She stood at the customer service counter, barely tall enough to see over the marble ledge. She slid her card forward shyly. The banker behind the desk, a woman named Claire, froze when she saw the girl’s tangled hair, dirty fingernails, and worn clothes. Nearby customers slowed, some whispering with mild concern, most with thinly veiled disgust.
Emma’s voice was barely audible. “I just want to check my balance, please.”
Claire gave her a gentle smile—the first warmth Emma had felt in days. But the card was old, from a type of account that required access to archived records. The only terminal that could retrieve it was in the VIP section, currently overseen by Daniel Brooks.
Claire carefully guided Emma across the shining floor. Emma didn’t know who Daniel was or what that section meant. She only wanted to know if she could afford a sandwich. Maybe a bus ticket to somewhere better.
Daniel watched them approach with faint amusement. Surely this was some mistake. Perhaps a publicity stunt. Leaning back in his leather chair, he let out a quiet chuckle as Emma—who seemed even smaller amid such luxury—stood before his desk.