At my credit union, there is a member. He's a Latino man who comes in every month and forks over the reverse-side of a business card where instructions for a shared-branch cash-received loan-payment are written out for his brand-new 2021 Chevrolet Pilot. He doesn't talk too much, and although him and I have exchanged pleasantries in the past, he usually comes in, grunts, drops his cash off, pays his loan, and leaves. Let's call him Roque Barrera-Pimentel, a made-up name, but with very similar characteristics to his actual name. Generic enough for me not to remember it, but specific enough to not have any other members with the same name.

On that shared-branching account, there is also a joint signer. An Amelda Barrera-Pimental, his wife of 9 years.

(Side-note for people who don't know what shared-branching is: You can deposit or withdraw cash and pay car loans with your account at participating credit unions, even if you don't have an account with our credit union).

This month, Roque wasn't feeling too well. He was tired and couldn't make it to our branch after work, but the due date for his Chevy Pilot is coming near. Maybe he was overworked at his job at the restaurant, or maybe he was coming down with a nasty case of that RSV that's been going around.

He asks his wife if she can go pull out some cash from the ATM and pay his loan at our branch. "It's simple", he tells Amelda, his wife. "Go in there, toss them this business card with the instructions, give your cash, and that's that. Oh, and make sure you get a balance owed so I know where I'm at! You're on the account, so they should give it to you no problem". Amelda complained. He should know she feels shy around strangers and is self-conscious about her language barrier. Roque insisted. "You've done it once before, it'll be the same thing". You'll be in and out in no time.

Amelda takes the business card and heads towards our branch. She's a little bit nervous because she hasn't stepped foot in our institution since last winter and she doesn't know what to expect. The teller that helped her then is long gone.

She arrives at our sleek glass doors early one Friday morning. The place looks modern, professional, and empty. A smiling banker walks up to her and asks how he can help. She's fidgety, needs to get to work, and feels put on the spot. She digs in her purse for the card her husband gave her. As she sits down at his desk, she finds it and slides it over to him alongside her ID.

That banker is me, and I've never seen Amelda before. I look down at the other card she's slid over, and it's a business card for our branch, with the name of our credit union on it. It's slightly dated, the logo has a different font the card is weathered enough that I guess it was printed out more than four years ago.

The reverse of that card would tell me everything I need to know, and Roque made sure to always present it face-down. Amelda didn't know to do that, and I just stare at the card with my eyes scrunched trying to figure out its significance. "Maybe she pulled it out by accident", I think to myself.

Amelda says "Truck paymen please". She's holding $800 in her hand, and seems impatient.

I smile, nod my head and say "of course, Amelda. Give me a couple of seconds to pull up your account. As I'm about to begin typing, she interjects. "Not for me. For my husban".

I type up her last name in our system. Barrera-Pimentel. Only one match pops up. A Ricardo Barrera-Pimental, with no joint signers on his account. "Makes sense", I think to myself. "He probably got the loan in his name only and his wife probably pays the loan for him every month".

He has a small checking, nothing in his savings, and a vehicle loan for a 2021 Chevrolet Silverado.

I smile back at Amelda, telling her I found his account, confirming the name (Ricardo) and the vehicle's make and model with her. "How is Ricardo enjoying his Silverado? Does he like it?"

Amelda smiles at me and nods impatiently. I go ahead and take her cash and proceed with the payment to this loan.

I fail to notice that there's an ACH autopay set up. Had I for some reason looked at the past transactions, I'd have seen an ACH loan transfer from Bank of America, reliable as ever, on the 4th of each month. Ricardo Barrera-Pimental has never paid his loan with cash.

Suddenly, Amelda remembers what her husband said to her back home. "Excuse me!", she blurts out suddenly. "I need balance of loan too, please", she says to me with a strained smile.

My face tenses up with a sympathetic apology. "I'm sorry Amelda", I tell her. I inform her about our policies of not being able to disclose specific account information to non-signers.

She's shocked. Amelda insists it's her account, and that she's seen a balance before... a long time before, a nebulous before that may have been last year when she came in once before to do the same thing. I explain that maybe a previous banker bent policy for her, but that she needs to be on the account to receive account information.

Of course, if I had bent policy for her and told her that her husband's truck still had $45,000 left before being paid off, she would instantly have realized something was wrong. Roque's truck loan had been paid down on for years- four years, exactly, about as old as the business card he had used to write down his shared-branching instructions.

Amelda seems dejected. She felt like she had failed at her mission, and somehow, something went wrong. It's alright, though, she has her receipt- the proof of payment that she's crinkled up between her fingers. She pushes the chair back and gathers her coat.

Something is wrong. Something doesn't feel right. I call out to Amelda before she turns to leave.

"Amelda, are you sure you're on the account?", I ask in Spanish. I had been feeling lazy that day and hadn't wanted to use Spanish, but I had no choice now. She insists she is, and I ask her for her SSN. I tell her I'm going to make sure that I'm in the right place.

She gives me her SSN and I type it in my system to find... no matches. Somehow, she reads the confusion in my eyes. Maybe because I spoke to her in Spanish, she feels safe enough to say this. She doesn't want any problems, after all, and maybe honesty is the best policy.

"Maybe- there's a possibility-", she interjects suddenly. "The SSN, it's just for work, you know? So it's not... maybe it won't resolve to my name, because..." Her eyes are brimming with fear at this point, and I notice she's clutching her purse as if she's ready to leave in a hurry.

I'm confused for a second and then I immediately understand what she's trying to tell me. I wave her off. "Oh, no no. I don't care about that. It should still match to your account, regardless of...". I try a couple of other things, but for the life of me I can't find her. "Do you know Ricardo's SSN?", I ask her.

The atmosphere of confusion and consternation finally crescendos into a climax. Her brow furrowed, she interjects: "I know my husband's SSN, yes, but who is this Ricardo you keep talking about?"

Suddenly it all clicks. She unfurls the receipt in the palm of her hands. She does not have a Chevy Silverado like the receipt says. I notice the history of ACH transfers at the same time.

"We have a Chevrolet Pilot, not a Silverado. Look, it's written here". She reaches out and flips over the business card. On the back is written the familiar set of instructions. Instead of the name of our credit union, someone has written: Member's Community Financial CU, account number 1234567, Chevrolet Pilot loan, $800 cash payment.

The realization hits me like a tonne of bricks. I doesn't hit Amelda until I explain to her what just happened. She clutches her face and tells me she didn't mean to give Ricardo an early Christmas present. I've already voided the transaction and the machine spits out her bills. I find the account on our shared branching portal within seconds. It is indeed in both their names, with a Chevrolet PILOT, not a Chevrolet SILVERADO. Amelda gets the balance owed printed out on a receipt after all, with no holdups.

Amelda leaves relieved. I sit back in my chair and exhale. That nagging feeling that made me investigate more- even though a line had already begun forming at the door- had turned out right again. All I see is the messages from my supervisor on Teams telling me that we need to have a talk later about my time management. I read just enough to glance the following sentence: "A simple loan payment should not take you that long".