“Now I know.”
He changed things at the bank that summer.
Little things.
He took down the sign that said THREE FORMS OF IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED FOR ALL CHECK CASHING. Heartland’s corporate sign, from the policy manual. He called Des Moines and argued with the compliance people for two weeks. In the end, they agreed: for existing customers at the Millbrook branch, one form of ID would do.
“Or none,” Brandon said, “if Shelly knows you.”
Compliance didn’t put that in writing. But everybody understood.
Ezoic
He put the peppermint bowl back on the counter. The glass one. Shelly found it in a box in the storage closet. He filled it every morning himself.
Ezoic
He started learning customers’ names. He wrote them in a little notebook he kept in his shirt pocket. Earl Lindquist. Ruth Abernathy. Marlene Voss. Miguel Ruiz.
He went out to visit the farms. He started driving out once a week, in his jeans and his sneakers, to walk the fields with the farmers who had loans. He didn’t know anything about farming. He asked a lot of questions.
