It happened after lunch at my neighborhood bank, right at the teller window. I leaned on the counter, gray hair tucked back, and heard him say my check was fake. I told him to cash it—once, twice, ten times—and he just smirked. So I asked for his manager and said, 'Cash it now, or you've got a problem.' They doubled down, so I said, 'Fine—call the CEO.' He did, and as the line went quiet, my phone buzzed. The name on the screen made my stomach drop; everyone leaned in as I answered on speaker.
After lunch, I pushed open the branch door and stepped into a line that barely reached the rope stanchions. Fluorescent lights buzzed, and a digital board ticked through numbers no one used. A woman counted twenties at the next window while a security guard watched the entrance. I checked the envelope in my coat and kept my place. The line moved quickly, and a teller freed up. He glanced over the partition, caught my eye, and waved me forward.