How Big Banks Enforce Rules for Small Customers but Bend them for the Wealthy

I got my first lesson in a bank that didn’t give a damn about some of its customers over thirty years ago. I was a joint venture partner with a company that ran the merchandise concession at multiple venues in Orlando, FL. Those locations included the then-Orlando Arena, the Citrus Bowl, and the Bob Carr Auditorium, all owned by the City of Orlando. Over a dozen years, if you bought a hat, t-shirt, or program, and a ticket to a concert, play, or sporting event (except Orlando Magic games) at one of those buildings, chances are my company handled the sale.

Merchandise sales don’t just happen when you go to a concert. The “merch” typically travels by truck, arriving at the building early on the day of the show, for some events, the day before. A small tour might have a single guy driving a panel truck or van. Garth Brooks, in his heyday, might require a couple of semis for a multi-night stand.

We would physically count every piece of merchandise and agree with the supplier as to what they brought in. At the show’s end, we would count the returned merchandise. Anything not returned was considered sold. In those days, concession sales were about 80% cash, and for some events, we had a lot of money on hand at the end of the night. Most suppliers didn’t want a full cash payout but might want an advance for their road expenses; they would get a check for the balance later. My workers usually got paid in cash that night, along with my managers and teller(s).

The sales were carefully balanced against the returns and inventory for each merchandise stand because vendors were responsible for their shortages, if any. We compared the total numbers with the supplier and agreed on the amount they were owed. We accounted for any cash expenses, and the remaining cash was deposited in our night drop at First Union Bank into my joint venture partner’s account. Before the concert, I would have picked up ones, fives, and tens as needed to make change for customers during the event.

Some nights, the deposit would exceed $100,000. The teller I hired would place cash into sealable plastic bags provided by the bank. The standard practice would be to place bills into bags, recording the amount in each bag on the outside and which bag it was in out of the total number. For example, the information might say Deposit Amt: $20,000, Bag 1 of 7. The final bag would record the bag amount and the cumulative total. A plastic strip from the bag tears off, where we would have a record of each bag’s deposit.

We strapped bills of like denomination in groups of 100. A strap of 100 twenty-dollar bills is $2,000. Ten straps fit neatly into a bag, and as twenties were the most common denomination, there might be five bags containing twenties, at $20,000 each.

One morning, following a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert, I received a call from the bank saying we were $2,000 short. My review of the paper records shows that the amount we say we deposited matches the total, and each bag matches my records. I asked the bank which bag was incorrect. I learned that because of the amounts involved, the downtown branch that received the night drop didn’t count it; instead, it sent our deposit to an undisclosed counting center, where our money was tallied.

Tellers at the counting center were videotaped during the counting, making it seem easy to verify their numbers. It turns out the bank didn’t verify the amount in each bag; instead, it dumped all the bags into a pile and only calculated a total. I was not allowed to see the tape, so I filed a police report because $2,000 we definitely collected was now missing.

A day later, I got a call from a detective who said there was nothing they could do. The bank, for security reasons, doesn’t even allow the police to review their tapes. Everyone had to take the bank’s word that the missing money resulted from something that happened before it reached the bank.

For the record, it would be impossible to unseal the plastic bag, withdraw $2,000, and reseal it without it going unnoticed. A bag purported to contain $20,000 in twenties that only contained $18,000 would be noticed as well. The result was that I had to cover the $2,000 shortfall from my personal funds. I wrote letters to multiple people, including the President of First Union Bank, but nobody cared. This was my first lesson that if banks satisfy themselves, they follow proper procedure; even when they don’t, they won’t acknowledge or fix any errors. First Union Bank no longer exists as an independent institution. Its assets, branches, and operations are now part of Wells Fargo & Company.

“Per the enclosed cardholder agreement, we may limit or close your account at any time for any reason.”

In 2021, I moved to Palm Coast, Florida, and the bank I’d used in Orlando didn’t have a location there. I decided to open an account at Wells Fargo, where my now wife banked. I opened checking and savings accounts and applied for a credit card, which was approved with a $11,000 line of credit. I maintained my old checking account, into which my Social Security check was directly deposited. Initially, I barely used the Wells Fargo credit card, though after a couple of years, a trip to Europe saw that card reach a high balance, which was later paid back down to zero. I used it occasionally for travel, but the balance typically didn’t exceed 20% of the available credit.

In December of 2025, I was victimized by fraud at my non-Wells Fargo checking account. This occurred over a couple of months. Initially, an unapproved Western Union transaction was made, and after freezing my account and taking the maximum time they allotted themselves for review, the funds were restored. I wrote the bank about my concern for future fraudulent transactions, but they didn’t respond. When my Social Security check was deposited the next month, my bank account was wiped out. The fraudsters had made a change of address to a New York location and requested and received a new debit card. They made three ATM withdrawals for the maximum amount and a Western Union transaction for the balance. The bank, in their first and second reviews (taking well over a month), satisfied themselves that they made “no error” (I would hear those words again) and saw no unusual activity. A third appeal was eventually successful, and I got my money back. I closed that account and transferred my Social Security direct deposit to my Wells Fargo checking account.

Around the same time, I’d noticed some unusual activity on my Wells Fargo checking account. I called the bank, and on three occasions, on October 15, 2025, January 30, 2026, and February 10, 2026, my debit card was canceled, and a new one was mailed out to be received within 7–10 business days. For much of that period, I didn’t have ready access to either of my checking accounts, so I paid my bills with other credit cards, but not the Wells Fargo card with the $11,000 credit limit. Wells Fargo told me I could get cash from my account at a branch with ID, but I don’t pay my bills in cash.

In February of 2026, my wife and I paid for a portion of a March vacation to Curacao. We discussed how to pay for the plane tickets and decided to use the Wells Fargo credit card. Two $944 tickets brought the balance to just under $5,000. A short time later, when making a purchase, I received a text message saying I was nearing my credit limit, which I found crazy, since I had over $6,000 in available credit. I called the bank, which told me my line of credit had been reduced but couldn’t explain why. A letter had been sent that would explain everything.

About two weeks later, I received a letter telling me my credit line had been reduced by almost $6,000 and listing three vague reasons related to items on my credit report, which continually show my credit report is good. Wells Fargo itself evaluates my credit monthly across five areas, including payment history, which it rates as “Exceptional” with 100% of payments made on time. They also rate “Types of Credit” as “Exceptional,” “New Credit Applications” as “Very Good” (1 application within the past 12 months). “Credit History” is “Good” (only good because I closed out some of my oldest accounts), and “Current Debts” is “Fair” because I had used credit cards to pay bills during a period where I was being impacted by fraud.

I thought surely I could explain to my bank, Wells Fargo, with whom I had a relationship for five years, and which was now taking in more of my money than before, that they would understand once they knew the facts and restore my credit limit. They didn’t, repeating often that the bank hadn’t made “an error.”

During the two weeks I waited for the letter explaining the reduction of my credit line. Did my transfer of my Social Security deposit trigger Wells Fargo’s concerns? While they would never acknowledge age discrimination, is it possible they would engage in it? I looked at Wells Fargo’s history of misconduct. Between 2016 and 2020, they were involved in a Fake Accounts Scandal. Employees opened millions of unauthorized checking, savings, and credit accounts. They reached a $3 billion settlement with the DOJ and the SEC, which included criminal penalties and consumer restitution. This was one of the largest banking misconduct settlements in U.S. history.

Between 2022 and 2024, Customers were placed into mortgage forbearance without consent, damaging their credit and access to loans. The Class‑action settlement covered credit harm, fees, and lost access to credit. In 2018, the Auto Loan Insurance and Repossession Scheme forced borrowers to purchase unnecessary auto insurance, leading to wrongful repossessions. Wells Fargo settled with regulators and class‑action plaintiffs. Wells Fargo was alleged to have engaged in Discriminatory Lending and Redlining, and reached settlements with the DOJ and the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB). I am not suggesting Wells Fargo is worse than other big banks; they all have similar records. Given this, do I believe Wells Fargo wouldn’t mitigate risk by discriminating against their older customers? I do!

After using up internal avenues of appeal within Wells Fargo (I was first told there was no appeal process because I was “high risk, I contacted the CFPB, who, I can say, were prompt. I submitted an email complaint, which they forwarded to Wells Fargo immediately. I wasn’t expecting Donald Trump’s CFPB to be what Elizabeth Warren imagined it would be when it was created, but I gave it a chance. Their entire role seemed to be forwarding Wells Fargo what I wrote and relating the Wells Fargo reply. Wells Fargo stated that they made “no error.” The CFPB indicated the case was closed and there was no avenue for appeal.

“Per the enclosed cardholder agreement, we may limit or close your account at any time for any reason.”

At this point, I wouldn’t be shocked if Wells Fargo closed out my accounts, as they pointed out in their letters, they can do at any time for any reason. The takeaway is that while banks might make extraordinary allowances for big customers, they don’t really care about the small ones.

Deutsche Bank repeatedly waived credit‑risk rules for Donald Trump. They ignored internal credit‑risk limits, standard due diligence red flags, and restrictions triggered by Trump’s prior defaults. After most U.S. banks stopped lending to Trump following multiple defaults in the 1990s, Deutsche Bank became his primary lender. Internal bank documents and congressional testimony later showed that risk officers repeatedly warned against extending new credit, and Trump was classified internally as a high‑risk borrower. Senior executives overrode those warnings to approve loans anyway. Deutsche Bank ultimately loaned Trump hundreds of millions of dollars, including financing for Trump Tower Chicago and the Doral golf resort, despite internal objections.

JPMorgan Chase waived anti‑money‑laundering controls for Jeffrey Epstein. Chase ignored enhanced due diligence requirements, account termination triggers, and protocols for escalating suspicious activity. They continued banking services for Epstein for years, allowing large, unusual cash withdrawals, and failed to terminate accounts when internal compliance staff raised alarms. Internal emails later revealed that Epstein was treated as a “high‑value client” and that relationship managers pushed to keep him despite compliance objections.

The pattern is not subtle. Banks enforce their rules rigidly when customers are small, replaceable, or lack leverage, but those same rules become flexible when the client is wealthy, connected, or systemically important. This is not a breakdown of compliance; it is the system functioning as designed. Settlements are absorbed as operating costs, executives rotate, and the incentives remain intact. For ordinary customers, precision is demanded, and forgiveness is rare. For large clients, discretion appears where policy once stood. Until that imbalance is confronted through structural accountability rather than fines, the divide between “too big to fail” and “too little to care about” will continue to define American banking.