Banker Novels & Stories

She didn’t even know how she survived it—juggling her own anxiety while dealing with Benny’s foul temper swinging back and forth. The moment Monday morning came, they were out the door. They got to the bank before it even opened, waiting outside like sprinters ready for the starting gun. The same teller from before handled them. When he saw them, there was a brief flicker on his face—but he quickly put on his professional smile. After checking their IDs and looking at the screen, he said carefully, “I’m sorry, sir, ma’am. I’m not seeing any record of a successful deposit on this account.”

- Let's call the bank now, while we are together. They called the bank. The secretary of the bank manager answered: - Hello "Charles Schwab Bank", Barbara speaking, how may I help you? - Hello this is Riley Cates Knight, I would like to speak with the bank manager Mr. Charles. - May I ask why are you calling? - I want to ask for a piece of information about a loan. - Of course, I will pass you through. Wait please, She was transferred to his office. - Good morning, Charles Grader speaking, how may I help you, madam Knight?

He takes another random card, Daimon Crevier Banker. Unmarried. Nerd: model trains. Talker. Likes flattery and head With a smile that has nothing to do with humour, he puts the card back in its correct place, then taking the frontmost card first, starts methodically to work through. Occasionally, he draws in a whistle as he reads a name... ***** Some hours later, several more bottles have accumulated on the table top and have now been joined by a coffee pot. Several cards have been removed, paper-clipped to attached notes. Bech tugs at his lower lip with thumb and forefinger.

I slid down the screen to uncover a message from my banker. ~Mr. Maximilian McTavish, a cashier's check from your account, has been cashed in the amount of $155,000.~ I threw my head back and laughed. "OK Meredith, I understand you enjoy playing dirty," I got serious now. "Let the games begin."

​"Harris, you can head out now. Your shift is over," Mr. Baker said. He didn't look up from the counter; his weathered hands were busy smoothing out crumpled twenty-peso bills, organizing them by face value with the muscle memory of forty years in trade.

So he messaged Flames' Customer Service on W******p to get a bank account number and transferred his last 10,000. He clenched his fist and murmured, "One last gamble. If 10,000 turns into 20,000, I'll break even." After re-entering the site, he clicked into the high-low mode. His fingers kept trembling as he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and pressed the button—10,000 all-in. He counted the seconds in his mind and slowly opened his eyes. "Banker: 9 points. Player: 8 points. Banker wins. Your balance is zero. Would you like to deposit more?"

Cutting off my family improved my work performance. The irony is almost funny. At lunch, I walk to the bank three blocks from the hotel. "I'd like to open a new checking account," I tell the banker. "In my name only." "Of course. Is this in addition to a joint account?" "It's in addition to an account that has unauthorized users on it." I keep my voice level. "This one needs to be completely separate. Just my name. Just my access." The banker—her name tag says Patricia—gives me a knowing look. "I understand. Let's make sure this account is properly secured."

"Don't leave me alone with the machine, Sara. If I don't have you to remind me of the mud... I’ll become the Spire." We stood there, two ghosts in a city of ivory and bone, while the machines hummed around us. The sky was being partitioned into sectors. The air was being assigned a density. "The first task of the Banker," I said, pulling back to look into his glowing eyes, "is to ensure the 'Primary Asset' remains human." "A difficult trade," Xander smiled, and for a heartbeat, the old, arrogant, brilliant Xander Thorne was back. "What’s your price?"

Alex murmured to himself, “Let him in.” The door opened and a scrawny banker, a man in his late forties clearly one who’s seen better days waltzed in. He snagged onto his crooked tie, trying to act composed but he was standing in front of a powerful mafia boss…terror was an understatement. Alex’s brow arched, “Who are you?” “I…I’m James sir…” “Okay??” The Banker adjusted his weary thin-framed glasses which he pushed up his nostril, “I was sent here as regards an enormous withdrawal from your bank account. A suspicious sum of money was spent on your platinum card, I’m here in case of an identity fraud.”

The cool air hit me like a wave, and I immediately adjusted my glasses, I had bought to disguised while scanning the room. I kept my face turned slightly away from the security camera in the corner, not wanting to be caught in its gaze. The bank was bustling, a mix of customers and employees moving about like clockwork. I approached the counter, my heart racing. “Good morning,” the banker said, her smile bright but her eyes tired. “How can I help you today?” “I’d like to make a withdrawal,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. The banker raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. “And what would be your n