“What do you need?” she asked coldly. “The donation office isn’t here. If you’re begging, try the church down the street.”
Adrian’s face burned. He wanted to disappear. But he pictured his grandmother struggling to breathe.
“I’m not begging,” he said, forcing the words out. “I need to cash this.”
With shaking hands, he removed an old check from the envelope. The paper was yellowed and folded, with a faint coffee stain at the corner. He laid it carefully on the spotless glass counter.
“It was my grandfather’s. Samuel Cruz. He passed away last month. He said it was for emergencies. My grandma is very sick. Please.”
Victoria picked it up with two fingers, as if it might stain her manicure. She scanned the amount, the date, the signature—and laughed. A short, sharp laugh that echoed in the silence.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she said loudly enough for nearby employees to turn. “Where did you get this? Did you steal it?”
“It’s my grandfather’s!” Adrian insisted, tears forming. “He worked his whole life. It’s honest money.”