The Banker, page 13
Marilee considered that and nodded. “I can do that,” she said.
Three of the senior faculty tried to block it, but didn’t have the votes. Not quite. The vote was too close, Marilee thought, troubled. That should have been a no-brainer.
“And maybe we need to offer a politics of agricultural policy class,” someone said. “A seminar.”
“Who do we get to teach it?” the chair asked.
Marilee said slowly, “I might know someone who would as a lecturer.”
“Write the proposal then, Marilee,” the chair said, and ended the meeting.
Marilee leaned back in her chair and tipped her head back. These meetings always gave her a headache. And this one was no different. A friend had a poster on the back of her door where no one could see it: Migraines are the result of resisting the desire to strangle someone who richly deserves it.
She wasn’t brave enough to put one in her office. Everyone knew she went home on Tuesdays with a migraine.
“These changes are temporary, Marilee,” George Martin said impatiently. “You’re being an alarmist. Teach your class and leave mine alone.”
George Martin was not her favorite person. And fair enough, she wasn’t his either. But he usually sniped from behind. She regarded this face-to-face confrontation. “You’re teaching agricultural economics,” she said. “The changes are temporary? Well possibly. But the question is will we survive these ‘temporary changes’ long enough to find out?”
She picked up her stuff and walked out. Thank God, the previous chair had insisted she go up for promotion at the earliest possible moment. She didn’t have to put up with the shit.
She dumped everything in her office, and looked around. It was filled with books tossed haphazardly onto shelves, magazines and papers were in stacks on her desk — and none too neatly either. She had a desk and chair. A chair for a student seeking advice. The only really personal thing was a large painting of the ranch. It had been done in the 1930s by a Japanese-American artist who later became famous for his paintings of the internment camp in Hunt, Idaho. Like many of his paintings of the ranches and rural life, it looked idyllic until you examined it. Until you saw the storm clouds forming. Until you realized there were no people, and the fence needed mending.
The painting was probably worth a fortune, and it had commissioned by her great aunt — or great-great aunt? — another one of those things her family added to the collection, she thought wryly. Marilee had brought it to the office when she started her work on climate change. Her mother had been glad to see it go. “It’s gloomy,” she complained.
It was gloomy, Marilee thought now, as she took a moment to stand in front of it and absorb it one more time. What had the artist had seen coming? Hard times for him and his family. Hard times for humanity.
And here we are again, she thought, and she left her office, carefully locking up again. Storm clouds on the horizon.
No, she corrected herself somberly. This time? It’s smoke clouds. And they’re coming closer.
Chapter 21
It had been a long couple of days, Trent thought as he walked into his office at the bank. He smiled at his secretary, asked after her husband, and then requested the actual files of the two accounts that were in jeopardy. She looked surprised, but nodded.
He read and answered email while he waited. There was more ‘concern’ expressed by the bank corporate management about the bank’s financials — especially in light of the fire. Did that jeopardize any of their major loans?
Jesus Christ, Trent thought. He didn’t often swear, but damn, shouldn’t they at least express concern for the people not just the impact on the bottom line?
Well, wasn’t that what he was doing? Maybe not quite so callously, but still.
Martha Callahan tapped on the doorframe, and handed him two files. They weren’t small. Long-time customers, then. He gestured to her to stay, and she sat down on the edge of the chair, almost primly.
He glanced at the names and description. One was a rancher, but south of town, in Idaho. The other was a shop in town. He’d met the owner, a nice woman who offered all kinds of goods for students to use in their dorm rooms. That should be a profitable niche.
“Do you know these people?” he asked.
She nodded. “Carolyn Peters is a friend, actually,” she said. “And Justin White is a long-time customer. I’ve known him as long as I’ve worked here. A gruff man, getting up there in years. His son is farming with him.”
“In your opinion why are they in trouble? The numbers don’t tell me that,” he asked.
She hesitated, then glanced at the open door. She got up and shut it.
“Justin White requested an extension on his loan because his wife died,” she said. “It’s thrown the ranch somewhat into disarray. She was the bookkeeper out there, and her death was unexpected. So on top of grief, they need time to sort out the books. Benjamin denied the extension, and they missed a payment. That got a penalty and interest added to their account. And now they’re faced with two payments, the penalty and interest. And they’re still grieving. And Justin is furious with the bank.”
Trent frowned. “Why did Benjamin deny the request?”
“He said their bookkeeping should be more transparent than that, and they should be able to make the payment,” she said.
“That’s what he said, but why did he really do it?”
She sighed. “Justin and Benjamin don’t get along. It was probably hard for Justin to ask for a favor in the first place. And Benjamin denied it because he could.”
“I asked you last week, why Benjamin wasn’t promoted,” Trent muttered. “I should have asked you why he still had a job.”
Martha’s eyes widened, but she didn’t respond to that. Pity, Trent thought. He’d like to hear it.
“And Carolyn Peters?” he asked instead.
She sighed. “It’s seasonal, really. So she always struggles a bit in the summer. No students. And then August comes around the students come back, and all is good. But May, June and July can be lean months.”
Trent nodded. That made sense.
“And her landlord raised her rent in May. Quite a bit, actually. She doesn’t really fault him for that, it’s been a while, and taxes went up. But it hit hard during her tight months. She was late on her bank loan in June. Made July. But August was just a partial payment. She may be able to make September. I’m pretty sure she can. But there are penalties and interest, again.”
“So if we waived the penalty, and spread the extra interest over the next six months, she’d be OK?” he asked, somewhat outraged that an account could be treated as in arrears for such a minor thing.
Martha shrugged. “I’m sure she would be,” she said. “But Benjamin likes penalties. They’re a revenue stream.”
He knew Carolyn Peters. She did the same lunch circuit he did, practically. Maybe not quite as many. She was active in the community, donated to the various charities and fund raisers. She sponsored a little league team. She was in her 50s, and he thought she was single. “I’d like to have lunch with her,” he said finally. “Could you set that up for me?”
Martha nodded.
“And I’d like to drive out to the White ranch,” he said. “But I’d like you to go along.”
“Me? Why?” She asked startled.
“I’d like you to take a look at their books. You probably know more about bookkeeping than I do — financials aren’t the same thing at all. And I’m curious as to why Mrs. White’s death would throw them into such disarray.” He hesitated. “Did the bank send flowers or anything to express condolences at her death?”
She shook her head. “That isn’t standard practice, although loan officers or account management will sometimes do that. But Benjamin handles that account directly, and he didn’t do anything.”
He looked at his calendar. “See if we can go down there in the morning,” he said slowly. “And lunch with Carolyn Peters the following day?”
She nodded slowly. “OK,” she said. “Trent? Why are you doing this?”
“Do you know Jacob Blessing?” he asked. She nodded. “He asked me which was more profitable? A client that struggled, got some coaching and was still in business? Or a bankrupt farm with a for sale sign on it for 18 months?”
He sighed. “He thinks a banker should help the clients. I told him that’s not what bankers do. They make money for the bank. But he’s right — if you think long-term focus vs. short-term. I realized I knew all the numbers for these two accounts, but not the people. And maybe I should get to know the people.”
Martha nodded. “I’ll call Justin,” she said.
Trent picked up Martha the next morning and headed southeast. The White ranch was about halfway to Dworshak Reservoir. It was a pretty drive. He told Martha about the firebreaks he’d spent the weekend building. Or rather he’d spent the weekend directing herds — teams, he corrected, and she laughed — of ROTC cadets to build them.
“So I don’t know how to build one either,” he said. He grinned. “But Mark Blessing does. Problem is, he’s 18, still a bit awkward and gangly, and he’s German Baptist, right? Suspenders and the whole bit. So the cadets wouldn’t listen to him. So he’d tell me what needed to be done. I’d say it louder and with authority, as if I knew what we were doing. They’d obey me.”
Martha was laughing. He grinned.
“Jacob told Mark I was the boss and he was my brainy assistant.”
“Good people,” she commented.
“The Blessings? They are. All that community showed up to fight the fire, either at the station or at the ranch,” Trent said.
Martha told him about her husband’s weekend on the fire line. He nodded, realizing he understood better what it meant to fight a fire. The smoke, the ash, the fine particulate that you couldn’t hardly see, but would coat your body and make you itch. And you couldn’t have a shower, because the power was out.
“I hear they got the power back on today,” Martha said. “That’s good news.”
“It is,” Trent said. “Dupont Ranch had gas generators at the pump and the house. But we were worried about how low we were getting on gas.”
The White ranch looked a lot like the Dupont ranch, Trent thought, when they pulled into the driveway, not as prosperous maybe, but judging by the number of cars parked in front, it supported a lot more people.
“How many people live out here?” he asked.
“A dozen, maybe? Justin White. His son Matt and his family — I think they’ve got four kids. And a daughter Patty who isn’t married.” She paused, thinking about it. “I think there might be another son and daughter-in-law.”
Trent looked around. There was the main house, the barn, a few outbuildings, and then a cluster of small manufactured homes. That made sense, for an extended family.
An older man, probably in his 60s, came out to greet them. Justin White. He was tall, lean, with a mostly bald head. And he was scowling.
“Come to rub it in, have you?” Justin White said.
Trent frowned, puzzled by that comment. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. White,” he said. “Belated condolences, and I’m sorry for that as well.”
Justin White paused, blinked a bit, and then nodded. “Well, come in and tell me why you drove all the way out here.”
“Could you give me a tour?” he asked. “Of the homestead? Maybe not the entire 1000 acres.”
Justin White snorted. “Might get those shiny shoes dirty.”
“They come clean again,” Trent said, with a laugh. “I was out at the Dupont Ranch fighting the fire, but that’s really the only ranch I’m familiar with.”
“Well this one isn’t as fine as that, but it’s as old. A deep heritage here,” the old man said. “I didn’t think we’d lose it. Lose Gloria, and the ranch? Hits hard.”
Over a late payment? Two? “We’ll talk about that,” he said. “Tour first.”
The biggest difference was the amount of livestock they had in the barnyard itself. They raised beef for income, but they also raised chickens, sheep, dairy cows, and pigs for food. The kids were in 4-H and they had the animals for that. There were more cats, and more dogs.
A family lived here, Trent thought. Three generations. He wondered if Marilee having a child would reconcile her parents?
He hurt at that thought. You gave her up, he reminded himself. Don’t be such a small person as to begrudge her finding happiness elsewhere. He pictured a child who looked like Marilee growing up. There’d be livestock like this again at Dupont, he thought. And probably more children?
Trent set aside that image as he was introduced to two women, Beatrice, daughter-in-law, and Patty, Justin’s daughter. And then he broached the issue of the office.
“I was told this morning that you’d requested an extension because there were issues sorting out the bookkeeping,” Trent said. “And that Benjamin denied it. But the notes didn’t say what exactly was the problem.”
Patty laughed. “Come see,” she said. “Mom had a good head for numbers. And she’d been running the business side for 40 years. A lot of knowledge was stored in her head. And the rest?”
And the rest was stored in shoeboxes, Trent thought as he looked around the small office. And in piles. There wasn’t even a computer in the place.
“So we know we’ve got money coming in,” Patty said. “But we can’t tell who has paid up, and who hasn’t. And I keep finding checks that need to be logged in on someone’s account — which I can’t find — and I’m scared to deposit them until I do. But they’re going to expire soon, if I don’t. I’m trying to sort it out, but this isn’t my field. I’m a vet tech. Ask me what do for a dog with worms? I’ve got it. Billing people?” She shook her head. “Beatrice has her hands full with the kids. And the two of us primarily do the gardening, the cooking, all the barn animals. Matt works in town. Dad handles the bulls. So nobody else has the time or expertise either.”
She hesitated, and lowered her voice. “And losing Mom hit Dad hard. And then Benjamin being mean about it all, made Dad feel.... I don’t know the right word. Small? Incompetent? Defeated, maybe. And coming in here, just reminds him that she’s gone.”
Trent nodded. His throat was tight, as he thought about how devastating it would be to his whole family if they lost Mom. “I brought Martha Callahan along, to see if she can help with the bookkeeping. It’s more her specialty than mine. Would you mind if she took a look at things? Maybe the two of you could work together for an hour and see if it helps.”
He looked around. “And I might suggest a computer and software might help you too, but that’s a bigger project than can be tackled today.”
“I’d be grateful,” Patty said. She swallowed hard. “Why are you doing this?” she asked him. “Benjamin told Dad you were here to crack down on the bank and were very focused on the bottom line."
“He did, did he?” Trent said. Maybe he and Justin White would have a heart-to-heart talk while the women worked on the books. He’d like to know what else Benjamin had said. “A man I know asked me which was more profitable? A business that was faltering and I helped get on its feet again, or a bankruptcy that put the place on the market for a year? So I asked a few more questions.”
He shrugged. He wasn’t used to dealing with the people of the bank accounts.
“Then thank you,” she said. “And Martha, I’d be delighted if you can help.”
Martha nodded. “I’m sure we can get it figured out. Your mother was actually good at this. We just have to figure out her system. And we can. Eventually you can put into a computer. Did Gloria do the taxes, or did you have an accountant do that?”
“Accountant, although Mom had everything ready for him.”
“Then you may want to utilize him to help you computerize all of this,” Martha said. “Come on we can do this.”
Trent walked away and left them to it. Justin White was down by the horses. They only had a couple, compared to Marilee’s dozen. Trent thought Justin White was there mostly to have something to do besides worry about his visit.
“Can I ask you something?” Trent said with hesitation. “Something a bit more personal?”
Justin White glanced at him, then turned back to his horses. “Ask away,” he said gruffly.
“Denying you an extension. Is that something you would have expected?”
Justin White snorted. “From Crane? Possibly. The old bank president wouldn’t have done it. Now I have a question. Did you know he did it?”
Trent shook his head. “I knew nothing about your account,” he said. “Then suddenly you were in arrears, and it looked like you’d be two payments down. Headquarters took a look at the balance sheet for the bank, and froze us. But the more I dig into the details of the accounts, the odder it all seems.”
Justin White still didn’t look at him, but he nodded. “The penalties and extra interest are a boon to the bank, Mr. Williams,” he said. “And it’s known that Crane uses that to pad things out. And that might not be all that bad really. Keeps the bank looking healthy, and that keeps the doors open, doesn’t it? Until I’m the one that’s nailed with it. Truth be, my heart’s just not into wrangling with him or anyone else about it.”
“I can understand that,” Trent said. “I come from a close-knit large family. To lose Mom? Or Dad? It would be devastating to us all. And then you add in the business aspects of your loss. I’m sorry I wasn’t consulted about the extension request.”
