Back in the day, I'm talking late 80s/early 90s, once you had $50K in a bank, you got a "private banker." This person greased the wheels for you on routine banking matters, got you perks like sports tickets and invites to cool events like lectures (SunTrust sent me to see PJ O'Roarke one afternoon), and make you feel richer than you were. They did it because they wanted to sell you other, more profitable products, like securities they would manage for a fee, or, in the case of lawyers, trust accounts where they would charge large fees.
When Paul and I started our firm, we had been customers of SunBank, a local place later to become SunTrust. Our banker was Carole, still a friend and still in banking at 65, though at probably the 10th different bank since she started, on account of the fact that most of them suck. I always followed Carole with some business, like CDs, and we meet socially. In the big days, she would get us tickets to Pink Floyd, and U2 and each year 50 yard line seats to Fins/Jets. One year, when Paul and I referred the bank 8 figures of money to manage for our clients, they sent us Super Bowl tickets. Since the teams were not the Fins, we sold the tickets and donated the money to charity. Heady times.
Well, our firm never left SunTrust, on account of it was too difficult to disconnect all the auto debits and deposits, like from the IRS and health insurance carriers and car lease companies. Our "private bankers" would come and go with the frequency of whores at a Vegas sales convention -- we'd meet, be taken to lunch, they would try to lend us money, which we never, thankfully, needed, and go on and on about how they had unique benefits to offer -- like they were "law firm specialists."
I remember a few of the probably 20, only because they were very pretty women. We would always say we just needed competent banking services -- nothing more -- don't bother trying to sell us other financial products, as we were up to our ears in brokers and financial planners already.
Well, about 4 years ago, we were assigned a new flunky, Erik Alexander, who I never met in person, since he wasn't one of the aforementioned pretty women. He went on and on about how HE was going to capture much more law firm business in town, as it was his specialty. He promptly allowed our trust account to be debited for a monthly fee -- a no no. I called him screaming -- some law firm specialist who messed up the most basic thing law firms need -- keeping trust accounts perfect. It was only a few dollars, and not clients' money, so there were no repurcussions, but I made a mental note that Erik Alexander was the stupidest private banker yet in a line of stupid private bankers.
But years passed, and our banking went on routinely, until the other week. We got in a sizable check from another firm -- a case worked on long ago, involving asbestos, which finally paid off. The lawyer offered to wire in the funds, which I should have done, but told him to send me a check -- seeing large checks excites Paul and so I took a picture of it and sent it to him.
I took the check to my local Falls branch to deposit it, and the angry Black woman teller handed me the deposit slip saying "It won't clear for a WEEK because of it being big." I often try to resist quoting speech in a politically incorrect way, and I fail. That's ok -- I ain't no Academic nor running for office.
I replied it was ridiculous to put a hold on a local check from a well known firm, to MY firm, which was a client of the bank for nearly 3 decades. She just shrugged and gave me the classic "Uh huh." I left.
SunTrust was bought be another bank and became Truist, which is based, I have no idea. A lot of the long time staff left, like friends of Carole who were long timers, since Truist is apparently known for crappy service, especially in the "private banker" sector. Erik stayed, which probably ought to have told me he had no or few prospects elsewhere. But again, I required little. Until... (dramatic elipsis).
Yesterday our comptroller/brother in law called. He told me to write checks, and that his assistant Conni had arranged for the IRS to take their piece. But wait -- I needed to confirm the hold had been lifted, lest we bounce a check to the IRS, essentially. I went online. The hold was still on! Apparently, though, Conni missed the message of "Be ready to make the IRS payment" as "Immediately, TODAY, make the IRS payment." Rut roh, as Scooby says. I immediately called my private banker .
The referring lawyer, Angel, confirmed that Truist took the money as of January 16 -- so now a full 8 days had passed where they knew the check was good. Erik didn't answer, but his VM said if I needed immediate help, call his assistant Sharda in Orlando. She didn't answer either -- so much for "immediate help."
I figured I would just go to the Falls branch and have the manager there take care of lifting the hold before I bounced the check to the Government. Angry Black Teller (ABT) was there -- in no mood for me or anyone else. I told her I needed to speak to the manager, what was his or her name? I probably should have included "Their." She looked at her fellow teller nervously. "Um -- don't know." What? You don't know your branch manager's name? This is a bank -- not Walmart! "There's a lot of turnaround, and I done forgot it."
Whatever -- please tell the Wizard of Truist I need an audience. In the meantime, Sharda called me back. I explained the situation. She told me Erik and his boss were on a "whole day meeting with a HUGE client and couldn't be reached for several hours." Now I escalated into angry Dave mode, saying loud enough for everyone in the branch to hear. "I don't care if they're with their hedge fund guy on his yacht with cocaine and hookers -- I need someone to release a now 11 day hold on a local check!"
ABT came back. "The manager says he (aha!) can't help you. You a PRIVATE client -- only your PRIVATE banker can release the hold."
I stormed out, went home, emailed, texted, and called. Erik finally called me, all corporate speak "David, I will circle back to my supervisor and see if there can't be an accommodation reached to rectify this situation." I went into mean Dad/lawyer mode, as the Ds call it. "Erik. Stop. Release my funds. That's all. Sharda said you have the power to do it."
Nope -- he didn't or wouldn't. I got a call from Orlando from someone I assumed was a Truist lawyer. Nope -- he was just an Anglo version of Erik -- trying to placate me. Same corporate speak, about "aligning our interests" here. No -- just release my damned money NOW. He said "Well the hold is due to come off tomorrow, so there should be no problem. I called Dennis back -- the Orlando ninny was also wrong -- IRS payments over $100K go the same day -- the Government wants its float, same as any bank.
I then spent another hour transferring in funds to cover the IRS payment. It was a royal pain in the ass -- essentially giving our firm a single day loan.
I needed to vent more, and I called my banker friend Carole, recovering at home from a new hip implant, since my friends, like me, are all old now. She said Erik ought to teach a class on how NOT to be a private banker. At the least, Carole noted, he should have released the amount the IRS was going to pluck from our account. That never occurred to this functionary.
Anyway, as of this am, I went online and, sure enough, the fee funds had cleared. The IRS took their money. Now Paul and I will take some of OUR money. I reversed the emergency transfer.
Erik had promised to call me back yesterday. He never did. I just got a call from Truist -- the banker calling to close the financial barn door now that all animals have fled. Putzes. I plan to ignore them.
If there are any other checks of any size, they WILL Be wired in. I would leave Truist, but for all those connections for auto withdrawals. Plus, getting Paul to travel to Brickell for an in person meeting is no easy feat these days. Screw it -- Truist remains. Or rather, I remain, like a victim of domestic abuse.
I will close out all my personal accounts -- they aren't linked to anything. At least that will stop Erik's quarterly calls trying to get me to "invest wisely" with their in house brokerage.
So I had an epic First World, rich guy problem. Some of the money from the case WILL Go to premium alcohol -- to toast and make further fun of this epic example of modern banks are the worst.
I have a feeling there's better customer service in Venezuela.
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