"Stay out of this."
Sofia froze.
The woman looked toward the receptionist for a brief moment before turning back to the manager.
"I came here to ask about opening a business account and completing a scheduled transaction. You haven't examined my documents."
Keller gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Lady, you people always think wearing expensive clothes means the rules don't apply to you."
The lobby became quieter.
Several customers glanced toward one another.
The beautiful woman remained composed.
"What exactly do you mean by 'you people'?"
Keller's face reddened.
He pointed toward the entrance again.
"I mean people who walk into a premium banking branch expecting special treatment without proving they belong here."
The woman removed her sunglasses.
Her dark-brown eyes met his.
There was no anger in her expression.
Only a quiet disappointment that somehow made his behavior look even more absurd.
She asked one final question.
"Is this how your bank trains employees to treat customers?"
Keller leaned forward across the marble counter.
"Listen carefully. I run this branch. I decide who we serve. And nobody in this building is going to question my judgment."
The woman studied him.
Then she bent down, retrieved her card, and placed it carefully inside her handbag.
She straightened.
"All right."
Keller smiled triumphantly.
"Good. Now leave."
But she didn't move.
Instead, she looked toward a large brass clock mounted above the reception area.
8:54 a.m.
Then she looked back at Keller.
"Before I go, I would like your full name, the name of your regional supervisor, and a copy of the bank's written account-opening policy."
The manager laughed loudly enough to attract attention from the investment offices along the far wall.
"You're going to file a complaint?"
The woman nodded.
"Among other things."
His smile hardened.
"Go ahead. I've worked here twelve years. My regional director knows exactly how I operate."
The woman looked toward the clock again.
8:56.
Then she said something so calmly that Keller barely noticed its significance.
"Yes. I believe he does."
One minute later, the enormous glass doors opened.
A distinguished white executive in his early sixties hurried into the lobby wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a dark leather folder.
He looked toward the reception counter.
Saw the platinum-haired woman.
Then stopped so abruptly that the assistant walking behind him nearly collided with his shoulder.
The executive's face changed.
He glanced at the manager.
Then at the woman.
And walked directly toward her.
"Madam Chair," he said, struggling to control his surprise. "I didn't realize you'd already arrived."