Infinity

He lived alone and he didn’t have many friends. Yet someone was knocking. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries and the landlord didn’t give him any notice about a visit.

Whoever it was, they’d knock a few times and then leave. Or so he thought.

The knocks came in threes, then stopped for a few seconds before they started again.

By the clock on David's computer, five minutes passed and the knocks continued.

His neighbour might complain if they went on too long, and he couldn't afford another fight with the landlord.

The peephole showed a man in a black suit standing outside his door. White shirt, black tie, black briefcase. The Mormons were persistent, he had to give them that.

"Not interested, thank you," David said.

He didn't bother opening the door, but he kept his eye on the peephole, which revealed that the visitor didn't budge.

"Mr. Sangster, I think you'll want to hear what I have to say. Give me five minutes and you won't regret it."

"Or I can just call the cops," David said.

Maybe not Mormon, but definitely a salesperson of some kind. He was in the middle of a job application and didn't need this distraction now.

"I can help you David, your debt could be gone if you just give a few minutes of your time."

"Your script isn't working. Run along." David was already punching 9-1-1 into his cellphone.

"About $18,000 right?"

His hand froze with the phone halfway to his face.

"Still there Mr. Roland?"

David opened the door and signalled for the visitor to enter. The man looked to be in forties, and was someone David didn't recognize.

"Do I know you?"

"No."

"Do you work at the bank?"

"No."

"Then how do you know about my debt?"

"I'll make this quick, like I promised. But you'll need to let me talk for a bit. Mind if I open my briefcase?"

"Fine, what's your name?"

"Thomas Reynolds." The man said as he put the briefcase down on a small table in the foyer.

He pulled out a black notebook from an outer pocket of the briefcase. Then he opened the main compartment and revealed a bag of cash. A large Ziploc bag, like the ones David was used to packing sandwiches in, had pile after pile of $50 bills sitting in it.

"Do I have your attention?" Thomas said.

"Maybe."

"This money is yours if you can just sign this page."

Thomas opened the black notebook to a page marked with a red sticky note. The page was a contract. White printer paper had been printed out and pasted onto the notebook page. The page beside it was the same.

David could see the print from where he stood, a few feet away from Thomas. There was little print, but the big black letting spelled out two things:

1. The signatory of the page owned the money that was transported to them by a "Thomas Reynolds."

2. The notebook must be kept in order for the money to be kept.

Thomas laid the notebook and a pen down on the table, atop the money, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a driver's licence.

Thomas Reynolds.

"If you don't want the money I'm happy to leave," Thomas said.

"Is this a prank?" David said.

Thomas put his licence away and started closing the briefcase.

"Wait," David said.

"You know this isn't normal. Why are you here? Who put you up to this?" David said.

"People a lot more powerful than you or me. Keep the money, follow the one rule and you don't have to worry about who's behind this," Thomas said.

"It's stolen isn't it?" David said.

"I can leave with it if you want."

"Just wait."

"I can't wait for too long David."

More money than David had ever seen at one time was sitting a few feet away. Some stranger was saying it could all be his. Alarm bells were ringing but the green paper called to him.

"Ok I'll sign."

"Follow the rule David, and you'll be fine."

Thomas left faster than he came in, leaving David in his foyer with the fear that police were going to kick his door down any second.

Of course it was stolen.

He Googled "Thomas Reynolds," wondering if a story about a robbery would come up with a mugshot of his visitor front and center.

He got a LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram. A realtor. No breaking news. Just older stories referencing Thomas' thoughts on new developments in the city.

David Googled every employer Thomas had listed on his LinkedIn, no stories concerning $20,000 that went missing.

He put his phone away and pushed the notebook aside to look at the cash. Maybe there were only real bills on the top, and he'd find shredded paper filling the rest of the space.

He dumped the bag out onto the floor, and bounded stacks of bills hit the ground. He picked one stack up and loosened the rubber band. Each bill looked like the last. Real $50 bills, as far as he could tell.

There was only one way to verify if any of the bills were real. David took one bill from the stack and randomly selected one from another stack.

He rushed to put shoes on before heading down the street to an Italian restaurant he'd been avoiding for the past few months. The food was great, but left a hole in his wallet.

He ordered three plates to go, clocking in at $70. He handed the $50 bills over, knowing that the restaurant scanned every $50 to ensure it was real. The scan went through without a hitch and David soon had $30 in change.

Twenty minutes later he returned home with his meals and a spring in his step.

Why did he have the money? That question didn't seem as important as the fact that it didn't appear to be stolen, and it was real.

He Googled some of the different names that came up in the notebook. One Facebook account after another, but no crime stories. After the fifth search, he felt more secure and stowed the notebook away.

#

The first week was still filled with uncertainty. There would be brief moments of elation, followed by hours of worry. Every noise David heard outside his door were cops getting ready to haul him away. Every stranger whose gaze lingered on him was an undercover agent tracking his movements.

David deposited small amounts of the money into his bank account, hoping to avoid the tax implications or legal trouble of a large sum. He avoided any big expenditures that could draw attention to himself; living frugally with an endgame in mind.

Each time he deposited $100 into his account, and then put that $100 straight to his debt. Seven months later, he was debt free.

He spent minutes at a time looking at his bank account, admiring the $0 in on his credit card and credit line. It was his Mona Lisa.

The notebook remained in a bedside drawer, untouched for a long time. He pulled it out in a moment of triumph and finally tossed it in his garbage bin. He was free.

#

One week later David opened his bank account, planning to pay off a small payment on his credit card. Instead of a $50 balance, it was back to $2,000.

He refreshed his phone. The balance remained. He checked the credit line, it was back to over $15,000.

His laptop showed the same thing. His heart rate was probably going up, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't feel anything. His mind was somewhere else, sifting through the past seven months.

A prank. That was his first guess, and it was a thought that left him a while ago. Maybe he had fallen for something. Some cruel game where they got his hopes up and punctured the balloon months later.

Had the government stolen his money? It was never his money though. Did he owe someone money now?

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. He was cautious. He didn't attract attention. They never told him to keep a low-profile but he did, just to be safe.

As his mind continued going through the last seven months he remembered one thing they told him not to do.

He rushed outside, not even putting shoes on. The hot concrete barely registered as he ran to the apartment's garbage bins.

He opened both bins, to see that they were both empty. Sunday, past 2 p.m. Garbage day, it was gone.

He felt sick, literally. His stomach started churning, his throat and mouth went dry. It started as a dry heave, but a few seconds later he was vomiting.

#

"We saw one large withdrawal yesterday,” the bank rep told him.

"My account doesn't even allow me to take out that much at one time," David said. His stomach was still sore from earlier. He was in no condition to go to the bank in person but he might have to if things weren't sorted soon.

"An account change was made online five days ago."

David hung up. What would he say to a manager? There would be questions about where the money came from, and he didn't have a good answer.

His door knocked. He wasn't expecting anyone.

He checked the peephole, and saw Thomas Reynolds outside. He had a briefcase again. No suit this time though, just black jeans and a red T-shirt.

"What do you want?"

"You broke the rule David. The money is gone-,"

David opened the door and signalled for Thomas to enter. There was no need for his neighbours to get wind of this.

"How do I get the money back?"

"You do what I did, get someone else to take a notebook and $20,000. Once they take this $20,000," Thomas said as he gestured to his briefcase, "you get yours back."

Thomas opened the briefcase, revealing stacks of $50 bills.

"If you take any of this money, they will know. Trust me."

"That's why you came to me," David said. "You broke the rule. You threw away your notebook."

"I threw away this notebook David. It popped up on my door today, with a note to bring it to you. Otherwise my money goes too."

Thomas opened it and David saw the page with his signature. Thomas flipped to the next page, showing a blank contract.

"They are everywhere, but they are reasonable. Get someone else to take this and your money will return. That's a promise. You need to find someone."

"Didn't they send you to me?"

"No, I used to work at your bank. I had access to random accounts, found yours and went from there."

David's mind went back to Thomas' LinkedIn page. He was a financial advisor with the bank at one point. At the time he was focused on finding criminal activity. He never even thought of how he was found. The money distracted him from that.

"Is this some game for them?" David said.

A puppet master was somewhere above him. Or maybe it was just a child pulling the legs off a spider.

"Maybe, but that's all I'll say. I've benefitted from it and so have you. The briefcase is yours now, find someone David. Good luck."

With that, Thomas rushed to the door and headed out. The sound of his footsteps on the stairs made it clear he was running away, probably worried David would try to force him to take his delivery back.

David looked at the notebook and the briefcase ahead of him. It made him feel heavier, the air felt thicker.

It was a nightmare, but maybe there could be an end to it. He knew he wanted the money back, and he knew plenty of people desperate to get their hands on $20,000.