PART 5: My Grandfather Went to the Bank to Withdraw Money for His Tractor, but the Teller Humiliated Him and Called Security
My Grandfather Went to the Bank to Withdraw Money for His Tractor, but the Teller Humiliated Him and Called Security
I stared at him.
“Thirty-one percent?”
“From the stock he bought in ‘86,” Tom said. “He never sold a share. He’s never taken a dividend. Not once. In thirty-eight years. He reinvests every penny.”
He looked at Grandpa.
“He’s the largest shareholder of Prairie State Bank,” Tom said. “He’s on the board of directors. He’s been on the board since 1986. He’s never missed a meeting.”
“He’s never missed a meeting,” I said slowly.
“First Tuesday of every month,” Tom said. “Seven p.m. In this office. In overalls.”
I turned to Grandpa.
“Grandpa,” I said. “Is that true? You go to board meetings? You own a third of the bank?”
He shrugged.
“Somebody had to keep an eye on it,” he said.
“And this building,” Tom said. “This one. The new one. The glass doors and the gray carpet and the coffee machine.”
He looked at Ashlyn.
“When we decided to remodel two years ago,” he said, “we needed a loan. A big one. Four hundred thousand dollars.”
He shook his head.
“No bank in Des Moines would give it to us,” he said. “We’re too small. Too rural. Too much farm exposure.”
He looked at Grandpa.
“Earl guaranteed it,” he said. “Personally. Against his farm. Again.”
“That’s why his name is on the deed,” Tom said.
He looked at Ashlyn.
“Ashlyn,” he said quietly. “The man you called security on. The man whose license you held up to the light. The man you told to stick to the ATM.”
Ashlyn was crying now. Silently. Mascara running.
“He paid for the carpet,” Tom said, “that he tracked mud on.”
Nobody said anything for a long time.
Then Ashlyn spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Mr. Doyle. I’m so sorry.”
Grandpa looked at her.
For the first time since we came into the office.
He looked at her for a long time.
“Miss,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“When you looked me up,” he said. “On your computer. What did you see?”
Ashlyn swallowed.
“Your account,” she said. “Your balance.”
“And?”
She looked at Tom.
Tom nodded.
“It was—” Ashlyn stopped. “It was a lot, Mr. Doyle. A lot of money.”
“How much?”
She hesitated.
“Two hundred and ninety-one thousand dollars,” she said. “In checking.”
I stared at my grandfather.
“And you still asked me for two forms of ID,” Grandpa said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And held my license up to the light.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And asked me what the money was for.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
Ashlyn didn’t answer right away.
She looked at her hands. Her perfect pink nails.
“Because I thought you were being scammed,” she said.
Grandpa didn’t move.
“Last month,” Ashlyn said. “I’d only been here three weeks. An older man came in. Eighty-one. A farmer. From out by Wesley. He wanted to withdraw fifteen thousand dollars in cash.”
She swallowed.
“He said it was for his grandson,” she said. “His grandson was in jail in Mexico. He’d gotten a phone call. The grandson needed bail money. Right away. Cash. He had to wire it through a Walmart.”
Tom closed his eyes.
“I gave it to him,” Ashlyn said. “I didn’t ask questions. He had the money. It was his account. He had ID. I gave it to him.”
She was crying hard now.
“It was a scam,” she said. “His grandson was in Des Moines. In college. Fine. He’d never been to Mexico. The man lost fifteen thousand dollars. His whole savings.”
“They trained me,” Ashlyn said. “After that. Tom sent me to a training. In Des Moines. On elder financial abuse. They said older people withdrawing large amounts of cash are the number-one sign. They said to ask questions. To slow it down. To get security if they seem confused or agitated.”
She looked at Grandpa.
“So when you came in,” she said. “Eighty-four. Asking for two thousand in cash. For a tractor part. Which didn’t make any sense to me. I didn’t know tractor parts could cost that much.”
She wiped her face.
“I thought it was happening again,” she said. “I thought somebody was taking advantage of you.”
The office was quiet.
“That’s what you were thinking,” Grandpa said. “When you asked me questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you held my license up to the light.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grandpa nodded slowly.
Then he said something I didn’t expect.
“Then why’d you say people in your situation?”
Ashlyn went very still.
“You didn’t say people your age,” Grandpa said. “You didn’t say people who might be getting scammed.”
He held up his cap.
“You looked at my boots,” he said. “And the mud on your carpet. And my overalls. And you said people in your situation.”
He put the cap back in his lap.
“What situation did you mean, miss?”
Ashlyn didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
“You meant poor,” Grandpa said quietly. “Didn’t you.”
Ashlyn put her face in her hands.
“And when the lady behind me laughed,” Grandpa said, “you smiled at her.”
He looked at her.
“And when you called Tommy,” he said, “you held the phone up so everybody could hear. And you rolled your eyes.”
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