She just kept typing. "And what exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Cole?" Adrien kept his expression neutral, though his tactical mind was already registering the shift in the room's atmosphere. "I work for the federal government." "The government?" she echoed dryly.
She picked up his ID and stood up. "I'm going to need my branch manager to authorize a transaction of this size. Wait right here." She didn't ask, she commanded. Adrien watched as Patricia walked over to a glass-walled office in the corner.
Inside sat Caleb Caldwell, a man in his late 50s wearing a sharply tailored gray suit. Patricia leaned in, speaking quietly but urgently, occasionally shooting brief, nervous glances back at Adrien. Caleb Caldwell's eyes locked onto Adrien. The manager's face tightened. He didn't look at a computer screen to verify Adrien's account.
He just looked at Adrien. Adrien had spent a career reading body language. He knew what a threat looked like, and he knew what fear looked like. Right now, he was watching two people manufacture a threat out of their own prejudice. Caldwell picked up his desk phone.
He didn't dial a bank authorization center. He dialed three specific digits. 911. Adrien sighed, shifting his weight. "Here we go," he thought.
He could have walked out. He could have flashed his credentials right then and there to shut the entire spectacle down. "But Adrien was a man of principle. He was a citizen trying to access his own legally obtained money. He hadn't done anything wrong, and he refused to use his federal badge to bypass a situation that an ordinary citizen would be forced to endure.
He wanted to see exactly how Heritage Trust Bank treated its customers. 10 minutes passed. The lobby remained eerily quiet. Caldwell finally emerged from his office, walking over to the teller station with a practiced hollow smile. "Mr. Cole," Caldwell said, his tone dripping with condescension.
"We are currently running a routine security check on the account. Given the unusual nature of this request and the amount, it takes a bit of time." "There's nothing unusual about withdrawing my own money, Mr. Caldwell," Adrien said, his voice even, revealing none of his growing frustration. "The funds are fully settled. I have my ID, my debit card, and my Social Security number for verification.
What exactly seems to be the issue?" "It's just bank policy," Caldwell deflected, his eyes nervously darting toward the front glass doors. "We have to protect our clients from fraudulent activities." "Protect our clients?" Adrien thought.
"You don't think I'm the client. You think I'm the fraud." "I understand protocol," Adrien replied, leaning slightly against the counter, keeping his hands fully visible, a habit ingrained in him for survival. "But I have a closing at 2:00. I'd appreciate it if we could expedite the verification."
Caldwell took a step back, maintaining a defensive distance. "We are moving as fast as we can, sir. I'm going to ask you to step back from the counter and have a seat in the waiting area." It wasn't a request. It was an attempt to manage what Caldwell perceived as a threat.