The insult was surgical in its cruelty.
Klene began counting down like a game-show host, each number delivered with theatrical emphasis.
"Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight."
Several customers had their phones out now, forming a semicircle of recording devices around Marcus. The countdown was designed to humiliate him, to break his composure in front of dozens of witnesses.
"Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three."
Emma's viewer count hit 35,000. Screenshots were ricocheting across social media, and the bank was climbing national trending lists.
"Twenty. Nineteen."
Marcus opened his weathered briefcase with surgical precision.
"Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen."
He withdrew a sleek tablet and powered it on with maddening slowness while Klene's countdown continued.
"Ten. Nine. Eight."
The login screen appeared: Washington Capital Management Private Banking Portal.
"Seven. Six. Five."
Marcus entered his biometric password with one finger while Klene performed for his audience.
"Four. Three. Two."
The screen loaded.
Account balance: $847,392,156.73.
"One. Time's up." Klene gestured dramatically to Tony. "Remove this con artist immediately."
But Tony Rodriguez had frozen mid-stride. His eyes were locked on the tablet screen like a deer caught in headlights.
Klene continued his performance, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring three feet behind him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I sincerely apologize for this disruption. At First National, we maintain the highest security standards to protect our legitimate clients from exactly this type of fraudulent behavior."
Scattered applause broke out. The woman in pearls started a slow clap, and a man near the window actually said, "Bravo."
Marcus turned the tablet toward Klene with the fluid motion of a magician revealing his final trick.
Klene glanced down with practiced dismissal, then looked again. His face underwent a remarkable transformation: confusion melting into recognition, recognition crystallizing into absolute horror.
The blood drained from his cheeks.
"What? What am I looking at?" Klene's voice cracked.
"My account balance," Marcus replied with quiet dignity.
Sarah leaned over to look, still riding high on righteous indignation. "Sir, anyone can fake a banking app."
Then she saw the screen. Her nail file hit the marble floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the suddenly silent lobby.
Jennifer pressed closer, squinting at the display as if trying to read hieroglyphics. Her mouth formed a perfect circle of shock.
Emma zoomed her camera tight on their faces, capturing every microsecond of dawning realization. Her 41,000 viewers watched arrogance transform into panic in high definition.
Klene fumbled for his own company tablet with hands that shook. He logged into First National's internal client-management system and searched for Marcus Washington.