Isabel Trigueros

At 8:32 that morning, everything changed. We were just opening the bank. I had just settled into my desk, logging into the system, when I heard shouting from the front. At first, I thought it was a customer arguing—people lose their tempers over the smallest delays. But this wasn’t that. The moment I saw the man with the scarf pulled up to his eyes and the gun waving in the air, something inside me went completely still.

I’ve worked in banking since I was 22. I’m 49 now. Numbers calm me. Balancing accounts, helping people get their first home loan, watching a young couple leave the branch smiling with their mortgage approved—that's the kind of thing I love. You don’t expect violence in a place like this. Not in San José, Costa Rica. Not in my branch.

They weren’t professionals. That was clear. One kept pacing and shouting, the other was trembling so badly I thought he might shoot someone by accident. They wanted cash, fast. But they didn’t even know how to access the safes. And what they did manage to grab—barely enough to cover a used car.

We were lucky. No one was hurt. A silent alarm did its job. Police were already on the way before the men left. They were arrested three blocks from the branch. I still remember how fast my heart was beating when the officers finally entered and told us it was over.

The real aftermath started later. One of my colleagues quit the same week. Another took a six-month leave. In meetings now, we still talk about it. Our manager encourages open conversation. Security has tripled since then—new cameras, panic buttons, guards trained for crisis response.

I no longer jump at loud noises, though I did for months. I’ve overcome the fear, more or less. But I scan faces more carefully now. I read body language instinctively. It’s not paranoia—just awareness.

Every time I walk into the branch, I remind myself that what we do matters. That helping people with their money is also helping them feel safe, prepared. But I’ve learned something else too: safety is never a given. It’s a fragile thing, and you only realize how fragile when it’s broken.