Cruel Love by Kate Brian Page A

us Miss …?”
    “Walsh. Emma Walsh,” Ariana said.
    “All right, Miss Walsh, have a seat. I’ll just need to see a driver’s license and one other form of ID.”
    Ariana produced her wallet from her bag and fished her Emma Walsh license from the window pocket. en she took out her passport and laid that out for him as well.
    Mr. Lawrence hummed Christmas carols to himself while he inputted her information, using the address on the license. “Okay, and your telephone number?” he asked.
    Ariana recited the number from the new cell phone she’d just procured for herself at the mall that morning—the same mall where she’d purchased the wig. Mr.
    Lawrence’s pudgy fingers flew over the keys.
    “All righty. Now. We have many different types of accounts,” he said, pushing his desk blotter toward her. On it were three large squares, one white, one blue, and one gold, each advertising the different levels of accounts and how much money was needed to open each. “Were you interested in checking … savings …?”
    “Well, my grandmother wanted me to put most of it in savings, as long as it was linked to a checking account so I could access it if I needed it.” Ariana made sure her hands shook as she withdrew the crumpled check from her bag.
    “Your grandmother?” he asked.
    “Yes, she … she wrote me this check before she … passed away.”
    Ariana brought her free hand to her face, covering both her mouth and her nose.
    “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Mr. Lawrence snatched a tissue out of a box on his desk and handed it to her. “Was this recent?” Ariana nodded, pressing the tissue to her nose. “A few days ago.”
    She laid the check on his desk and flattened it with both hands. She had actually written it out to herself that morning, then let it sit, crumpled, in the bottom of her bag so it would be good and battered when she arrived at the bank. Mr. Lawrence did a double take when he saw the huge amount. He cleared his throat and smoothed his tie.
    “Well. I’d say you definitely qualify for our gold-level accounts,” he said. “Which is perfect because you’ll be able to transfer money to and from your checking without paying a fee, provided your total combined balance remains above fifty thousand dollars.” He glanced at the check again. “Which … I don’t think you’ll have any problem with.”
    “Okay,” Ariana said tearfully. “That sounds good.”
    “What do you say we put the bulk of it in high-yield savings, and … let’s see … would twenty thousand be okay in the checking?”
    His voice cracked a bit on the “twenty” and his smile twitched. Ariana had a feeling he was thinking about how he’d never see this much money in his lifetime, yet here she was, a teenager, rolling in it already. Such was life, Mr. L.
    “Better make it fifty,” Ariana replied, touching the tissue to the corners of her eyes. “I think that’s what Grandma Covington said.”
    “Okay,” he replied with a nod. “Fifty it is.” He tapped away at the keyboard, then opened a drawer to remove two separate deposit slips. “You’ll just need to fill these out and sign them, and we’ll be all set to open those accounts and issue you an ATM card.”
    “Great,” Ariana replied.
    “If you don’t mind, Miss Walsh, I’d like to call my manager over and introduce her to you. She likes to meet all of our new and … esteemed account holders personally.”
    And by esteemed you mean filthy rich , Ariana thought.
    “No, I’d rather not,” Ariana said, knowing that the fewer people who remembered her here after today, the better off she’d be. “I’m not really up to it … right now …” She forced herself to dissolve into tears and covered her whole face with the tissue.
    “No, no. Of course not. at’s quite all right,” Mr. Lawrence said, reaching over to pat her arm. “Please don’t cry. You can meet her the next time you come in. Would that be preferable?”
    Ariana sniffled hugely.