Stockton Mutual was an imposing sight with its pillared entrance, marbled floors, and lofted ceiling. It was every bit the symbol of stability and power! For a moment he felt intimidated but regained his composure and inquired about a certain Mr. Gordon Jennings.
The sharply dressed woman who had intercepted him in the reception area looked him up and down and replied curtly: “Mr. Jennings is not available at the moment, what specifically is your business?”
“It is a matter of a private inquiry Madam; may I make an appointment?”
The ancient Jewish tactic of answering a question with another question had its desired effect, for after an awkward silence and a slightly confused look, he was asked his name and invited to take a seat. Norman watched her walk to one of the offices and hold a conversation with its occupant in the doorway. He imagined what she was saying, for several times she looked back at him: fortyish, shorter, well-dressed, but with an out-of-town look. It must have sparked Mr. Jennings’ curiosity for within ten minutes he was ushered in.
“Mr. Bates, take a seat,” he began, gesturing to the chair nearest, “Your name rings a bell! Help me out here!”
