8. Chapter Eight #2
When they arrived at the office, Margaret first noticed it was much smaller than what she had pictured.
She had seen the photographs of the older business office, but this newer building was no more than two stories tall.
Large windows loomed above, but they were covered by dark curtains.
The whole place appeared peculiar. Margaret stood beside her father as he examined the area as well.
“You ready?” Margaret asked.
Her father swallowed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He pulled his arm around her as they walked towards the glass door. He knocked, but to his surprise, no one answered. “How odd. Usually, there’s a secretary who opens the door before anyone enters, but that was over twenty years ago.”
Strange indeed. It seemed everything that dealt with the Nicholson side of the family was surprising. “Should we go in?”
Her father sighed and removed his gray fedora hat. “I assume so. We have a claim to the place.”
Inside stood a desk, sparsely decorated with nothing but a solitary telephone.
Beyond it, a counter stretched across the room, though no one was behind it.
The place seemed abandoned, yet its cleanliness suggested otherwise.
The walls, painted a deep shade of green, were bare except for a single plaque engraved with Lucas Nicholson.
Below it, a large photograph of her grandfather dominated the space, and next to it hung another picture—an older man she presumed to be her great-grandfather.
The plaque beneath read Samuel Nicholson.
“Hello?” Margaret’s father called.
They walked closer to the counter, inspecting the space. The windows were clean, so someone had been tending to the place. Daddy rang the small silver bell on the counter. The sound echoed briefly before fading, replaced by the soft creak of footsteps descending the stairs.
The door on their right swung open, revealing a man wearing a gray vest and a red tie. His youthful face, accented by a neatly trimmed brown beard, suggested an age no more than thirty, if not a bit younger. Startled by their entrance, he quickly adjusted his collar while approaching them.
“I apologize for the absence of staff. It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck. His cheeks were flushed and his hair tousled. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair to smooth it back into place. “How may I assist you both?”
As the man stood in front of Margaret’s father, the first thing she noticed was how different they were in height.
Her father was no more than six feet, and this man was an inch or two shorter, but the greater difference was their stature.
This man was stockier but not overweight, with the build of someone who exercised regularly.
His coat sleeves were snug around his arms, making her wonder how he’d found something in his size.
His shoulders were broad—or were those the shoulder pads of his jacket?
Even if it was only the pads, if Margaret were a man, she’d be fearful of him, avoiding him at all costs.
A slight indentation marked his chin, but the shadow of stubble mostly concealed it.
“Good morning,” Margaret’s father said. “I am Collin Nicholson, and this is my daughter, Margaret.”
The man’s eyes widened and his forehead creased. “Nicholson? You mean?” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck again. “Pardon me, Mr. Nicholson. I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon.”
Daddy extended his hand. “No harm done.”
“Roger McKinley,” the man explained while shaking Daddy’s hand. “I’m an accountant here. Well . . . you might say . . . the accountant now.”
“Accountant,” Daddy repeated. He looked over at Margaret and then back at Mr. McKinley.
“Since you are here, it makes matters even better. I’ve been needing to come by and settle my father’s business affairs.
I’m temporarily in charge.” He carefully observed the area surrounding him, and his nose bunched. “Where is everyone?”
Mr. McKinley looked at his feet then up at Margaret’s father, rocking back and forth.
“They left. One after the other.” Mr. McKinley sighed.
“We appreciate all that Mr. Agnes did in Mr. Nicholson’s absence, but he wasn’t a good businessman.
An estate business and a loan office are entirely different enterprises.
The disruption caused us to lose a large sum of clientele.
The past month, the place struggled, and the accounts became disorganized.
I’ve tried to fix them myself, but there is so much disorder.
Our secretary left last week. He was supposed to help me uncover the missing files. ”
Margaret’s father nodded. “Well, since I am here now, we’ll fix that.” He looked at Margaret. “Margaret, do you mind standing here for a while? It won’t be long. Mr. McKinley and I will be upstairs, trying to sort out this mess.”
Margaret gave him a soft smile. “I don’t mind.”
He looked back at Mr. McKinley and pointed towards the stairs. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
Margaret observed the rest of the office while her father and Mr. McKinley were upstairs.
She didn’t know what she’d expect coming here, but surely not this.
What was an office without employees? What really piqued her curiosity was why Mr. McKinley stayed and spent countless hours sorting out the accounts.
He could have left like everyone else did, but he devoted himself.
It spoke highly of his character. Perhaps Mr. McKinley would be an excellent help for her father and keep him at bay.
After thirty minutes of exploring and sitting in an uncomfortable chair in the corner, the ringing of the telephone erupted the quiet.
No available secretary answered, and her father and Mr. McKinley were busy.
Neither of them had time for interruptions.
Margaret chewed her bottom lip. Would it be wrong for her to answer the phone? Was it stepping out of line?
As the phone continued ringing, it drove Margaret over the edge. She groaned aloud and picked up the device, placing it against her ear.
“Nicholson Building and Loan.” Margaret listened to the operator and waited to be connected to the caller.
“Hello? Is this the loan office?” an older woman’s voice asked.
Margaret’s heart pounded. What had she been thinking, answering a phone call? She knew hardly anything about the company or the clients. This was a mistake. Her head told her to hang up, but her heart insisted she’d take a chance and help this woman.
“Yes, ma’am, it is. How might I assist you today?”
“I need to make the final loan payment next week, but I don’t know my remaining balance. Can you tell me, sweetheart?”
This part of the phone call was out of her reach, but this woman most likely had a pay phone somewhere, and Margaret couldn’t disappoint her. So, she played along. A secretarial job couldn’t be too difficult.
“What is the name?”
“Esther Beaton.”
Margaret replayed the name in her mind. What would a secretary do? Margaret blinked. Files. “Can you hold for a moment? Let me find your file.”
Margaret set the phone down and scanned the room once more.
Behind the counter, a row of file cabinets stood neatly in place.
With quick, purposeful steps, she moved behind the counter, her eyes settling on a cabinet labeled Accounts and Balances.
She opened the drawer and searched through the “B” section.
She quickly found the “Beaton” files, but to her frustration, too many Beaton clients filled them.
Just great. Margaret huffed. She was so close to figuring out the secretarial duties.
Brushing her hair from her face, she mentally prepared herself to dig through the mountain of files, determined not to let this setback stop her.
Margaret removed the Beaton files and sorted through them.
Her heart raced with anxiety, and she hoped the lady was still on the line.
At last, she found the lady’s file. Relief washed over her, as if a great weight had been lifted.
She held it against her chest and exhaled deeply.
“Thank you, Lord.”