The Root of Money

6

6A knock on the door caused them both to turn abruptly. Tek wedged his head through the opening.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He looked quickly back and forth between them. “I just wanted to let you know I was here.”

“Hi, Tek,” Kilpatrick acknowledged him.

Tek raised an eyebrow at the sound of the greeting he had been subjected to for as long as he could remember, particularly since he entered a technological profession. In this instance, at least, the salutation was not accompanied by a stupid smirk.

“We’re going to gather in Meeting Room Two,” Girardi informed him. “Why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee until then?” It did not sound like a question.

Tek nodded and gave a two finger salute as he closed the door, disappointed he was not going to have the opportunity to sit down alone with Kilpatrick before the meeting. As he walked to the break room he rankled at the chorus of “Hi Tek” that assaulted him before detouring to the office of his friend, Maxwell Crane. He and Crane bonded during his earliest days at the bank when they discovered a shared passion for baseball and beer.

“He lives and breathes!” Crane rubbed his eyes as if to clear a mirage standing in his doorway. “Man, what have you been doing with yourself? I’ve been leaving messages for you for weeks.”

“Sorry about that.” Tek put his valise on a chair facing Crane’s desk. “I’ve been busy, workwise and otherwise. If I wasn’t here today I would have called you this weekend.”

“That’s alright,” Crane assured him. “I was just getting a little worried. I had tickets for the Mets last week and was looking for someone to go with.” He reached into a baseball glove shaped pencil holder on his desk and began twirling a souvenir Mets keychain on his finger before tossing it to Tek who snatched it out of the air. “What are you doing here today?”

Tek flipped the keychain back. “I have a meeting to discuss money laundering.”

Crane, who maintained an athletic physique by making swimming a weekend ritual, looked taller than his six feet as he stood to regard his friend. “Be careful, Tek. I know you’re some kind of genius, but you need to play the game sometimes.”

Tek had heard this music before and found it grating. He collected his satchel and turned toward the corridor. “I better get going,” he snapped. “I need a little time to prepare.”

Crane’s mouth opened in silence. His friend was always so gregarious.

“I’ll call you soon,” Tek promised as he walked away knowing he had been abrupt. He would buy tickets to a ballgame for them. Forgiveness would come over beers.

A dozen white Formica top tables were scattered around the break room. Two full size refrigerators and two smaller ones housed food brought by the staff. Toasters and toaster ovens lined a counter normally crowded as breakfast and lunch approached. Grace Woo turned the corner into the room while Tek waited for the coffeemaker to finish dripping his hazelnut selection into a paper cup.

“Good morning, Grace,” Tek said sprightly.

Woo stepped close, within his personal space, causing Tek to retreat two steps as she spoke. “Can you tell me what we are doing here today?” Woo emphasized each word. “What is someone who I pay to secure our network doing leading a charge to alter money laundering policies?”

A young woman seated nearby dribbled hot chai tea on her chin and chose that moment to leave. Tek’s mouth shuddered open but he did not have a chance to speak.

“What makes you think I will tolerate you doing an end run around me?” Woo loomed over him though she stood half a foot shorter. “Running your game on the Chief Operating Officer without running it by me first is nothing short of insubordinate.”

The day was not unfolding as Tek expected.

“I’m sorry, Grace. It’s just conversation.” Tek searched for his breath. “If you all decide that I’m off base I won’t bring it up again.”

Woo’s scowl landed on the back of Tek’s shoulders as he gathered the dripped beverage. He washed away a dry swallow with a sip of teaming coffee. Sitting, Tek removed the wrapper from his snack and extended it to his boss.

“Would you like to share this with me?” he inquired with sincerity.

The gesture seemed so extraordinarily out of place to Woo that she was momentarily sent off balance. She shook her head and left the room.

Tek took a bite out of the devil’s food treat and smiled. “I knew this would come in handy,” he told the coffeemaker.

Girardi had reserved a small conference room with a single round oak table in its center. On the table was a crab-shaped phone operated by a toggle switch that engaged the dial tone and speaker. Six brown leather chairs were wedged closely around the table. After struggling to dislodge a chair, Tek sat down and took papers from his valise. He dealt them to three unoccupied chairs waiting for the others to arrive, hoping his boss would not choose the chair directly across from him.

Eric Kilpatrick was the next to arrive, carrying a yellow pad and a plastic bank branded pen. He tossed these in front of the seat to Tek’s right. Grace Woo arrived empty handed, demanding Tek’s eyes with her own. She focused on him as she sat in the chair across from his as Girardi strode in jacketless, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He placed a laptop on the table to Woo’s left and seated himself in front of it.

“Good morning, everybody.” Girardi was upbeat. “I asked Leslie Kaplan to join us. Since retail banking deals directly with our customer base she should be able to add insight to our discussion. If anyone needs a few minutes or a fresh cup of coffee, now would be a good time.”

No one moved.