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Stepping into the First National Bank of Miser, Montana, early as per her usual, the bank employee’s whispers greeted her at the entrance before the framed, etched glass front door had even finished swinging shut behind her.
With each further footstep inside, she immediately saw the accusatory stares and the accompanying frowns of her fellow bank employees along with the overloud whispered comments regarding an audit and the discovery of a fraudulent loan.
Even so forewarned, Abby wasn’t prepared to be called into the bank president’s office and accused of any participation in such an outrageous event as she’d made her way to her office.
Over the past decade of her journey in this profession quite a large number of people had whispered behind her back for any number of reasons, mostly regarding the humble place where she’d come from and the simple way she lived her life. And to be fair, “humble” was really too nice a word for where she’d lived.
Their overall attitude was nothing new. But still, she should have turned around and simply gone home before ever making it to her desk, because her day had gone seriously downhill directly afterward.
First had been the accusations. Then the quick scan of the paperwork she’d been blamed for initiating. Followed by her useless defense even as she saw her own signature at the bottom of paper she knew she hadn’t signed.
Then came the suspension without pay pending further investigation. The humiliating walk of shame out of the bank with the snotty security guard escorting her out as she carrying a sad cardboard box with her few personal items. The furious anger at the name she’d seen listed as the loan applicant. Her sudden and insatiable need to find him and make him pay. The quick drive to her apartment. The search on the Internet for one Zane Washburn living in Enclave. The picture of a very handsome man dressed as a deputy for the Old West Town amusement park only two hours west of Miser. The angry drive to Enclave as she fumed and planned to turn him in and see him suffer as she did.
But now she sat in jail and not Zane Washburn.
How could things get any worse?
“Your lawyer’s here,” came a voice from the doorway leading into the police station. Sheriff Stanton had already left for the day as soon as she’d been processed. He told her he had to attend some other issue in town and would try to stop in later on, but couldn’t promise.
The new deputy—Higgins was the name on his uniform—hadn’t been introduced, but he didn’t seem to have the same level of concern for her that Sheriff Stanton had. Mostly he seemed annoyed to have to deal with anyone being in the jail cell tonight at all. So she was reduced to the label of nuisance.
“I don’t have a lawyer.” Abby hadn’t even used her offered phone call. Who would she get in touch with? No member of the bank staff or management would likely even take a message from her let alone acquire her a lawyer.
Her family would gloat too much about her choices in life and how they resented her trying to better herself. They’d say that it served her right to be stewing in jail after trying to be all hoity-toity with her life choices. That very attitude had spilled forth once after a long-awaited promotion Abby had foolishly complained about not getting a few years back, and had continued thereafter anytime she hinted at any gripe in her life.
She didn’t need the aggravation now. So she’d called no one, and sat in the jail cell basically pouting about the ugly turn her life had taken without warning.
The new deputy sighed and looked put out. “So do you want to see him or not?”
“Who is it?” She certainly didn’t expect that her employer would send her any help given their recent issues. Abby didn’t particularly want to see the bank’s lawyer. He was an ass. And besides, there hadn’t been enough time for the bank to send anyone.
Unless they’d called a local lawyer for her. Which was still completely doubtful. Her limited understanding was that she was being held in Enclave tonight until she could be transferred to Miser tomorrow. She hadn’t expected anyone to show up this evening, but since this whole experience was stranger than strange, she was willing to go along.
“His name is Cooper Mackay.” Higgins’s tone of voice still sounded mildly irate.
