Banker Novels & Stories

He shivers slightly and lowers his gaze, playing with the glass of vodka he is holding. “Tell your boss that he will receive the payment soon,” I mutter. The discomfort that was scribbled over his face suddenly disappears, and he releases a sigh he has been holding since the conversation began. “My boss doesn’t want the money sent to the regular account. He is having some issues at the moment and wishes to receive the money through his burner bank accounts,” the man says in a shaking voice. My brows raise, and I exchange glances with Tom as the man scribbles figures on a piece of paper.

Is a quick drive from the doctors to the bank, once again he helps me but that’s as much physical touch I get. As soon as he steps in people get rowdy, he has deep pockets which means he’s a VIP. We are ushered to the bank manager and it seems they know what he wants while I have to explain that I need access to my savings account so they take me aside and leave him laughing with the very accommodating Bank Manager.

is this shadowy figure—he had to be the center of it all. The coffee came. The smell helped a little. I drank a cup fast letting the caffeine wake me up. As I ate my phone rang. The number wasn’t saved. My hand shook as I picked it up. “Hello?” The voice sounded strange, changed by a machine, like something from a spy movie. “Jane Lawson?” “Who is this?” I asked my heart pounding. “I have information about the Banker. You need to hear it.” I held the phone tighter. “Who are you? Why are you hiding your voice?”

Rodger said "To begin with, tell me who do you mostly deal with, when they come into the bank. Is there just one person, of do several people have access to their accounts?" Matthew remembered what Old Wilson had told him to say. "There are just three people who can withdraw money from our branch office here. Mr. Green himself, of course. Then there is his right hand man, Mr. Brian Wilson. The other person I have never seen myself, but his name is Brandon Reed. I think that he is the personal assistant of Mr. Green. But he does not have much to do with the money. He is more of a glorified secretary." Rodger thought a minute, then said "How often do they actually come to the bank?"

However, if I did not go on, I might never retrieve the money I lost previously. Conflicted feelings gripped me. My mind was a mess. During my hesitation, the result of another game was out. I casually glanced at it and widened my eyes. Book Lover had countless chips on the ranking list as shown on my phone screen. He went all in, placing a bet of 5 million dollars on the banker. The banker gained thirteen points while the player gained ten points. Book Lover won 30 million dollars. I fixed my gaze on the phone screen with fierce envy. 30 million dollars was enough to buy two McLarens.

As he drove on, the driver inquired. “I’m sorry, bad day.” “It’s too early to have one, but some people are designed to ruin our days, especially the rich ones.” His words made me laugh. “Thank you.” “You are welcome.” The man stated. The rest of the ride was peaceful. The car came to a halt in front of the bank. I went down, rated the man’s service, and tipped him. The bank wasn’t very busy, so I waited a few minutes for someone to assist me. Before gaining access to my funds, the banker began asking me a few questions. As he typed, I noticed a puzzled expression on his face. He then sighed.

Laurent “I don’t know what to tell you, Sir.” “That you are going to fucking solve this, that’s what you want to tell me,” I shout, sensing the bank clerk shrinking on the other side of the line. It’s been hours since I have been talking to assistants over employees over cashiers, but what makes my blood boil is that they never connect me with my personal banker, who is supposed to manage my entire portfolio. “Seeing the pending investigations, I’m afraid that I am not allowed to unfreeze any of your assets,” she says in a shy tone which angers me even more.

He asked, "Is this your bank account? Two days ago, someone transferred money to you. Who is that?" "Er." The carer explained, "Yes, I am a carer. My employers usually transfer money to my account. They don't need to hold cards in hand." Simon frowned and glanced at her with his eyes narrowed.

His arm entered one of his many pocket, took out the silver pieces and gave them to the merchant without a second of thought. “Pleasure doing business, come again.” The man left. The banker smoothed his long thick mustache. His face was bloated. “Get your loans here!” he shouted as loud as he could. “Get your loans here! You won’t find better on this side of Pontar.” He waited, leaned on the bright green fence. A woman came, slowly lifted her head from her scarf and continued down the road. The banker continued to wait. The day has just started. There will be a customer or two. At that very moment, an elderly woman approached h

“There's no way you don’t have an account that’s been active for five years. Why are you being so silent?” He hesitated and scratched the back of his head. “I do, but that account has issues,” he muttered. “What kind of issues?” the banker asked. Anthony didn’t respond with anything that made sense, just vague excuses that only heightened my irritation. Trying to salvage the situation, I turned to the banker. “Can we use my account instead since he’s here with me?” “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the funds must be transferred directly into the account of the person listed as the recipient. It's a policy.”