"Is there a problem, Mr. Sterling?" Elena asked softly, echoing her earlier question to
Andrew.
Richard’s hands began to shake. "Ms. Brooks... I... I apologize. I had no idea."
"You didn't look," Elena corrected him gently. "You made an assumption."
Andrew, noticing his manager's sudden terror, leaned in. "Sir? What is it?"
"Shut up, Andrew," Richard hissed, not taking his eyes off Elena. He tried to force a
smile, but it looked like a grimace of pain. "Ms. Brooks, please. This is a terrible
misunderstanding. Let me escort you to my private office. We can get this sorted out
immediately. I assure you, Harrington & Cole would be honored to handle your accounts."
Elena reached out and slowly placed her hand over the folder. She slid it back across
the counter, toward herself. She picked up the $4.8 million check.
"You declined the deposit, Mr. Sterling," she said.
"I was mistaken! I spoke out of turn. Please, let's go to my office. I can have the regional
vice president on the phone in two minutes to personally welcome you."
"That won't be necessary," Elena said, slipping the check back into her worn leather
bag. "You were right. This transaction requires a certain type of relationship. One based on
mutual respect and thoroughness. Clearly, this institution lacks both."
Richard looked like he was about to cry. If the board found out he had turned away
Elena Brooks—if they lost the multi-million dollar deposit flow because he had judged her
jacket—his career wouldn't just be over. He would be ruined.
"Ms. Brooks, I beg you. Let me fix this."
Elena turned her back to the counter. She looked around the massive, opulent lobby. At
the chandeliers. At the marble. At the people in their expensive suits who were now staring
openly at the scene unfolding.
"It's a beautiful lobby," Elena said quietly. "But it's hollow. Just like the people who run
it."
She began to walk toward the exit.
"Ms. Brooks! Wait!" Richard shouted, abandoning all pretense of decorum. He
scrambled around the side of the counter, running into the lobby after her.
But Elena didn't stop. She pushed through the heavy glass revolving doors, stepping out
into the bright city sunlight, leaving a multi-million-dollar banking crisis in her wake.
By 3:00 PM that afternoon, the atmosphere inside the Harrington & Cole regional
headquarters on the 40th floor of the financial district was utterly toxic. The board room, a
vast expanse of mahogany and glass overlooking the city skyline, felt less like an executive
meeting space and more like a war room during a losing campaign.
Marcus Vance, the CEO of Harrington & Cole, stood at the head of the table. He was a
man who rarely raised his voice, a man whose silence was far more terrifying than his
shouts. He was currently staring out the window, his back to the room. The silence was
deafening.
Seated at the table were the regional vice presidents, the head of wealth management,
and a very pale, very sweaty Richard Sterling. Next to him sat Andrew Miller, looking as
though he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
"Let me ensure I have a complete understanding of the sequence of events," Marcus
Vance said softly, not turning around.
Richard swallowed loudly. "Yes, sir."
Marcus slowly turned. His eyes were cold, dead. "We spent eighteen months negotiating
the acquisition of the Aegis software. It is the cornerstone of our new quantitative trading
division. The board authorized a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar total package. The
contract specifically required a massive degree of goodwill with the creator, Elena Brooks,