The Case of The Bank With No Money: A Shocking True Crime Story

Quinton M. Allen, a 31-year-old from Detroit, walked away from a Saginaw County, Michigan, probation residential center—an alternative to prison or jail for convicted men and women—on June 21.

He resurfaced five days later, Friday, June 27, when Quinton walked into the Mercantile Saginaw Virtual Branch and Lending Office on State Street.

Notice the word “virtual” in the bank’s name? That’s because it’s part of a new breed of banks that don’t keep any cash in the vault. Not a penny. Not a dollar. Customers have to make appointments to conduct their banking business.

Well, Quinton didn’t know that.

So, on this tropically hot, steamy late afternoon, he marched into the Mercantile Saginaw Virtual Branch and Lending Office at around 5:30 p.m.—about thirty minutes after the cashless bank had closed—and said he wanted to cash a check.

The only employee left inside, a 40-year-old woman, looked at the check and knew right away that it was a phony.

But that didn’t really matter. Because, as you know by now, there was no money in the bank.

She tried to explain that to Quinton. He refused to take no for an answer and attacked the woman with something sharp from her desk. Fortunately, she managed to push the alarm button, and within moments, police swarmed the area.

They set up a perimeter, closing one of the township’s commercial districts. The blockades shut down about half a mile of State Street, between Center and Wieneke roads.

Police weren’t just concerned about the woman inside—they also had to manage crowd control. Behind the barricades, a large crowd gathered, everyone holding phones in the air, taking videos and photos like Beyoncé was about to walk out of Mercantile.

A negotiator called the branch. The woman answered and passed the phone to Quinton. For the next two and a half hours, he spoke to the negotiator.

No progress. Nothing the cops said could sway him. That is, until Quinton realized just how thirsty a person can get robbing a bank with no money and holding a woman hostage in 90-degree heat, with soup-thick humidity—and no air conditioning.

The bank’s central air had shut down for the night.

Quinton told the negotiator he was dying for a Faygo Red Pop.

Soon, he would be.

A state trooper—probably a rookie—ran into a convenience store across the street and grabbed a 24-ounce bottle of the beverage that’s practically a religious icon on the east side of Michigan.

She brought it back to her commander, who tied the bottle to a cable attached to a drone. He gave the “thumbs up” to the drone operator, and it went airborne toward the bank.

Ah, that bottle of pop. No one in Michigan would dream of calling it a “soda.” That’s something only non-locals do—like folks from New York or Boston who think the Michigan town of Orion is pronounced like the constellation.

Word to the wise: it’s not. The town is called “OH-ree-ahn,” not “oh-RY-an.” Same goes for Lake Orion.

Anyway, back to the story.

Quinton sees this beautiful, ice-cold bottle of Faygo Red Pop floating through the air. The drone stops at the roofline of the building and lowers the bottle so Quinton can see it.

It’s so close. So damn close.

Quinton—sweating like a bank robber stuck in a bank with no money, surrounded by dozens of hot, sweaty, and heavily armed police officers—figures out how to open a window and reach for the pop.

It’s not easy. He drags a table over, kneels on it, and leans out the window.

He’s dying for that Red Pop.

One second later, a Michigan State Police sniper on top of an auto parts store across the street squeezes off a perfect shot.

Quinton did die for that Red Pop.

Author’s Note: The woman—the bank employee—was quickly removed from the building and taken to the nearest emergency room. She went home that night.

How do you think she felt reporting for work the following Monday?

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