The Banker (Banker 1)

“So, let me get this straight.” She grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass. “Marriage is off the table because of money?” She pushed the half-empty bottle back to the center of the table next to the candle. “Money has dictated your lives so greatly that you can’t enjoy anything else? That you can’t even share it with someone?” She spoke with emotion but not judgment. “I stand by what I said. Money is the root of all evil. Money destroys lives. It’s the monster that swallows happiness whole. There’re so many beautiful things in life that are financially intangible.”

“Only poor people say that.” It was an asshole comment to make, but it was the first thing that tumbled out of my mouth. I would never forget how cold it used to be on winter nights without the heater. I would never forget how raw my mother’s hands were from working in the cannery twelve hours a day. Money had saved my family—not destroyed it.

She didn’t show offense. “Wealth is supposed to give you advantages in life. But from what you’re describing, it sounds like it’s inhibiting you. You can’t go anywhere without thirty armed men protecting you. You can’t trust a woman to love you for you. Men all over the world are trying to infiltrate your ranks to trick you. You’re a prisoner—the walls of your cell, your own cash. I admire everything you’ve accomplished, but above all else, I pity you.” Her pretty green eyes bored into mine, and instead of harsh judgment, there really was pity.

No one had ever given me a look like that before. Women admired me. Men wanted to be me. My mother’s eyes beamed with such pride that it usually turned to tears. Everyone thought I had the world by a string—because I did. But not a single person spotted the loneliness, the emptiness, and the boredom.

No one had ever noticed what I hadn’t noticed myself.

Speechless, I held her gaze, thinking about those afternoons I smoked my cigar while hardly moving, reflecting on the moments I told my brother I was bored. He questioned my sanity. How could someone with so much power and wealth be bored? It was a question that didn’t have an answer. I never regretted everything I had or the sacrifices I made to achieve it, but it did seem like something was missing.

She didn’t display a victorious look in her eyes. She continued to stare at me like the conversation was continuing, just without words.

I forgot about my wine and everything else in the room around us. I was spending the evening with a beautiful woman, but my mind wasn’t on sex. It was the deepest conversation I’d ever had with another human being. Her intellect was dangerous, and her courage was even more startling. She was the only person in the world who didn’t care about the size of my wallet. Unintimidated, she treated me like I was anyone else. “We were very poor growing up. The kind of poor where going to the doctor was a luxury. My mother did hard labor to support us, shaving off years of her life so we could have food, clothes, and someplace safe to sleep. Ever since I could remember, I wanted to be rich. I never wanted to worry about my next meal, and I didn’t want my mother to have to put up with bullshit from other people. My ambition caught fire and never extinguished. Maybe money is evil, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her knowing look slowly faded and was replaced by an emotional gleam. “That’s inspiring.”

“The worst part of being poor is being powerless. You’re at the mercy of other people. People are far more evil than money, and they’ll take advantage of you when you’re down. By holding all the money, I have all the power. Maybe I sleep with one eye open, but I also control everything around me.”

“It seems to me you’re in the same situation as before, just in reverse. You have to work hard to maintain your stature because everyone wants to take it from you. There’s a middle ground you’re overlooking. You can be wealthy and secure, but also disappear from the public eye. You can have everything you need—without looking over your shoulder all the time.”

The only reason I was patient with her was because I knew her background. Money had obviously destroyed her family. Her father kept playing with fire until someone hit him where it hurt—by killing his wife. Siena had the wisdom to turn her back on that lifestyle and settle for peace. To her, there was no other option. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” The glow from the candles illuminated her features in the most beautiful way. Her emerald eyes reflected the white light, making them shine like Christmas ornaments in front of a fireplace. “Let me ask you one question. And you don’t have to give me an answer.”