“Consistently.”
Margaret pointed toward a small object on the shelf.
A blue leather ledger.
Not the real one.
Replica.
Imani stared.
“No.”
“It’s for training.”
“No.”
“People need to understand.”
“Then show them transactions.”
“Not artifacts.”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“You hate symbolism.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because symbols make people feel like remembering is the same as changing.”
Margaret considered.
Then removed the ledger.
“Happy?”
“Deeply.”
They laughed.
At lunch, Margaret asked:
“Do you remember Rebecca?”
Imani looked toward her.
“Of course.”
“She works at a nonprofit now.”
“Doing?”
“Financial counseling.”
Imani raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting.”
“She started as admin.”
“Not handling client money.”
“Smart.”
“Now she teaches basic banking classes.”
Imani thought.
“People are inconvenient.”
Margaret smiled.
“You always want consequences.”
“You also want people to be capable of becoming something else.”
“Those ideas fight.”
“They don’t have to.”
Imani looked out the window.
“The consequence can stay true.”
“The future can also change.”
Margaret nodded.
“Do you forgive her?”
Imani laughed.
“Why does everyone care?”
“Because stories need endings.”
“People don’t.”
Margaret smiled.
Fair.
Imani’s father died at seventy-six.
Not suddenly.
Lung disease.
He had not owned the printing shop in years.
After losing it, he worked for another company.
Eventually managed production.
Later admitted he liked not being responsible for payroll.
Two weeks before he died, Imani sat beside his hospital bed.
He was thin.
Still opinionated.
He asked:
“You still telling people the bank ruined me?”
Imani smiled.
“I never told them that.”
“Good.”
“You told everyone.”
“I was mad.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the window.
“They did mess up.”
“Yes.”
“I messed up too.”
“Yes.”
He laughed weakly.
“You always have to agree?”
“You raised an accountant.”
“My mistake.”
They sat quietly.
Then he said:
“You know what bothered me most?”
“What?”
“When they finally admitted the payment error…”
“They apologized like they were doing me a favor.”
Imani nodded.
“I remember.”
“I wanted somebody to say exactly what happened.”
“Your money went to the wrong account.”
“We missed it.”
“That hurt you.”
“Simple.”
Imani looked toward him.
“That’s why I like numbers.”
He smiled.
“Numbers aren’t simple.”
“No.”
“But they’re harder to flatter.”
He died nine days later.