Previously: Zack has been trying to rise to the challenge of being a Supervisor at the True North Canadian bank. When the bank’s ex Assistant Manager comes in, Zack is introduced to the idea of the Foreign Currency room.
The door’s unassuming beige colour matched the hallway walls, as if it was hiding in plain sight. The boxes stood guard in front of the door and the small grey keycard entry glowed red, armed, warning Zack away.
Zack glanced back at Shawna, who motioned for him to hurry up. He dug his bank keys out of his pocket and tried his new Supervisor card on the keycard pad. It beeped and flashed green. Zack heard the click of the door unlocking.
Zack pushed the door open. He fumbled for the light switch after they didn’t automatically turn on. That was odd - all other lights in the branch were activated by a motion sensor. The fluorescent lights made a tinkling noise, fighting to wake after what Zack assumed to be a long hibernation.
The room was a storage room. Shelving units lined the walls, stacked with boxes of paper that were visibly dusty. Zack noticed an outdated cash counting machine. An old overhead projector, complete with transparencies marked up with numbers, sat atop a cart in the corner. To Zack’s right, a short bank of locked compartments similar to the main vault came up to about waist height, where a ledger and a desktop computer that looked at least a decade old rested closest to him.
Zack circled the room, looking over the bank’s antiques on the shelves. One box held blank traveler’s cheques, another held rolls for coins, while the last he looked in held those old bank account books that tellers used to stamp with the transaction history and the date. They all collected dust, perfectly preserved, yet forgotten.
Forgotten like the security cameras that should have been watching his every move. Zack’s eyebrows furrowed. There were even two neat holes in the ceiling, tucked into the corners, where the cameras would have been installed.
Zack brushed dust off of the ledger beside the ancient computer. It was labelled “Rare Foreign Currency Log” and inside there were columns for teller’s identification numbers, account numbers, dates, times, type of currency, and a spot to note the exchange rate in Canadian dollars. Zack followed the entries down to the last one. It was four months ago. Shawna’s signature was tucked in the margin of the book. Zack’s finger found the next most recent entry, which was more than a year ago.
Zack tapped the keyboard on the computer beside the logbook, but it didn’t turn on. Was the logbook the only system that the bank used to track foreign currency moving in and out? Zack checked behind the computer and found it unplugged. That seemed ludicrous compared to the heavy security features that the bank boasted about in the main vault.
“Huh.” Zack said, his hands finding his hips. What the hell was this place?
He scanned the locked compartments below the logbook. Two were unlocked and empty, but the one directly below the logbook was locked. Zack flipped through the keys on his new Supervisor-in-training keyring until he found one that opened the compartment.
Inside, a black secure bank bag was stuffed into the space. It said ‘SecurBag’ on the side. Zack yanked it out, surprised at how full that it was. He unzipped the bag and found all sorts of different currencies from around the world. They were all neatly bound with thick elastics and enclosed in sealed bags. The bank’s procedures were that foreign currencies needed a secondary sign off by a witness, usually another teller, and, if the amount was higher than five-thousand Canadian, the supervisor was required to sign as a witness after the money was counted. Of course, serial numbers were copied, paperwork was completed, and the entire process was documented. It was all meticulous; completed as ethically and efficiently as possible.
Except that supervisor was Zack.
Zack dumped the contents of the bag onto the counter and guesstimated how much money was inside. Based upon the sizes of each sealed bag and the relative strength of the Canadian Dollar, Zack quickly calculated that there was between five and eight thousand dollars in the foreign currency compartment. Puzzled, Zack checked it again. It was more like six or seven grand.
“Holy shit.” He uttered.
Zack stood back and took it all in. No security cameras. No electronic records. One outdated handwritten logbook. Thousands in untraceable foreign cash. The bank’s entire foreign currency system relied completely on trust. Zack shook his head, incredulous. He licked dry lips and stuffed trembling hands into his pockets.
He wasn’t that guy anymore. He couldn’t be that guy anymore. He fingered his new name tag and sighed.