"Hear there's lots of high-grade counterfeit stuff around. Maybe we could get you a bundle." The second guard winked at his companion.
Edwina told him, 'That kind of help we can do without. We've been getting too much of it."
Only last week the bank had discovered nearly a thousand dollars in counterfeit bills money paid in, though the source was unknown. More than likely it had come through numerous depositors some who had been defrauded themselves and were passing their loss along to the bank; others who had no idea the bills were counterfeit, which was not surprising since the quality was remarkably high.
Agents of the U. S. Secret Sevic e, who had discussed the matter with Edwina and Miles Eastin, were frankly worried. "The counterfeit money we're seeing has never been as good, and there's never been as much in circulation," one of them admitted. A conservative estimate was that thirty million dollars of bogus money had been produced the previous year. "And a lot more never gets detected."
England and Canada were major supply sources of spurious U.S. currency. The agents also reported that an incredible amount was circulating in Europe. "It's not so easily detected there, so warn your friends who go to Europe never to accept American bills. There's a strong chance they could be worthless."
The first armed guard shifted the sacks on his shoulders. "Don't worry, folksl These are genuine greenbacks. All part of the servicer" Both guards went down the stairway to the vault.
E dwina walked to her desk on the platfonn. Th roughout the bank, activity was increasing. The main front doors were open, early customer’s streaming in.
The platform where, by tradition, the senior officers worked, was raised slightly above the main-floor level and carpeted in crimson. Edwina's desk, the largest and most imposing, was flanked-by two flags behind her and to the right the Stars and Stripes, and on her left the state burger. Sometimes, seated there, she felt as if she were on TV, ready to make a solemn announcement while cameras dollied in.
The big downtown branch itself was modern. Rebuilt a year or two ago when FMA's adjoining Headquarters Tower was erected, the structure had had design expertise and a fortune lavished on it. The result, in which crimson and mahogany predominated with an appropriate sprinkling of gold, was a combination of customer convenience, excellent working conditi ons and just plain opulence. Oc casionally, Edwina admitted to herself, the opulence seemed to have an edge.
As she settled down, her tall, lithe figure slipping familiarly into a high-backed swivel chair, she smoothed her short hair needlessly, since as usua l it was impeccably in place,
Edwina reached for a group of files containing loan applications for amounts higher than other officers in the branch had authority to approve.
Her own authorization to lend money extended to a million dollars in any single instance, providing two other officers in the branch concurred. They invariably did. Amounts in excess were referred to the bank's credit policy unit over in Headquarters.
In First Mercantile American, as in any banking system, an acknowledged status symbol was the size of a loan which a bank official had power to sanction. It also determined his or her position on the organization totem pole and was spoken of as "the quality of initial," because an individual's initial put final approval on any loan proposal.
As a manager, the quality of Edwina's initial was unusually high, though it reflected her responsibility in running FMA's important downtown branch. A manager of a lesser branch might approve loans from ten thousand to half a million dollars, depending on the manager's ability an d seniority. It always amused Edwina that quality of initial supported a caste system with attendant perks and privileges. In the Headquar ters credit policy unit, an as sistant loan inspector, whose authority was limited to a mere fifty thousand dollars, worked at an unimpressive desk alongside others in a large open office.. Next in the pecking order, a loan inspector whose initial was good for a quarter million dollars rated a larger desk in a glass - paneled cubicle.
An honest-to-goodness office with door and window was the perquisite of an assistant loan supervisor whose quality of initial extended higher, to a half million dollars. He also rated a capacious desk, an oil painting on the wall and printed memo pads with his name, a free dail y copy of The Wall Street Journ al and a complimentary shoeshine every morning. He shared a secretary with another assistant supervisor.
Finally, a loan officer-vice-president whose initial was good for a million dollars, worked in a corner office with two windows, two oil paintings, and a secretary of his own. His name memos were engraved. He, too, had a free shoeshine and newspaper, plus magazines and journals, the use of a company car when required for business, and access to the senior officers' dining for lunch.
Edwina qualified for almost all the quality-of-initia l perks. She had never used the shoeshine.
This morning, she studied two loan requests, approved one and penciled some queries on another. A third proposal stopped her short.
Startled, and conscious of a bizarre coincidence after yesterday's experience, she read through the file again.
The loan officer who had prepared the file answered Edwina's intercom buzz. "Castleman here." "Cliff, please come over."
"Sure." The loan officer, only half a dozen desks away, looked directly at Edwina "And I'll bet I know why you want me."
Moments later, as he seated himself beside her desk, he glanced at the open file. "I was right. We get some lulus, don't we?"
Cliff Castleman was small and precise with a round pink face and soft smile. Bo rrowers liked him because he w as a good listener and sympathetic. But he was al so a seasoned loan man with soun d judgment.
"I was hoping," Edwina said, "that this application is some kind of sick joke, even if a ghastly one."
"Ghoulish would be more apt, Mrs. D'Orsey. And while the whole thing may be sick, I assure yo u it's real." Cas tleman motioned to the file. "I included all the facts because I knew you'd want them. Obviously you've read the report. And my recommendation."
"Are you serious in proposing to lend this much money for this purpose?"
"I'm deadly serious." The loan o fficer stopped abruptly. "Sorry that wasn't intended to be gallows humor. But I believe you should approve the loan."
It was all there in the file. A forty-three-year-old pharmaceutical salesman named Gosburne, locally employed, was applying for a loan of twenty-five thousand dollars
He was married a first marriage which had lasted seventeen years, and the Gosburnes owned their suburban home except for a small mortgage. They had had a joint account with FMA for eight years no problems. An earlier, though smaller, bank loan had been repai d. Gosburne's employment record and other financial history were good.
The intended purpose of the new loan was to buy a large stainless steel capsule in which would be placed the body of the Gosburnes' child, Andrea. She had died six days ago, at age fifteen, from a kidney malignancy. At present Andrea's body was at a funeral home, stored in dry ice. Her blood had been drawn off immediately after death and replaced with a blood-like "anti-freeze" solution called dimethylsulfoxide.
The steel capsule was specially designed to contain liquid nitrogen at a subzero temperature. The body, wrapped in aluminum foil, would be immersed in this solution.
A capsule of the type sought a giant bottle, really, and known as a "cryo-crypt" was available in Los Angeles and would be flown from there if the bank loan was approved. About a third of the intended loan was for p repayment of vault storage rent for the capsule, and replacement of th e liquid nitrogen every four months.