20,000

They always told me that money was the root of all evil, but I never realized just how true that was. I am walking down the street when I get a phone call.

“Yes?”

“Hello, sorry to bother you, is this Angelica?”

“Um, yes, that’s me.”

“This is an employee at the Bank of America, and there is some suspicious activity on your account.”

“Oh. Would you mind telling me what this suspicious activity is?”

“An unknown account just deposited 20,000 dollars into your account.”

Immediately, I am thinking that is just too good to be true, therefore this response:

“Are you sure it’s my account?”

“Yes, we’re sure. We checked quite a few times. Since there’s no way to trace it, you are able to keep the money, if you would like.”

“Yes, I will let you know, thank you for telling me.”

I walk home in shock. A million thoughts are rushing through my head. My head is spinning. $20,000. And it’s all mine? This must be some sort of mistake. But the man at the bank said I could keep it. Maybe it was a prank.

When I get to my doorstep, I see a little black book. I’m hesitant to grab it, but my curiosity gets the best of me. I pick it up and take it inside my apartment.

I open the little black book and the first page writes, “I sent you the money. Think of this as an experiment. You may not ask any questions. You do not make the rules. I do. You have 24 hours to accept the money. If you do not accept the money, someone else will be held responsible. I will contact you once I know you are ready to begin.”

My mind is racing at a million miles an hour. No. That’s not right. It’s quicker than that. My thoughts are as follows:“Okay, so this wasn’t a prank. Well, it kind of is a prank. What am I supposed to do? Do I play the game? Do I accept the money? I’m kind of curious. But they do say that curiosity killed the cat. But no one is going to hurt me. But then again people have been killed over a lot less”.

I head to my room to lay down, and before long, the stress consumes me and I drift to sleep.

I dream of an accountant chasing me. Money is spewing from my pockets, leaving a literal paper trail. He keeps calling for help. But I can’t speak because every time I open my mouth, coins replace words.

I wake in a cold sweat. Despite my nightmare, I have made my decision. I am going to accept the money and play the game.

I go to my bank and ask to accept the money. A thought crossed my mind, “Maybe the person sending me the money works here, and that’s how they know everything.” On second thought, I’m probably just paranoid.

When I arrive home from the bank, surely enough, there is another little black book on the doorstep. I open it to the first page, and there is something different this time. “I see you accepted my offer. Good. I hope you’re ready to play. On the next page, is a list of names. I have also provided you with information on each of the people. Besides their names and a few facts, you do not need to know anything about their lives or who they are as a person. All you need to know is that each of the people on the list is struggling in some way. They need the money you have. And your job is to either help them or not. It’s your choice. I left it up to you. I’ll know what choices you make. I’ll be watching.”

I can’t help but peek through my blinds, but all I see is darkness.

Sure enough, when I turn the page, there is a list of names. Five names. Addresses. Bank account numbers. I guess I’m supposed to be like the new, modern-day Robin Hood. I give them the money or deposit it into their accounts. This seems like an easy enough choice. There has to be a way to trace who transferred the money. I analyze the handwriting. I trace my finger over each line, each dotted i or crossed t. I notice that the way they cross their t’s means that they are a dreamer. Their lowercase i’s represent them having big ideas, but being in a hurry. I throw the book across the room. This is pointless. There’s no way this’ll work. But maybe, I have an idea. I research the little black book and where it is from. Then, I contact the storeowners and ask them to give me a list of all the people who have purchased little black books. It’s ironic because I had to bribe them so I could know. I get the names, and write them down. Fortunately, it’s only three. I research what I can about these people. I found it. This name fits. It’s him. It has to be him. John Woods. I write down everything I can find, from his birthday to his mother’s name.

The next day, I purchase a black book, and on the first page I write, “I’ve been watching. I don’t know who you think you are, but I am the one in control. I am the one who makes the rules. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you? I know everything. Every thought you have, I know what it is before you’ve even thought it. I know what you are going to do before you do it. And I will make your life a living hell. You don’t have any time to accept this offer, because it isn’t an offer. This is a promise. Mark my words. I will destroy you.”, and I leave it on his doorstep.