By the weekend, you'd pitched it to three friends. By the end of the month, you'd almost convinced one of them to join. Then you tried to open a bank account.
You brought the paperwork. You brought it again. You brought a shareholder in person. Someone asked for a minimum balance you didn't have. Someone didn't understand what a startup was, and didn't care about your vision - you were just another line on a bank teller's Monday.
Your first customer paid into your personal account. You told yourself it was temporary.
You raised a pre-seed. Cash sat in one place, invoices in another, receipts piled up in a third. You hired your cousin to keep the books - the one your mum has been calling a math connoisseur at every family gathering since you were kids. Turned out he wasn't.
You tried a fractional CFO who answered emails on Tuesdays. You tried the AI tools, the ones that sound certain about a spreadsheet you copy-pasted in last week. None of them lived where your money actually was.
A board member asked what your runway was. You said "around nine months." You went home and opened the spreadsheet. You weren't sure then either.
It shouldn't take a weekend to file your receipts. You shouldn't have to go through being ghosted by a Fiverr freelancer. It shouldn't take a spreadsheet, a bank app, an AI tool, and your cousin "CFO" to figure it all out - your money is in one place, your answers are in another.
Every founder has a version of this story. Most are still living in it.
A corporate account for startups, with everything else built in.