“I never said I was leaving,” she replied softly. “I said I wanted to check my balance.”
Charles laughed again, louder. “See?” he announced. “That’s why we have security guards—confused people trying to use services they don’t understand.”
A wealthy woman nearby—Catherine Vance—lifted her designer bag to hide her grin.
“Poor thing,” she said aloud. “Probably Alzheimer’s. My cleaning lady was the same.”
Then Margaret laughed.
Not gently. Not cruelly. Deeply. Her voice filled the marble hall.
“Alzheimer’s?” she said calmly. “That’s interesting – because I remember very clearly working fourteen-hour days cleaning your grandfather’s office in 1955.”
The lobby became quiet.
Charles froze. His family had owned the bank since 1932. Very few people knew personal details about his grandfather.
“Excuse me?” he said, suddenly unsure.
“You were fifteen,” Margaret continued. “I worked after school so Mom and I could eat. Your grandfather used to leave lit cigarettes on the marble floor, just to see if I would complain.”
continued on next page
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
