Arthur Hailey - The Moneychangers

With a murmured acknowledgment and a good night to East n, he walked through the tunnel from the branch bank, using his passkey to re-enter the FMA Headquarters T ower.

8

Across the street, Juanita Nunez a tiny figure against the soaring city block complex of First American Bank and Rosselli Plaza was still waiting for her bus.

She had seen the security offi cer's face watching her from a window of the bank, and had a sense of relief when the face disappeared, though commonsense told her the relief was only temporary, and the wretchedness of today would resume and be as bad, or even worse, tomorrow.

A cold wind, knifing through downtown streets, penetrated the thin coat she had on, and she shivered as she waited. Her regular bus had gone. She hoped another would come soon.

The shivering, Juanita knew, was par tly from fear because, at this moment, she was more frightened, more terror-stricken, than ever before in all her life. Frightened and perplexed.

Perplexed because she had no idea how the money had been lost.

Juanita knew that she had neither stolen the money, nor handed it across the counter in error, or disposed of it in any other way. The trouble was: no one would believe her.

In other circumstances, she realized, she might not have believed herself.

How could six thousand dollars have vanished? It was impossible, impossible. And yet it had.

Time after time this afternoon she had searched her recollection of every single moment of the day to find some explanation. There w as none. She had thought back over cash transactions at the counter during the morning and early afternoon, using the remarkable memory she knew she had, but no solution came to her. Not even the wildest possibility made any sense.

She was positive, too, that she had locked her cash drawer securely before taking it to the vault while she had lunch, and it was still locked when she returned. As to the combination, which Juanita had chosen and set herself, she had never discussed it with anyone else or even written it down, relying as usual on her memory.

In one way it was her memory which had added to her troubles.

Juanita knew she had not been believed, either by Mrs. D'Orsey, Mr. Tottenhoe, or Miles, who at least had been friendlier than the others, when she claimed to know, at two o'clock, the exact amount of money which was gone. They said it was impossible she could know.

But she had known. Just as she always knew how much cash she had when she was working as a teller, although she found it impossible to explain to others how or why.

She was not even sure herself how she kept the running tally in her head. It was simply there. It happened without effort, so that she was scarcely aware of the arithmetic involved. For almost as long as Juanita could remember, adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing seemed as easy as breathing, and as natural.

She did it automatically at the bank counter as she took money in from customers or paid it out. And she had learned to glance at her cash drawer, checking that the cash she had on hand was what it should be, that venous denominations of notes were in their right order, and in sufficient numbers. Even with coins, while not knowing the total so precisely, she could estimate the amount closely at any time. Occasionally, at the end of a busy day when she balanced her cash, her mental figure might prove to be in error by a few dollars, but never more. Where had the ability come from? She had no idea.

She had never excelled in school During her sketchy high school education in New York, she seldom achieved more than a low average in most subjects. Even in mathe matic s she had no real grasp of principles, merely an ability to calculate with lightning speed and carry figures in her head.

At last the bus arrived with a n uneven roar and diesel stink. With others who were waiting, Juanita climbed aboard. No seats were available and standing space was crowded. She managed to grab a handhold and continued thinking, straining to remember as the bus swayed through the city streets.

What would happen tom orrow? Miles had told her that F BI men were coming. The thought filled her with fresh dread and her face set tensely in a bleakness of anxiety the same expression which Edwina D'Orsey and Nolan Wainwright had mistaken for hostility.

She would say as little as possible, just as she had done today after she found that no one was believing.

As to the machine, the lie detector, she would refuse. She knew nothing of how such a machine worked, but when no one else would understand, believe, or help her, why would a machine the bank's machine be different?

It was a three-block walk from the bus to the nursery school where she had left Estela this morning on her way to work. Juanita hurried, knowing she was late.

The little girl ran toward her as she entered the small school playroom in the basement of a private house. Though the house, like others in the area, was old and dilapidated, the school rooms were dean and cheerful the reason Juanita had chosen the school in preference to others, though the cost was higher and a strain for her to pay. Estela was excited, as full of joy as always,

"Mommy Mommyl See my painting. It's a train.. She pointed with a paint-covered finger. "There's a bagoose. That's a man inside."

She was a small child, even for three, dark like Juanita, with large liquid eyes reflecting her wonder at each new interest, at the fresh discoveries she made every day.

Juanita hugged her and corrected her gently. "Caboose, amorcito."

It was obvious from the stillness that the other children were all gone.

Miss Ferroe, who owned and ran the school, came in primly, frowning. She looked pointedly at her watch.

"Ms . Nunez, as a special favor I agreed that E stela could stay after the others , but this is far too late…"

"I really am sorry, Miss Ferroe. Something happened at the bank."

"I have private responsibilities also. And other parents observe the school's closing time." "It won't happen again. I promise."

"Very well. But since you are here, Ms . Nunez, may I remind you that last month's bill for Estela has not been paid." "It will be on Friday. I'll have my paycheck then."

"I'm sorry to have to mention it, you understand. Estela is a sweet little girl and we're glad to have her. But I have bills to pay…" "I do understand. It will b e Friday for sure. I pr omise." "That's two promises, Ms . Nunez." "Yes, I know." "Good night then. Good night, Estela dear."

Despite her starchiness, the F erroe woman ran an excellent nursery school and Estela was happy there. The money owing to the school, Juanita decided, would have to come out of her pay this week, as she had said, and somehow she must manage until the payday after that. She wasn't sure how. Her wage as a teller was $98 weekly; after taxes and Social Security deductions, her take-home pay was $83. Out of that there was food to buy for the two of them, Estela's school fees, plus rent of the tiny walk-up fla t they lived in at Forum East; also the finance company would demand a payment since she had missed the last.

Before Carlos left her, simply walking out and disappearing a year ago, Juanita had been naive enough to sign finance papers jointly with her husband. He had bought suits, a used car, a color TV, all of which he took with him. Juanita, however, was still paying, the installments seeming to stretch on into a limitless future

She would have to visit the finance company office, she thought, and offer them less. They would undoubtedly be nasty, as they were before, but it would have to be endured.

On the way home, Estela skipped happily along, one small hand in Juanita's. In her other hand Juanita carried Estela's painting, carefully rolled up. In a little while, in the apartment, they would have their evening meal and afterward they usually played and laughed together. But Juanita would find it difficult to laugh tonight.