Chapter 2: The Wrong Man to Underestimate
1151 Words
Rose called back before Cole had even made it off campus.
"Sir." Her voice was crisp, unhurried — the same tone she'd had since they were kids, like the world owed her nothing and she expected nothing back. "A few things to confirm. The nine hundred million has cleared. In addition, Casa Roja, Encore Lounge, and
The Vantage Hotel have all been transferred into your name as of this morning."
Cole stopped walking.
"The Vantage." He said it slowly. "The five-star on the waterfront."
"Yes, Sir."
"That's the hotel Brandon just got hired to manage."
A pause. "...Yes, Sir."
Cole almost laughed. Almost.
"Go see Mr. Dalton at First Meridian Bank. He's expecting you. I've also left a scooter for you at the east campus lot — blue, keys
under the left grip."
"Rose." He exhaled. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just go."
He clicked off the call and stood still for a second in the middle of the quad. Around him, students rushed to class, laughing,
complaining about midterms, completely oblivious. Cole looked down at himself — beat-up delivery jacket, worn sneakers, the
same clothes he'd been wearing since yesterday morning.
It's time, he thought. No more invisible.
✦✦✦✦✦
First Meridian Bank sat three blocks from the waterfront, all glass and polished stone, the kind of building that made regular people feel small by design. Cole walked in looking exactly like what everyone would assume he was — a broke kid who'd wandered in from off the street.
He was fine with that. For now.
The lobby was packed. A long line snaked back from the counters, and every teller window had a queue. Cole grabbed a number
from the machine — forty-seven — and found a spot near the wall.
That's when she appeared.
Her name tag said Shelby. She walked the floor in four-inch heels, navy uniform, clipboard in hand, scanning the room with the
practiced eye of someone who sorted people by net worth at a glance. She spotted Cole almost immediately.
She made her way over.
"Hi there." Her smile was the kind they train you on in orientation — wide enough to look friendly, not wide enough to mean it. "I'm
Shelby. Can I point you in the right direction?"
"Counter withdrawal," Cole said.
The smile flickered. Just barely.
"Oh, of course. Unfortunately, our counters are running a little behind today." She tilted her head toward the ATM corridor. "You can
withdraw right over there — faster, no wait time. We really appreciate your patience."
"ATM has a limit," Cole said. "I need the counter."
Shelby's eyes moved over him. His jacket. His shoes. The total absence of anything that read as money.
"Sir." Her voice dropped half a degree. "The limit is quite generous for most needs. The counter line is really reserved for clients
making larger transactions — we're talking over a million dollars. It keeps things efficient for everyone."
Cole looked past her toward the counter. A man in a suit was being escorted ahead of the line, laughing with the branch manager like
they golfed together on weekends.
"Over a million," Cole repeated.
"That's right."
He looked back at Shelby. Calm. Unreadable.
"What if I told you a million wouldn't cover what I need today?"
Shelby blinked. Then she did it again — that slow, deliberate scan, top to bottom. The jacket. The shoes. Whatever math she was
running in her head landed somewhere around not my problem.
"Sir, I really think the ATM will be sufficient for—"
"Is Mr. Dalton in?"
That stopped her.
"...I'm sorry?"
"Mr. Dalton." Cole kept his voice even. "Branch director. I have an appointment."
Shelby's clipboard lowered an inch. "Mr. Dalton doesn't take walk-in appointments."
"I'm not a walk-in."
She stared at him for a long moment, clearly deciding whether this was worth pursuing or whether she could just redirect him to the
ATM and be done with it. Her expression said this is a waste of my time. Her professionalism won, barely.
"One moment," she said.
She walked away. Cole watched her lean over the reception desk, say something low to the woman behind it, glance back at him
once. The woman at the desk picked up the phone.
Cole waited.
Forty seconds later, a door opened at the back of the lobby.
The man who came through it was mid-fifties, silver-haired, moving with the purposeful energy of someone who did not leave his
office for just anyone. He scanned the lobby once, found Cole against the wall, and crossed the floor in a straight line.
"Mr. Cole." He extended his hand before he'd even fully stopped walking. "I'm Richard Dalton. I apologize for any wait — we
weren't sure of your exact arrival time."
Shelby went very still.
Cole shook Dalton's hand. "No problem. I know it's a busy day."
"Please." Dalton gestured toward the back. "My office is ready. Can I get you anything — coffee, water?"
"I'm good. Thank you."
As Cole followed Dalton past the counter, he felt it — the shift in the room's temperature. Tellers glancing up. Shelby standing with
her clipboard at her side, not moving, her face doing something complicated.
Cole didn't look back at her.
He didn't need to.
✦✦✦✦✦
Dalton's office was quiet and cool, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. He closed the door and settled behind his desk with the posture of a man who knew exactly who was sitting across from him.
"Everything's been prepared per Ms. Rose's instructions," Dalton said, opening a leather folder. "The full balance is available and
liquid. Today's withdrawal — did you have a figure in mind?"
Cole leaned back in the chair.
Four years of ramen. Four years of 5 a.m. alarms and frozen hands and people looking through him like he was furniture. Four years
of Viv's condescension, Diane's cruelty, Marcus's smile.
Brandon was currently managing a hotel that Cole now owned.
He almost felt bad about what was coming next.
Almost.
"Let's start with enough for a good dinner," Cole said. "The rest — I want it positioned and ready. I'll be making some moves in the
Portland market soon."
Dalton nodded, unsurprised. "Of course. Any particular sector?"
Cole thought about the Hargrove family's portfolio. Their properties. Their contracts. Every business in this city that had Brandon's
future written into it.
"Hospitality, to start," Cole said quietly. "I want to know who the Hargrove family owes and what it would take to buy those debts."
Dalton's pen paused for just a fraction of a second.
"That can be arranged," he said.
Cole nodded once and looked out at the river — grey and wide and moving fast under the afternoon sky.
Brandon's laughing right now, he thought. Toasting his new job. Thinking he won.
Cole almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
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