“Mr. Reddick,” Martin said, slightly out of breath, “I’m so sorry. Nobody told me you were standing out here.” He turned to the security guard. “Take your hand off your belt, Rory.” Then he faced the teller, and his voice went very quiet. “Kayla, this man and my father founded this bank in 1962, with money they earned farming. His signature is still on the charter hanging in my office.”

The teller’s face drained of color. Martin wasn’t finished. “Mr. Reddick is also this bank’s largest shareholder. He owns forty-one percent of it.” Behind us, the woman who had laughed hurried out the door. Kayla opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Martin reached for the phone at her station, and I knew exactly who he was about to call. Then Grandpa raised one muddy hand. “Martin,” he said gently. “Don’t you dare fire her.”