For a moment, she simply stared at me.
Then she turned toward the industrial shredder beside her station.
She held the check above its opening, maintaining deliberate eye contact.
"You should have thought about that before bringing a fake check into my bank."
The machine roared.
The document disappeared between its cutting blades, and thin white strips collected in the bin below.
Eleanor watched with unmistakable satisfaction.
"There," she announced.
"Problem solved."
I stared at the shredded paper.
Then I looked back at her.
"You have no idea what you just did."
Something briefly changed in her expression, but she quickly recovered.
"Hank!"
The security guard approached with a steel baton in his hand.
"Remove him immediately."
I raised both palms.
"I am not a threat."
Hank struck me hard in the ribs.
The impact emptied my lungs before I could finish speaking.
He shoved me backward, and my body crashed against the Carrara marble.
Pain exploded through my jaw as my face scraped across the floor.
Blood filled my mouth with the bitter taste of copper.
Hank drove his knee into my spine and twisted my wrists behind my back.
I did not resist.
Around me, customers stepped away, their expensive shoes moving carefully around the blood.
Several held their phones low, recording without offering assistance.
Eleanor stood behind the counter with her arms folded.
"Maybe next time you'll think twice."
Then the private elevator chimed.
Fast footsteps crossed the lobby.
Arthur Bennett, the bank's chairman, emerged carrying a stack of acquisition folders.
He stopped when he saw me.
The folders slipped from his hands and scattered across the marble.
His face drained of color.
"Do you people have any idea who that man is?"