Chapter 9
Victor flinched, his jaw trembling, but he found nothing left to say. Agent Vance gave a sharp nod, and the two agents pushed him out into the blinding autumn sunshine, where television news crews and press photographers were already gathering around the flashing red lights of the cruisers.
Two hours later, the branch had finally grown quiet.
The forensic teams had packed their gear, having mirrored every drive and secured every paper file. A temporary security team from Mercer Capital’s central division had taken over the lobby, ensuring that normal transactions could proceed without disruption for the customers who remained.
Nathan stood by the thirty-foot glass windows overlooking Broad Street.
The city of Columbus hummed outside—cabs honking, pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalks with coffee cups, delivery trucks unloading goods in alleyways. Millions of people, working long hours, scraping together savings, trusting that the world had rules, trusting that the institutions they relied on would treat them with basic fairness.
Harrison walked up behind him, holding an overcoat.
“The board meeting is set for six, Nathan,” Harrison said. “The jet is fueled at John Glenn International. We can be back in New York before midnight.”
Nathan didn't move for a long moment. He looked at his own reflection in the plate glass—the faded denim jacket, the gray stubble on his jaw, the tired lines around his eyes.
“Cancel the flight to New York, Harrison,” Nathan said.
Harrison paused. “Sir?”
“I’m not going back to Manhattan tonight,” Nathan replied, turning around. “And I’m not wearing a suit on Monday.”
He looked across the gleaming marble floor toward the teller stations, where Leah Dawson was already sitting with three senior tellers, going over accounts, reviewing customer ledgers, and beginning the long, painstaking work of making things right.
“There are thirty-seven other branches in this holding group, Harrison,” Nathan said, a small, grim smile touching the corners of his mouth. “In Cleveland, in Toledo, in Akron, in Dayton. And I haven't visited any of them yet.”
Harrison looked at the worn boots, then at the faded denim jacket, and a slow, understanding smile broke across the lawyer’s face.
“Should I keep the gas-station phone active, Mr. Mercer?”
“Keep it charged,” Nathan said, reaching into his pocket and feeling the rough cardboard edge of Leah’s note, tucked safely alongside his keys. “Daniel Miller has a lot of accounts to check.”
Nathan turned, pushed open the heavy brass doors with his own hands, and walked out into the crisp autumn wind, leaving the cathedral behind him, ready to hunt down every priest who had forgotten what it meant to serve.