Behind The Scenes
Timothy Thompson
10 Months Prior
“Good morning, Mr. Thompson. Thank you for meeting with me.” I entered Seventy Third Bank, where the accountant waited for me near the door.
“No problem, I appreciate you wanting to work with us,” I said as I stepped past her and looked around at the interior of the bank that had just opened. Last week, this same accountant came into Luxe Motors hoping to be one of the banks our clients used to finance their purchases. She promised that they had better rates and could work miracles with some of our clients, so I was here to hear them out.
Because they were new, she walked through the bank and gave me a tour, allowing me to meet the branch manager and bank tellers. I spoke to each of them; we shook hands and had a little small talk about what their bank could offer my customers before she continued walking. Then we got to a door that read Mercedes Carpenter.
“This is our last stop, this is actually our loan officer who makes most of our magic happen,” she said as she tapped on the door lightly.
“Come in.” The voice from the other side of the door was just barely audible.
The accountant, Jessica, pushed the door open. The woman sat at the desk, laser-focused on the computer screen. When she finally turned to us, I narrowed my eyes as recognition hit me quickly.
“Mrs. Carpenter, this is Mr. Thompson from Luxe Motors that I was telling you about. He is interested in partnering with us. He had some contracts that he would like you to look over and see how you can offer his customers better rates,” she explained while Mercedes never took her eyes off me.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” she cleared her throat and fixed her clothes to stand before coming around the desk to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Thompson,” she said with a sly smile.
“Same, thank you.”
“You’re in good hands, Mr. Thompson. Mercedes is literally the best at what she does,” Jessica assured me.
“Thank you,” I said to her before she turned and walked out the door.
Once the door closed, I turned back toward Mercedes, “Nice to meet you? That’s the best you could do?” I chuckled as I leaned over and hugged her.
“That was really the best that I could do. You’re the last person I expected to see today. I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?” she asked as we parted from the embrace.
“I’ve been good. What about you?” I took a seat.
“Fine, life is amazing.” She smiled and shook the mouse to wake her screen.
Mercedes and her family lived next door to mine from the time I was in kindergarten until just before we graduated high school. But she was notthisMercedes. The Cedes I knew was awkward, wore the biggest glasses, had braces, and was probably 100 pounds soaking wet. But this one? Bad. She had her hair in a long blonde wig that made her light brown eyes more noticeable. Her braces were gone, and when she turned to go back to her chair, I could see that she was thick as hell now. Judging by her looks, she had definitely been fine.
“So, you own a dealership? Look at you!” She laughed as she took the papers that I had set in front of her.
“Yeah, I do. Me and Breeze,” I answered as I sat back in the chair.
“Breeze? Breeze Young? You two stayed together? I guess I could have seen that coming from a mile away,” she giggled and adjusted the papers.
“Yeah, we’re married,” I informed her.
“That’s nice. Let me see the kids, with the long legs and pretty smiles,” she said as she turned toward me.
“No kids, yet. What about you?Mrs. Carpenter,” I emphasized as I addressed her by the last name on her name tag. I could tell by the change of name that she was married as well.
“Please, Tim. No kids and no husband. The quicker that I can detach from that name, the better.” She scoffed.
I nodded. I didn’t follow up because it wasn’t my place to. We caught up as she typed, writing down some numbers every now and then. I took the time to look around the office, which was the only color in the gray bank. The pink keyboard, fan, plush carpet underneath the desk, extension cords, and desk accessories made me chuckle. Even her degrees and accomplishments were decorated with rose gold frames.
“These two, I am able to do wonders for. This account is not a major difference. The price of paper itself is worth more than thesixty-dollar monthly difference,” she said, interrupting the small talk, as she circled the figures on the top of the pages. I looked at the first two and whistled.
“Damn, these numbers look good. I appreciate you. These rates are better than at our primary bank. If you’re offering these, I might have to make some adjustments,” I complimented as I shuffled through the pages and did the math on how much she had saved them.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll lock these rates in for you. You and your clients can talk it over, and if they would like to make the decision to refinance, I’m here, just call me,” she said as she picked up a business card and then rounded the desk. She leaned against it, standing right next to my leg, and extended the card toward me.
