“Yes, very.” Mansoor’s chest swells. “My son got top marks, even won a scholarship, all expenses paid. Secured a top-rate job, too, of course.” Meanwhile, Mansoor has to listen to this lowly banker who claims to have a degree in business. “Can I speak to your manager?”

“I am the manager,” Jon says.

Mansoor is dumbfounded. What kind of operation is this? They’ll give a job to anyone who walks in off the street.

“Look, Mansoor,” Jon continues, “you do have other options. You could consider a B lender. Companies like Abrahams & Abrahams. They’ll take on higher levels of risk.”

Mansoor just nods. But he’s no risk! He would never use a B lender. Their interest rates are ridiculous. Might as well go to a loan shark.

“How about a partner, Mansoor? Even a silent one. Someone who could act as your guarantor. That would give the bank the extra assurance it needs. Do you have anyone who could do that for you?”

Mansoor shakes his head. “I have no one.”

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Jon hands the business plan and loan forms back to him. “If your circumstances change, please come back to us. We’d be happy to help you.” Jon then stands up and extends his hand to Mansoor. “Thank you for coming in.”

Mansoor’s legs tremble as he walks down the long hallway from Jon’s office to the front of the bank. He hears heavy footsteps behind him. He turns to see his father approaching. His heart races. He quickens his pace. So does his father.

“I knew you couldn’t do it!” his father says. His words pound down the hallway, like waves through a narrow channel. “You’re useless. Utterly useless.”

That’s all Mansoor can hear. He’s drowning in his father’s words. Drowning in shame.

He doesn’t realize what has happened until he is on the ground.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks.

Mansoor turns to see a security guard kneeling next to him. Then, a wall of glass in front of him. Outside, a parking lot of cars and snow. On the floor next to him, the scattered contents of his briefcase. He touches his forehead as if he’s expecting blood. But there isn’t any. Just a throbbing pain.

The security guard tries to help him up.

“No, no. I’m fine…fine.” He presses a hand to the glass and raises himself up.

Mansoor stares at the mess of papers on the ground. At the top, his business plan with the initials, AMV. That’s when it comes to him: Ashif! Of course. He can co-sign the loan for him. He has a solid job at a blue-chip company—and he’s doing so well there. He’s my son, isn’t he? He laughs out loud in relief. Normally, he would never burden his son with a financial matter. He was the head of the household, not Ashif. But he wasn’t asking his son for money. Of course not! He would never do that. He just needs his signature, that’s all. And who better to vouch for him than his own son? Mansoor’s shoulders begin to soften, his mind, too. He can finally relax. His son will be here soon and then everything will be fine.