Page 93 of Mangled Memory
“Do you want to discuss this here?” I point to the cameras in the room. “I would prefer to do so at home. But you’ve been consistent in not believing me. Would the public nature of this help? Or would you prefer to do this at the house? Would it help if your brothers came as witnesses?”
“My brothers?”
“Same mother. Same father. Male. You know the concept.”
“Shut up.” Her eyes have humor and relief in them as well. “We may need the muscle for boxes of money.”
“You can cancel the transaction.” I retake my seat, stretching my legs out in front of me.
Suspicion lines her features. “You’d like that, huh?”
“Ayla, I want you to listen to me. More so, I want you to trust me. If that won’t happen without the piles of dollar bills?—”
“Oh, please tell me it won’t be in ones.”
The bark of laughter that escapes me isn’t my norm. Or hasn’t been since September. “Raiding their stores today may come in the manner they have it available.”
She stands and walks to the door, poking her head out, but saying to me. “I feel foolish. This was…”
“This was something you needed. They don’t need to know why. You can cancel it or ask me to. Or let it play out. Your call.” The look on her face is everything I needed today. It is an ask and her saving face at the same time. “Want me to go fix it?”
She shakes her head no, but mouthsyesat the same time.
“Which is it?”
“Please,” she whispers.
“Oh, I love when you beg.”
The growl she releases as I walk out of the room is enough to make me laugh.
“Excuse me,” I ask the same teller we first encountered. “Would you get Ms. Wallace for me?”
The teller does the same as before, returning with the bank manager who looks a bit haggard and worn. “Ms. Wallace, mywife needs less than she originally indicated. Would you mind reducing the amount to twenty instead of fifty and pulling it from our main account? Hundreds would be preferable, but fifties would be fine if that’s easier for you.”
She looks to the room where Ayla is surely pacing before returning her focus to me. “If twenty is better for you both, I will get that done immediately.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance and your willingness to be flexible.”
“Of course, Mr. Barone.”
I return to the room. Ayla stands and throws her purse onto her shoulder, scratching her coffee cup with her thumbnail as she moves.
“We’re not quite ready.”
“We’re not?”
“No. It’ll be a few more minutes.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see.”
She plops back down in her chair still scraping the cup with her thumbnail, her focus solely on the corrugated cuff. For several minutes she looks between the cup and the door. I could put her out of her misery, but I don’t. When the door opens, Ms. Wallace returns and sits in the seat she occupied prior. She slides an envelope across the table to my wife.
“Twenty thousand dollars, Mrs. Barone. Your husband mentioned that you determined you needed less. I hope it’s okay that we made the adjustment without coming back to you.”
Ayla flips her gaze to me before settling on the bank manager. “That’s fine. Thank you. Plans changed, so, yes, it wasokay.”
