at first. He’d turned away. Hunched over. Talking low and fast into the receiver.
Then his voice went up.
“No, I understand that. I do. I’m looking at it right now. Section fourteen point three. It’s flagged on the account. In red.” He swallowed. “Yes. She’s here. She’s standing right in front of me.”
He glanced back at me over his shoulder. Then quickly away.
“I didn’t know,” he said into the phone. “Nobody told me. Corporate never said anything about any covenant. They sent me down here with a plan. You approved the plan. You signed off on it.” He was quiet for a moment. “I know. I know I already did. Two of them. Last week.”
Another pause.
“Shelly Haskins and Harvey Kessler,” he said. “Effective the end of the month. And the closure notice goes out to customers on July first.”
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?”
