Page 72 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“Unfortunately, I can’t do that over the phone,” Linnea says. “For security reasons, you’ll need to come into a branch in person with two forms of ID and proof of current address.”
“But my name’s on the account! I don’t understand. I literally own half that money. Why can’t I do what I want with it?” I drop myself angrily onto the bed.
“I understand this is frustrating, and I sympathize,” Linnea says in that infuriating customer service voice that gets used to “manage” difficult clients. “I wish I could help you, I truly do, but it’s corporate policy. However, it’ll only take a few minutes once you’re in the branch—”
“I can’t come into a branch! I’m in Alaska!” Goddamn Merrick. He planned this. Our bank is a small regional one, and while I can access a network of partner banks’ ATMs nationwide, theonly physical branches are in Southern California. Merrick knew that ATMs would be useless to me without a functional debit card, and in order to get that card working again, I would have to come home to L.A.
“I understand your problem, Ms. Janssen,” Linnea says, still placid. “Maybe you could speak with Mr. Sauer, and he can come into a branch in person to unfreeze the account?”
“No!” I pick up a pillow and hurl it across the room. “I’m trying to divorce him, and I own half the money in that account, but he’s locked me out of it.”
“Oh.” Linnea is lost for words. I hear her clicking through the customer service script that’s probably on the computer screen in front of her, trying to find the right thing to say in this situation.
“Is there a manager I can speak to?”
“Of course,” Linnea says. “Please hold while I connect you. And I am sorry for your troubles, Ms. Janssen. I really am.”
That last bit was definitely off script. I sag on my bed. “Thanks, Linnea.”
A minute later, the manager comes on the line. “Hello, Ms. Janssen. This is Richard Hinkle. I understand you have some questions. How can I help you?”
“I don’t have questions. I have a major, major problem.”
“Tell me about it,” Richard says, again in that sedate “this is how you handle a troublesome client” tone.
I have to go through all the details I’d told Linnea.
“I see,” Richard says when I’m finished. “I’m sorry you’re in such a pickle, Ms. Janssen. Unfortunately, the bank can’t side with one party or the other when divorce proceedings are involved, so actually, you’ll need to have a certified court order to unfreeze these accounts.”
“What? Linnea said it was just two forms of ID!”
“I understand this is frustrating, and I sympathize,” he says, repeating the script. “However, in my experience, the lawyers are able to get this resolved fairly quickly with the court, and then you just have to come into any branch—”
“I’m in Alaska!” I scream before I throw the phone at thepillow that I’d already flung across the room. I crumple facedown onto the bed.
“Hello? Hello?” Richard’s muffled voice says. When he gets no response, he says, “If we can help you with anything else, Ms. Janssen, please call us again anytime from 9a.m.to 5p.m.Pacific. Thank you for choosing Sunnyside Bank of Southern California!” With that peppy sign-off, he hangs up.
Sebastien knocks softly on the door. “Didn’t go well?”
“Mrrrph,” I mutter into the mattress.
I feel the weight of him as he sits down next to me. He lets me stew for a few minutes, and then I roll over to face him. “What am I going to do, Sebastien? I can’t go home. But I can’t stay here either. Even if I could convince the landlady to reinstate the rental, I don’t have any way to make money.” Other than the fortuitous stint at Shipyard Books because Angela wanted to visit her granddaughter, Ryba Harbor isn’t exactly job central during the tourist off-season.
“Well, I know it’s not much, but you have this.” Sebastien waves the plane ticket Merrick left on the rocking chair.
I glare. “I amnotgoing back to L.A.!”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sebastien raises both arms in surrender. “I was just trying to say that you could exchange this ticket for cash.”
“No, I can’t. Merrick said it’s nonrefundable, remember? He thought through everything.”
“Not everything,” Sebastien says. “I, uh, actually made a couple calls while you were talking to the bank. I hope you don’t mind. The money for this plane ticket will be waiting for you at the airline’s main office in Anchorage, if you want it.”
I scramble up to sitting. “Wait, what? How?” I’d just been through the “what you want is against corporate policy” rigamarole with Sunnyside Bank, which is supposed to be known for its personal customer service. I have zero faith that a giant airline would be any better.
“Dana’s cousin’s husband works in the main office,” Sebastien says. “He pulled a few strings. I know it’s not much, but at least it’s a few hundred dollars.”
“You called your friend, who called her cousin, who called her husband, who did a favor forme?” I blink at Sebastien. “That worked?”
