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And then who are we a bank for?”

They fought for weeks. I heard them through the wall sometimes, when I brought coffee. Shouting. Pounding on the table.

Ezoic

In the end, George did something I’ll never forget.

He mortgaged our house.

Our little yellow house on Elm Street. The one with the roses. He took out a mortgage on it and put the money into the bank’s reserves. Then he mortgaged his father’s farm. Two hundred acres. He put that money in too.Open Bank Account

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He told the board that