I said. “Your grandmother told you the wrong thing.”
He lowered his hands.
“She meant well,” I said. “She loved you. She wanted to protect you. But she taught you that the clothes make the person. That if you dress right, you belong. And if you dress wrong, you don’t.”
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“Isn’t that true, though?” he said. “Isn’t that how the world works?”
“It’s how bad banks work,” I said. “It’s not how good ones work.”
I pointed at the shoebox.
“George never looked at a single person’s clothes,” I said. “Not once in fifty years.






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