The Last of the Stanfields(47)
Another writer suggested an article on the lopsided allocation of funds in the budget, with education getting the short end of the stick. Schools in impoverished neighborhoods were subject to steep cuts, while funding for schools in higher-income, generally white neighborhoods seemed to be untouched.
“True, but that’s not really much of a scoop, is it?” said Sally-Anne, sighing. “Everybody knows about that, it’s just that nobody gives a damn, at least nobody whose vote matters.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure families in the poor neighborhoods still give a damn,” May quickly responded. “The mayor plans to center his reelection bid on safety. While he’s out there vowing to put a stop to all the violence, he’s leading the charge on creating new ghettos. So, why not tackle the story from that vantage point? Shine a light on the incoherence of his policy and all its consequences.”
Everyone agreed May’s angle might have legs, and the story was added to the short list. The meeting came to a close just before noon, with a daunting amount of work remaining before the first edition could go to print. Sally-Anne jumped onto her motorcycle and rode across town to the bank. After all, she would have to write everyone’s paychecks by the end of the week.
After waiting forever at the teller window, Sally-Anne was told the checks she had ordered were nowhere to be found. More troubling, there was no account listed under the paper’s name. She asked to see Mr. Clark, but the teller insisted he was in a meeting. In response, Sally-Anne barged straight into the bank’s administrative area and whipped open the door to Mr. Clark’s office without knocking. The man’s warmth and charm had evaporated. Mr. Clark, with downcast eyes, explained regretfully that there was a problem.
“What kind of problem?”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Stanfield. Believe me, I did everything I could. But the committee rejected your loan application.”
“No, that isn’t possible! You promised me that money!”
“I’m not the only one who decides here. There are scores of loan managers who—”
“Listen to me. We both know my family has a large stake in this bank. So, I suggest you do something, unless you want to try explaining to your boss why you lost the Stanfield account.”
Mr. Clark motioned Sally-Anne to close the door and take a seat.
“Look, I’m counting on your discretion. My job is on the line. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to tell you a word about any of this, but since my own wife is mixed up in it, I may as well. I’ll have to tell Rhonda eventually, unless I want to find my things out on the sidewalk when I get home tonight. And as soon as I tell her, she’ll turn around and tell you, so you may as well hear it from the horse’s mouth. The members of the committee got cold feet. They were scared your mother would be upset.”
Sally-Anne sat bolt upright in her chair, white with shock. “You’re not suggesting that my mother would have actually intervened? To prevent me from getting funding for my newspaper? Who would have told her about it at all?”
“It wasn’t me, I can tell you that much. My best guess? There was a loan manager at the hearing who spoke out quite forcefully to make sure your loan was rejected. It could have been him.”
“And what about client confidentiality? Is there even a shred of morality in this place?”
“Keep your voice down, please. You have to believe me. I am truly sorry for all of this. But you know your mother better than I do, and you should know neither of us stand a chance against her.”
“Maybe you don’t, but there’s no way in hell I’m taking this lying down. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
Sally-Anne rose and stormed out of Mr. Clark’s office without looking back, breaking into a run as soon as she got out the front door of the bank. By the time she reached her motorcycle, she had to stop, doubling over in pain from the rage in the pit of her stomach. She waited a few seconds for the spasms to pass, then leapt onto the bike and roared down the road.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the country club, stormed inside, and stomped down the corridor to the dining room, where Hanna Stanfield was dining with a pair of well-to-do ladies. Sally-Anne walked right up to the table and glared at her mother, enraged.
“Tell your two parakeets to find somewhere else to squawk. We have to talk. Right now.”
Hanna Stanfield let out a heavy sigh of apology. “Please forgive my daughter. Despite her age, she still hasn’t grown out of her teenage angst, and rotten manners are how she wages her rebellion.”
The two women exchanged a sympathetic look with Hanna, then rose and nodded politely, far too “elegant” to cause a scene. The ma?tre d’, who had followed along skittishly during Sally-Anne’s dramatic entrance and had been hovering nearby ever since, led the women to a nearby table. Everyone in the room had turned to watch, and the man was positively mortified by the entire incident.
“Well? Sit down,” Hanna commanded. “But I’d caution you to change your tone, young lady. I won’t sit here and be disrespected.”
“How could you do something like this? It wasn’t enough to exile me?”
“Ah, the exaggerations! The drama! To think of the education we gave you, only to watch you throw it all away. And, might I add, your homecoming was contingent upon maintaining a harmonious relationship with the family. You, my darling, agreed not to cause trouble. That was the condition for receiving help from your father and me. If you don’t live up to your end of the bargain, you suffer the consequences.”