"Fix this immediately or you're finished."
"The board is asking questions."
"You're fired if this isn't resolved in five minutes."
"Officers," Klene stammered, his corporate confidence dissolving, "perhaps we could discuss this privately, away from the cameras."
"Actually," Marcus interjected, silk-wrapped steel in his voice, "I'd prefer everything remain completely transparent. After all, my public character assassination was quite entertaining for everyone present."
He gestured toward Emma's livestream, which had exploded to 58,000 viewers and was climbing fast.
The comments had become a digital stampede.
"This man is about to own this entire bank."
"Klene's about to become the most expensive mistake in banking history."
"Someone needs to livestream his unemployment interview."
Sarah Mitchell had pressed herself against the far wall as if trying to disappear into the marble. Her earlier smugness had been replaced by wide-eyed terror.
Jennifer Hayes stood beside her like a statue, visible calculations happening behind her eyes as she tried to determine exactly how catastrophically she had destroyed her career trajectory. Her face had settled into a sickly green.
Marcus opened a second banking application on his tablet with theatrical precision.
The screen loaded.
Washington Capital Management Operating Account.
Available for immediate wire transfer: $200 million.
Pre-authorized beneficiary: JPMorgan Chase Private Banking Services.
Account holder: Washington Capital Management LLC.
Routing information: confirmed and verified.
Transfer memo: Account closure due to systematic discriminatory service, First National Manhattan Branch.
His finger hovered over the bright red Execute Transfer button like a guillotine suspended over a neck.
Klene's eyes bulged as the full implications crashed over him. Two hundred million dollars could leave in one click because he had assumed a Black man could not possibly belong in his VIP section.
"Mr. Washington, please." Klene's voice cracked. "Let's discuss this rationally, in private, in my office."
"With champagne. Very expensive champagne. Dom Pérignon. Whatever you want."
"We'll discuss it right here," Marcus replied with glacial calm, "where everyone can witness your sudden personality transformation."
The police officers exchanged professional glances. This was clearly a civil and corporate catastrophe, not a criminal situation.
"Gentlemen," Sergeant Rodriguez said with barely concealed amusement, "unless someone's filing criminal charges, we're departing. Try not to waste police resources on your customer-service catastrophes in the future."
As the officers exited through the revolving doors, Klene's phone rang with the distinctive tone he had programmed for one specific contact: Robert Morrison, CEO and chairman of the board.
Klene's hands trembled as he answered. His panic prevented him from taking the call off speaker.
"David!" Morrison's voice erupted across the lobby. "What in the absolute, unmitigated hell is happening at that branch? I'm getting emergency alerts that Marcus Washington is about to execute a $200 million transfer to JPMorgan Chase."
Klene opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
"How exactly do you explain that you just publicly accused our institution's most valuable client of being a sophisticated criminal?" Morrison continued, each word engineered for damage. "David, are you still breathing? Because if Marcus Washington walks away from our bank, you're not just terminated. You're personally liable for the revenue loss under Section 12 of your executive accountability agreement."