Chapter 2 - The Sister With the Laptop
A motorcycle turned into the lot.
Kellerman glanced at the window. Cole swung off the bike and came toward the door, and for once he wasn't smiling. Dana shut her eyes for half a second. Not now. Please, not now.
Cole came in quiet and took a stool three seats down from the banker.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"If you're pouring."
Kellerman looked him over — the road grime, the vest, the boots. "This is a private conversation."
"So pretend I'm furniture," Cole said.
She poured. Kellerman tapped the folder. "Monday, Dana." He stood.
"How much?" Cole said.
Kellerman paused. "I'm sorry?"
"How much does she owe. All of it."
"Cole, don't," Dana said.
He kept his eyes on Kellerman. "The whole number."
Kellerman almost laughed. "You're going to cover it? You?"
"I asked a question."
Kellerman flipped the folder open and ran a finger down the page. "One hundred eighty-six thousand, two hundred dollars. And change."
Cole set his cup down slow.
Dana felt the floor tilt. "That's not right." Her loan had been eighty-eight thousand. "Marcus, that's more than double what I borrowed."
"Interest. Penalties. Late fees. Emergency restructuring." He turned the page toward her like he was doing her a favor. "You signed all of it."
"Emergency restructuring —"
"You signed, Dana."
Cole reached over. "Mind if I look?"
Kellerman hesitated. Dana pushed the whole stack down the counter. Cole read it for maybe forty seconds. Then he smiled, and it was nothing like the smile from the night before. This one had frost on it.
"Well, would you look at that."
"Look at what," Kellerman said.
Cole tapped the page. "You charged her a commercial restructuring fee. Three separate times."
"It's in the contract."
"And this line?"
"Administrative recovery."
"This one?"
"Risk adjustment."
"Cute names," Cole said. He pulled out his phone.
Kellerman snatched the papers back and squared them. "If you're finished playing lawyer —"
"I'm not a lawyer." Cole put the phone to his ear. "My sister is."
Kellerman went still.
"Hey, Marisol. It's me. I need you to look at something. Yeah. Now, if you can. Bring the laptop."
Twenty minutes later a silver sedan pulled in beside Cole's bike. The woman who got out wore jeans, boots, and a navy blazer, and looked nothing like anyone who'd been in that parking lot the day before. Cole held the door for her and she socked him in the shoulder walking past.
"You only call me before I've had coffee when somebody's in jail or about to get sued."
"Morning to you too."
Marisol Vega set a laptop bag on the counter, shook Dana's hand, and started reading. Page by page. Kellerman shifted on his stool. Five minutes. Ten.
She looked up. "Mr. Kellerman. Are you the officer of record on this account?"
"I'm a vice president of the bank."
"Perfect." She turned the laptop so he could see the screen. "Then you'll want to hear this. I count six fees that violate the state lending code. Two interest calculations that don't match the original note. And a foreclosure filing dated inside a county-declared weather emergency, which the statute specifically prohibits."
Kellerman's face changed color.
"What does that mean?" Dana asked.
"It means," Marisol said, calm as still water, "that if these are real documents, your bank owes her money. Not the other way around."
Kellerman stood up. "This conversation is over."
"Sure." Marisol closed the laptop. "I'll forward everything to the state banking commissioner instead."
He stopped moving.
"And the attorney general's consumer finance unit."
He turned around.
"And I've got a cousin at the Kesler County Ledger who would eat this alive."
Kellerman looked at Dana. And for the first time since she'd met the man, something behind his eyes flinched.
"This is not necessary," he said.
Dana's hands were shaking on the counter. Her voice wasn't.
"Was taking my house necessary? Was leaving my kid on the side of the highway necessary?"
He didn't say anything.
May you like
Cole stood up next to her. "You heard her, Marcus. Door's behind you."
Kellerman left. The bell over the door was still swinging when his SUV hit the road.
