“Yes.”
“Customers came here to bank.”
The CEO walked toward the conference room with the teller.
The entire branch watched him.
He hated that.
Twenty minutes earlier he had been invisible except as a problem.
Now he had become the most important person in the building.
Nothing about him had changed.
That was the point.
Inside the small conference room, the teller closed the door.
Then immediately started crying.
The CEO remained standing.
Not because surprised.
Because he had seen enough nervous breakdowns in corporate settings to know the first thing frightened employees often needed was distance.
He handed her a box of tissues from the side cabinet.
She took one.
“I’m sorry.”
“For crying?”
“For everything.”
The CEO pulled out a chair.
“You didn't make the bet.”
“No.”
“You didn't order security.”
“No.”
“But I didn’t stop him.”
There it was.
The harder part.
He sat.
The teller remained standing.
“Sit if you want.”
She did.
Her breathing gradually steadied.
The CEO asked:
“How long have you worked here?”
“Three years.”
“Under this manager the whole time?”
“Two and a half.”
“Was today unusual?”
She looked toward the glass wall.
The blinds were open.
Outside, the manager could be seen pacing inside his office.
The teller whispered:
“No.”
The CEO did not react.
“How unusual?”
She wiped her face.
“He doesn't usually bet people.”
“Good.”
A tiny laugh escaped despite herself.
Then disappeared.
“He judges customers.”
“How?”
“Clothes.”
“Cars.”
“Balances.”
“Race?”
The teller froze.
The CEO waited.
She looked down.
“Sometimes.”
“Tell me what sometimes means.”
Her fingers twisted the tissue.
“If somebody looks wealthy, he comes out.”
“He introduces himself.”
“He offers coffee.”
“He asks about investments.”
“If someone looks…”
She stopped.
“Poor?”
“Yes.”
“He pushes them toward the ATM.”
“Or online banking.”
“Even when they ask for help?”