PART 2: Not softly. Not mockingly. She laughed deeply, her voice filling the marble hall.
“Alzheimer’s?” she said evenly. “That’s interesting—because I remember very clearly the day I worked fourteen hours cleaning your grandfather’s office in 1955.”
The bank went silent.
Charles froze. His family had owned the bank since 1932. Very few people knew personal stories about his grandfather.
“Excuse me?” he said, suddenly uncertain.
“You were fifteen,” Margaret continued. “I worked after school so my mother and I could eat. Your grandfather liked to leave cigarettes burning on the marble floors, just to see if I’d complain.”
She looked directly at Charles. “I never did. We needed the money.”
Janet swallowed hard. She’d heard rumors about the Hayes family—but never like this.
Margaret’s voice remained calm. “I remember when your grandfather told me people like me should be grateful to serve people like him. He said it was our natural place.”
She offered a sad smile. “Funny how family habits pass down, isn’t it, young Hayes?”
Charles’s face flushed red. Sweat beaded along his hairline.
“These are stories,” he muttered. “Anyone can lie.”
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