I grabbed the card from my purse and stepped out of the car, my heart pounding in my chest. The bank’s door creaked as I opened it, and I was greeted by the scent of old wood and dust. Inside, there were only a few customers—people who looked like they had been coming to this place for years. I walked up to the counter, where an elderly teller was slowly sorting through paperwork. Her glasses rested on the tip of her nose, and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun.
She looked up at me, her eyes narrowing slightly as she saw the card in my hand. “Can I help you, dear?” she asked, her voice soft and worn.
I hesitated for a moment before I spoke. “I need to inquire about an account linked to this card.”
Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind her eyes. She glanced at the card, then back at me, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as if she was trying to decide whether or not to help.
“I’m afraid I’ll need to confirm some information before I can proceed,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “Please, follow me.”