The Chosen

I’m a movie star, she considered. They’d probably believe me. The Farmer’s National Bank sat at the end of the row, one old-fashioned teller window with bars in front of it instead of bullet-proof glass. A slim, elderly woman put down a copy of The Globe when she entered. PEKING woman gives birth to gorilla! boasted the headline. And: prehistoric birdnest found in robert CULP’S ATTIC!

Vera took care of her bank business, then withdrew some walking around money from her personal account. The teller was friendly and efficient; she seemed even pleased to wait on a new face.

“Is that your fancy car out there?” she asked.

“Yes,” Vera said, pocketing her withdrawal slip. Should I say I’m a movie star? she wondered.

“Then you must be up at the old Wroxton place,” the woman said. She glanced up over her bifocals.

“That’s right. I’m the restaurant manager. How did you know?”

“On account of that Feldspar man. He drove one just like it, only it was red. Now don’t get me wrong, miss, we’re quite grateful to him, what with all the money he put in our branch. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told him.”

“Let me see if I can guess,” Vera ventured. “Wroxton Hall is haunted.”

“That’s right, miss, and don’t you laugh. There’s still some folks in this town that remember. Weird goin’s on up there.”

“Well, we’ve already had the ghostbusters go through the place. It’s clean.”

The woman smirked. “Go ahead and laugh, miss. You’ll be sorry. Lotta folks ’round here’re still sorry they ever heard of that godawful place.” She propped her glasses back up on her deeply lined face. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes,” Vera said. It was none of her business per se, but, after all, she was management, and she did have authorized access to the account Feldspar had opened for the restaurant. It was a legitimate curiosity, wasn’t it?

Vera held up the Magwyth Enterprises account card. “I’d like to know how much is in this account.”

The old woman inspected the card again, then double-checked Vera’s driver’s license to make sure that the names matched. Then she pointed over the counter and said, “Just punch up the account number in the jahoozie box there.”

The bank, spare as it was, did not fully lack modern conveniences. On the counter was a small keypad and LED screen, so customers could check their accounts themselves.

“Then press send,” the old woman added.

Vera punched in the account number and her access code. Then she pressed send. Working, the screen read. Please wait.

Vera tapped her foot, waiting.

Then the screen rolled on: Magwyth Enterprises, Ltd. Auxilliary Account: Carriage House, Access Vera Abbot ID Code 003. Please wait.

Then Vera gasped.

Your account total is $1,000,000.00.

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