He hadn’t slept. The night before, his grandmother Rosa’s coughing had been so violent it seemed to rattle the thin walls of their house. The clinic doctor had been blunt. “She needs the full treatment immediately. Her heart is weak.” The medication cost more money than Adrian could imagine—until he found the letter hidden in an old jacket.
His legs trembled as he approached the customer service counter. He felt like a mouse stepping into a lion’s den.
Behind the desk stood Victoria Hale, the branch manager. She was in her mid-thirties, impeccably dressed, beautiful in a distant, calculated way. Her sleek bun and subtle makeup were flawless. To Victoria, the bank was not a service—it was a stage. Customers were either useful or in the way.
Adrian stopped before her desk, which nearly reached his chin.
“Excuse me…” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Victoria didn’t look up. She continued signing papers with a gold pen.
“Excuse me, ma’am…” he tried again.
She sighed dramatically and lifted her gaze. Her eyes swept over him—old shirt, dusty hands, messy hair. Her lip curled slightly.