The White Paper · Chapter 11
This is the white paper's final chapter — THE PEOPLE'S FUND. The white paper itself serves from the bank's public window; while the whole system keeps a quiet month, this chapter holds here, complete, in the same voice. Read it beside the full white paper.
Reverse banking means this: an ordinary bank takes your money and gives you a promise. This bank takes nothing and gives you a meter. Everything in this chapter follows from that one reversal.
A reserve is a promise unless it can be used, and then it is a fact. The bank's reserve is not a number on a screen that a stranger asks you to trust. It is metered, signed energy held in the vault — and it proves itself the only way a reserve can prove anything: by working.
Every coin burn is the reserve being tested in public. The coin is surrendered, the vault releases one real kilowatt-hour, and a machine does real work — measured second by second, witnessed by the meter, sealed in the signed chain. If the reserve were short, the burn would fail in front of everyone. It does not fail. Function is the proof. You are never asked to trust the vault; you are invited to watch it work.
A number can be printed. A working wall socket cannot.
Every deposit that enters the People's Fund splits three ways, and the split is written into the contract itself, not into a policy. 45% accrues to the citizens' pool — the share that belongs to the people, every week, forever. 20% flows to the bank's operations — set once, at deploy, to the sovereign's treasury. And 35% flows to the World/Land Restoration Safe — the second hot wallet, holding both sides of every coin, dedicated to restoring the planet: spent the way the Court of Conscious Aware Peers chooses, with the sovereign's veto as the guard.
Immutable means immutable. No vote can quietly move the split. No signature can tilt it toward the house. The rule does not live in a document that can be amended; it lives in the chain, where the arithmetic executes the same way every Friday, no matter who wishes otherwise. 45 of every 100 units of the bank's income is the people's income, and 35 more go to the world, by law of the contract, not by favor.
The citizens' pool divides equally among the registered citizens — per person, not per token. Wealth never multiplies welfare: a citizen who holds more coins claims the same share as a citizen who holds one. The share is equal because the person is equal.
The weekly cadence rides the bank's existing Friday mint. The mint computes; the split executes; citizens pull their share all week. There is no lockup, no vesting cliff, no waiting room — the pool is the pool, the person is the person, and the week is the week. The bank gives on a schedule you can set a clock by.
The registry holds one allocation per human — forever. No purchase can add a second one, and no sale can move yours. The claim is a hash of a person's browser shape plus a weekly salt: no name, no address, no tracking — and no reuse. One hash, one human, one line in a registry that never forgets.
This is the anti-oligarchy clause. Every system that allocates by wealth concentrates; this one allocates by personhood, and personhood cannot be bought in bulk. The registry's forever-ness is not a cage — it is the wall that keeps one person from standing in line as ten. One human. One allocation. One share. Every week.
The bank's whole trust argument fits in one breath: claim a coin, burn it, receive one kilowatt-hour. Mint and burn stand 1:1 in both directions, forever — minted only from metered energy, burned only into delivered energy.
The burn is deliberate. It is the one act a skeptic can perform alone, at any hour, with no account and no permission — and it answers the question every promise hides: does this actually work? A coin that burns into a running machine is a fact. A coin that cannot is a brochure. The bank does not publish brochures. Burn a coin. Watch the meter. That is the whole argument.
The People's Fund is fed by three streams, and every drop of all three passes through the same immutable 45/20/35 split:
1. THE TOLL
A half-percent toll on transfers — half a cent on a dollar of movement. The bank's roads are walked constantly, so the toll gathers without ever being felt, and every step on the road feeds the people's pool.
2. THE ABUNDANCE LOOP
The bank's commercial returns — the machinery it builds and the services it runs — cycle back into the fund. The bank grows by giving, and its earnings give again: the loop has no exit into a private pocket.
3. THE RESERVE SURPLUS
When the reserve runs ahead of what the vault must hold, the surplus is released by governance call — the people's council deciding, in the open, to give the surplus to the people it belongs to.
Three streams, one split, one pool, one share each. That is the whole machine — and it never once reaches into the reserve to fund it. The vault only ever grows.
The bank gives to the people and does not take from the people. Everything above is just that sentence, made of meters and signatures and Fridays.
KEYS → SEAL → CHAIN → GATE — the four-stage trust over every number
The bank gives. One human. One allocation. One share. Every week.