The teller studied the check minutely. "This is a considerable sum. More than I have at my window. Could you wait for just a moment?" He picked up his phone.
A bank guard tapped me on the shoulder.
"Could you come with me, please."
My impulse was to run. A paralyzer pistol was sheathed in his wrist holster. There was no use.
I followed him to the original teller's window.
"I'm sorry, sir," said the man, "but an estop has been put on this account. You will have to return the fifty credits."
"Certainly," I said, hastily whipping out the fifty. I wanted to dash for the door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other teller hang up his phone and look about urgently. He had not yet seen me.
"Here is the invalidated check," said the teller. "I suggest you hold onto it."
"Thank you," I said, restraining my hand from grabbing. "Guard," I said, "there's a teller over there motioning for you." I pointed in the opposite direction from the second teller. "I think it's number 16 there."
He went his way. I went my way, as fast as one can in a bank building without starting a chase. I hurried through the doors, waving frantically for a coptercab. One descended.