The Two Cents War Chapter 1

My grandmother passed away, so I went to the bank to close her account.

The balance: $0.42.

The teller, wearing a plastic smile, pushed four dimes across the counter to me.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, we don't have pennies right now. Maybe next time you come in, we can settle the difference?"

"No," I said. "I want it now."

She sighed, her smile dropping into annoyance.

"I'm sorry, you're holding up the line."

The next second, she pressed a button under the counter. Security arrived and 'escorted' me out.

I immediately filed a complaint.

That night, she posted about me on social media.

"Met a total psycho today. Filed a complaint over two cents. Is she starving or just insane?"

Attached was a photo of the transaction slip—with my social security number clearly visible.

Overnight, I was cyberbullied until my phone crashed.

The next morning, I stood in front of the bank's main entrance and dialed 911.

"I want to report a crime. Someone leaked my personal information."

"Also, please investigate this bank's financial records. I suspect the money they've 'rounded down' amounts to far more than just my two cents."

* * *

The police arrived quickly.

When two officers walked into the bank lobby, the branch manager was trying to talk me down.

"Ms. Foster, look, there's no need to make a scene over something this small."

"This was our mistake. We're willing to compensate you for your trouble. Five hundred dollars, how does that sound?"

I stared at him, silent.

The officers approached me.

"Hello, did you call?"

"I did."

I handed over my phone. On the screen was the teller, Jessica Miller's, Instagram post.

The slip with my full social security number was uncensored, clear as day.

"This person, teller Jessica Miller, leaked my personal information on social media."

"There are already thousands of abusive comments directed at me."

"Furthermore, I've been doxxed and received countless threatening texts."

The older officer's face darkened. He looked at the manager.

"Bring out Jessica Miller."

The manager, Mr. King, was sweating, the fat on his face bunching up as he frowned.

He bowed slightly.

"Officer, maybe this is a misunderstanding? Jessica is just a kid, fresh out of college. Maybe she was just venting after work, didn't know better."

"Leaking a citizen's private information isn't 'not knowing better.' It's a crime," I answered for the officer.

Mr. King's face turned an uglier shade of pale.

Soon, Jessica walked out from the back.

She paused when she saw the police, but the moment she saw me, she put on an act of immense grievance.

"Officer, I... I was just complaining to friends. I... I didn't know it was illegal."

"I'll delete the post, okay? I'll apologize to her!"

She moved as if to bow to me.

I stepped back, dodging her performance.

The younger officer, taking notes, looked up at Jessica.

"Your actions violate privacy laws and could constitute a felony. You need to come with us to the station for questioning."

Jessica's legs gave out.

"This... Mr. King, say something! Mr. King!"

Mr. King wiped his sweat, pleading with the officers.

"Officers, can't we handle this internally? We'll settle privately and ensure Ms. Foster is satisfied."

"This is a criminal matter. It's out of your hands," the older officer said, signaling his partner to take her.

As Jessica was led away, she wailed, tears streaming down her face, cursing me.

"You psycho! Over two cents?! You'll pay for this!"

I ignored her screaming and turned to the older officer.

"Officer, besides the data leak, I have another matter to report."

"Go on."

"I suspect this bank is systematically embezzling small amounts from customer accounts."

Mr. King, who had just started to relax, stiffened.

The officer looked at me. "Do you have proof?"

"Yesterday afternoon, teller Jessica Miller explicitly stated while closing my account that the balance was forty-two cents, but she would only return forty. The two cents would just be 'let go'."

"I suspect this isn't just her personal behavior, but standard procedure for this branch."

"Two cents from countless customers adds up to a significant amount. Where did that money go?"

Mr. King immediately retorted.

"Nonsense! Our accounts are handled by computer systems. Every penny is accounted for. It's impossible!"

"Is it?" I asked him. "Then why don't we pull up yesterday's cash flow and system logs right now?"

"Let's see if there are any other 'let go' remainders besides my two cents."

The officer found my logic sound and looked at Mr. King.

"Please cooperate. Show us yesterday's records."

Mr. King nervously adjusted his tie, only making it crooked.

"Officer, accessing transaction logs requires authorization from headquarters. A single branch doesn't have that level of access..."

"That's fine," I interrupted.

"I've already filed a formal complaint with the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. I imagine their investigation team will arrive with authorization very soon."

Mr. King stared at me, mouth open, soundless.

I met his gaze.

"I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Quinn Foster."

"I'm a financial auditor. And my specialty is bank transaction analysis."