Chapter 10 - THE NEW PORTFOLIO
-10-
By autumn of that year, First Cedar National Bank had undergone a quiet, radical transformation under my executive oversight.
We weren't just a regional bank anymore; we were a community-first institution focused on small-business grants, affordable mortgages for working-class families, and aggressive financial literacy programs aimed at people who had been chewed up by predatory lending schemes.
Thomas Reeves had been promoted to executive vice president, and his usual gray expression had been replaced by a permanent, energized grin.
"The Q3 audit is complete, Miss Hale," Thomas announced, walking into my office with a thick leather-bound binder. "Our community reinvestment portfolio is up forty percent, our default rate is the lowest in the state, and the state banking commission has officially nominated us for the regional humanitarian bank of the year award."
I looked up from my laptop, smiling as I signed a stack of small-business loan approvals for local bakers, mechanics, and artists—people my parents would have dismissed as "struggling freelancers," but people who formed the absolute backbone of the local economy.
"Make sure we send the nomination paperwork to the local paper, Thomas," I said, handing the stack back to him. "And tell the commercial lending department I want every single predatory high-interest payday loan application flagged and cross-referenced. If we see any local businesses getting squeezed by loan sharks, I want us to buy out their debt and restructure it at zero percent interest."
Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. "You're going to put every predatory lender in three counties out of business, Miss Hale."
"That's the general idea, Thomas," I replied smoothly. "Capitalism works best when it actually helps people build things instead of burying them."
My phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at the screen. It was an internal security notification from the lobby downstairs.
Visitor at reception: Arthur Hale.
My father.
I hadn't seen him in nine months. According to Thomas’s quiet updates, he and Mom were living in the modest south-side apartment, working long hours, and slowly paying down their remaining debt to the bank. Madison had moved out six months ago, having finally realized that working a reception job didn't afford her the luxury of a roommate who paid all the bills; she had packed her remaining designer bags and moved to Dallas with a new boyfriend whose financial stability was currently under my polite, unstated investigation.
"Do you want me to turn him away, Miss Hale?" Thomas asked, noticing the change in my posture. "I can have security escort him out before he even gets past the elevator."
May you like
I stared at the security monitor on my desk. My father looked smaller than he used to. His hair was completely gray now, his shoulders permanently slouched, wearing an inexpensive cotton jacket that looked two sizes too big for his frame. He wasn't the roaring patriarch of Maple Street anymore; he looked like a tired old man who had finally run out of arguments.
"No, Thomas," I said softly, standing up and smoothing down the front of my tailored blazer. "Send him up. It's time I showed him my office."
