The first person arrived outside National People's Bank at 5:18 the next morning.
The branch did not open until eight.
Still... He waited.
An elderly trader carrying a faded leather bag. .He stood quietly beside the locked gate. Bgt toy six o'clock, three more people had joined him.
By seven...The line stretched around the building. No one spoke much.
They simply held withdrawal slips tightly in their hands.
Across the capital, the same scene repeated itself. Different banks. Different neighborhoods. The same fear. The same silence. The same question hidden behind every anxious face. What if my money disappears?
Inside National People's Bank, branch manager Grace Owen watched the security cameras with growing concern.
She had managed that branch for almost fifteen years. She had seen elections.
Economic recessions. Political unrest.
She had never seen people arrive before sunrise just to withdraw cash.
One of the cashiers approached her.
"Ma'am..."
