Cherished by Seven Sisters novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Nine O'Clock

Leo sits at the back of the loan meeting while Amanda's brother mocks him and Vivian declines on two numbers; in the lobby Amanda's fiance wears a Hart & Weller lanyard.

Harbor National Bank had its offices on the twenty-second floor, and the conference room had a view of the whole port.

I sat in a chair against the back wall, beside a credenza, in the same canvas jacket I'd slept in.

Nobody had offered me coffee.

That suited me fine.

Vivian sat at the head of the table with her half glasses on and a single sheet of paper in front of her.

Roland Price came in at nine sharp with his lawyer, a banker's folder, and his son.

Amanda's brother wore a slim blue suit and the look of a man who had never been told no by anyone he couldn't fire.

He saw me, and his whole face lit up.

"Dad," he said. "They gave the help a chair."

Roland didn't smile, but he didn't tell his son to stop either.

"Vivian," Roland said, pulling out his seat. "Good of you to see us. We go back a long way, you and I. Carolyn ran your Home, after all. We're practically family."

"Mr. Price," said Vivian.

"And I see you've taken in the charity case."

"He's sitting in the back of the room," Vivian said. "He can leave if you like."

"Oh, let him stay," the brother said. "He's seen all our numbers anyway. Five years of free rent buys a lot of peeking."

I kept my hands flat on my knees.

I had promised Vivian I'd make sure she was fair, and I couldn't do that with my fist in someone's mouth.

Roland talked for ten minutes.

He talked about the Price name and the Price legacy, and about eighty years of building supply in Maryland.

He talked about a thirty-eight million dollar bridge note due in ninety days and how a bank like Harbor National would be foolish to let a good old family firm go under.

Vivian listened to all of it without moving her pen.

When he finished, she turned over the sheet of paper.

"Two numbers," she said.

"I'm sorry?"

"I decided on two numbers. Your trucks ran forty-one percent empty last month."

The brother snorted.

"Forty-one percent of the miles your fleet drove, the truck carried nothing," Vivian said. "Eighteen months ago, it was eighteen percent."

"Industry noise," said Roland.

"The second number is three. You've missed three supplier notes in ninety days. Two of them were to vendors who bank with me."

Roland's lawyer closed his folder very softly.

"We're declining the loan," said Vivian. "That's the whole answer."

"On two numbers?" Roland's neck turned red. "Because of him?"

"Because of two numbers."

"This is personal. Your brother signs a few papers in the rain and you punish my family."

"Mr. Price," said Vivian, and I saw her straighten, "anyone who throws out the man who built your routes and then wonders why the trucks run empty..."

"Viv," I said.

She stopped.

The room turned to look at me, and I hadn't planned to say anything.

"Not that," I said. "You said no on the numbers. Leave it on the numbers."

Vivian looked at me for a long time over her glasses.

"Fair enough," she said.

The brother laughed. "Listen to the garbage man."

I stood up.

I didn't look at him. I looked at Roland, because Roland was the one with the checkbook.

"Your empty-mile rate was eighteen percent when I left Price Supply," I said. "Your son installed a routing system on Monday that sends the Dundalk trucks to the wrong yard."

"You don't know what's running on my system."

"I know the Dundalk trucks have been sitting outside Gate B since Monday morning. You can check."

For a second the brother's eyes moved sideways.

It was a small thing, but Roland saw it.

"Fire the system," I said. "Put the old routes back. Come back in six months with a rate under twenty, and she'll have to listen."

"Why would you tell us that?" said Roland.

"I'm not telling you for you. I'm telling you so she doesn't have to be the reason."

Nobody answered.

I picked up the empty coffee cup I hadn't been given and carried it to the credenza, because I couldn't think what else to do with my hands.

Vivian gathered her sheet, stood, and held the door.

"We're done," she said. "Thank you for coming."

The elevator took all of us down to the lobby in a silence I could have bottled.

The lobby of Harbor National was three stories of glass and white marble, with a hundred people crossing it in good coats.

Amanda was standing by the security desk.

She was wearing the cream coat and her pearls again, and she looked like she had slept eight hours.

Beside her stood the man in the camel overcoat, with his hand on the small of her back.

My signature on her divorce was not a day old.

"Oh," Amanda said, as she saw me. "You're here."

"Hi, Amanda."

"Daddy said you might be." She lifted her chin. "This is my fiancé."

She didn't say his name.

He held out a hand with a smile I had already learned to hate.

I didn't take it.

That's when I noticed the lanyard hanging from his neck, the green kind with a plastic card.

The card said HART & WELLER.

It was my sister's firm, and the picture on it was his.

The elevator behind us chimed.

Judge stepped out of it in red heels, five feet tall, with a folder under her arm and a face like a closing door.

She looked at the camel coat.

"Good morning, Counsel," Judge said. "I've been looking for you."

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