One Week. $20,000. Spend it all.

I’m so, so sorry I chose those numbers.

You must have so many questions. I think it’s best to start at the beginning.

I was never really enamored with the idea of “winning big” on a lotto ticket and quitting my job. But as I was buying a coffee and gas down the street from my apartment, a new lotto game caught my eye. Typically those kinds of games have flashy, dynamic logos, so this ad that only read “$20K Gold Card Spending Spree” with plain, gold letters on a black background stood out to me. It didn’t give many other details, but it was only a buck to play.

My curiosity was worth a buck.

I requested a ticket and rattled off some numbers: a childhood address, an ex’s birthday, bits of an old phone number. I didn’t think it’d matter; I was just curious.

I’m not sure what I was hoping to learn from the ticket, but it didn’t help. Printed below my chosen numbers were the words “One week. $20,000. Spend it all. Conditions apply.” There wasn’t even a phone number or a website. Just my numbers, and those words:

“One week. $20,000. Spend it all. Conditions apply.”

Internet searches gave me no helpful results-- only links to other lotto games, articles on the miserable fates of winners, a writing contest, and more than a few references to a “Gold Card” accounting firm that specializes in helping lotto winners keep track of their money.

The dead end search results were enough to put my curiosity to rest. I didn’t even know how to find out what numbers were drawn.

The idea that I would win didn’t even cross my mind.

One Week.

I found out I won the next day when the envelope arrived in the mail, which I thought was strange because I didn’t remember giving my name or address. The envelope seemed as odd as the gas station ad: plain, gold text on a black envelope, and no return address, just the words “Open immediately. Your week starts now.”

Inside I discovered a golden debit card stuck to a single, folded sheet of paper. I expected pages and pages of text outlining the “conditions” of using this card, but the only new information was my pin, 0627.

I unstuck my card from the paper.

I guess my countdown started at that moment.

And I would soon meet my accountant.

$20,000

My memory of my first night is a little foggy since my buddies and I went out to celebrate. I’m sure I wouldn’t have noticed him then, even had I been of clear mind, but I’m sure he was there. Now that I know how this works, I’m sure he was there.

It wasn’t until the second day that I actually took note of him. I grabbed breakfast with the guys to recount the previous night’s misadventures, and as I fetched my card to pay, I saw a slender man, mid 50s, sitting across the cafe in a booth by himself, writing something in a little black book.

He looked miserable.

If you had asked me what I thought he was doing I might have guessed that he was an author crafting poignant prose in his Moleskine, but a sad man in a cafe wasn’t THAT out of place, even at that hour of the day, so I honestly didn’t give him a second thought-- not, until I saw him later that day.

For my first real purchase, I decided to trade in my car for something a little shinier-- new enough to be an upgrade, old enough to leave me plenty of money left over-- and from the dealership’s office, as I flourished my gold card to pay, out of the corner of my eye I spotted that same man sitting in the lobby. He was still writing in that book, and his mood hadn’t seemed to have improved. I started to grow suspicious. Had he followed me here?

I intended to chat with him on my way out, but the paperwork, even for buying a car outright, seemed endless, and in the minutes it took me to sign and collect everything, he had vanished.

It didn’t take long for me to discern the pattern. I pay for something with the gold card, and I see the man with the book. I’d never see him come or go, but he’d always be nearby, that same gloomy look on his face, always writing in that little black book.

By day four, I was fed up. I tried to confront him, but he always seemed to slip away before I could reach him. On one occasion I approached as he was closing his book, and I could read the cover.

“Gold Card Accounting”

He was keeping track of how I spent my money.

Once I started expecting him to show up, I tried to spend the money a little more charitably. I bought a month’s worth of food for a local homeless shelter, but I guess that didn’t impress him. Even then he had that same dour look on his face.

Then I tried to find loopholes to avoid him entirely. I tried buying pre-paid debit cards, but he showed up both when I bought the cards and when I spent them, so that backfired. I tried withdrawing and spending cash, and again he was present both at the ATM as well as when I spent the cash. When I figured that his appearance was tied not just to the card but to the money as well, I didn’t dare deposit the cash into any of my other accounts in case he decided to keep an eye on those too.

Had I known then what I know now, I don’t think I would have even bothered asking others if they could see him. I don’t think it would have changed the outcome, but it might have saved me some embarrassment in my final days.

Spend it all.

It was my seventh and final day. By this point I figured I had spent almost everything and planned on using the last $40 or so to fill the tank in my new car. I had my eyes peeled as I got out the card, expecting him to appear at any moment.

But he was nowhere.

I couldn’t see him. Even by the standard of this past week, this felt a little strange.

*Card declined*

I tried the card again, thinking it was a reader error, which had happened before, but after two or three swipes, I had the sinking feeling that something was drastically different this time. This wasn’t just a reader error. Something was wrong.

I used the gas station ATM to check my balance.

I inserted my card, input my pin -- 0627 -- and checked my balance.

*Balance: $-2.85*

I was out of money a little sooner than I had anticipated. I had spent it all, and a little more, but I had successfully managed to burn through $20K in a week.

I stood there, staring past the negative balance on the ATM screen as I reflected on the fever dream of a week I had endured. It was weird, but at least it was over.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but it was long enough that the ATM decided that I must have abandoned my transaction. It was the shredding of the card that snapped me back to reality. Without a doubt, there was no going back now.

In a daze, I walked back to my car by the pump, driver door still open, gas cap still dangling. I pulled out my old debit card that I hadn’t used in a week, paid for my gas, and drove home. I could never have anticipated what I’d find.

Conditions apply.

I thoughtfully unlocked my front door, hoping that maybe things could go “back to normal” when I saw him for one last time.

The accountant was in my apartment, on my couch, slumped to one side.

He was dead.

My heart was racing. I had no idea what to do. Do I call the police? If no one could’ve seen him before, would they have been able to see him then?

I called one of my buddies. When I first told my friends about the accountant, he was the only one who humored me, and even though I knew he didn’t really believe me, if I had to choose between him or the police showing up and finding an empty couch, I’d rather it be him. He told me he’d come right over.

It was when I was waiting for him that I saw the little black book on my kitchen counter.

Any clear-minded person wouldn’t have even touched it, realizing it might be “evidence,” but I was panicked, angry, and confused, and I wanted to see what, exactly, he had been writing about me this past week.

I opened to the first page, expecting to see my bar tab, my breakfast bill, or my new car listed among the entries, but these first expenses appeared to be from almost a century ago. Was this even my ledger?

Flipping through the book, I saw decades worth of expenses, none of them mine.

I flipped to the end, hoping to find my expenses so that I might make some sense of all of this when a single piece of paper, folded shut, slipped out and fell to the ground.

I picked it up and unfolded the paper.

It was a note. Addressed to me. From my accountant.

In the note he recounted how he, too, had unexpectedly won the lottery, had been given a golden debit card, and soon after realized that his every purchase was being observed by an accountant-- for him, an old, gray-haired woman. He too tried to confront her, then avoid her, but he too eventually learned to tolerate her.

He too overspent his winnings and, after discovering his observer dead in his house, he too discovered the little black book.

He expressed regret for how he had spent his last week alive, he feared whatever was coming next for him, and he offered his condolences to me, for now I was to take account.

It was then that I saw, at the end of my ledger, the day’s date on a blank line.

June 27.

0627.

It’s the day my buddy found me slumped over on my couch.

And it’s the day you won the lottery.

By now I’m sure you’ve realized that my story has been the same as yours this past week. You’ve seen me every time you swiped your card, and I’ve dutifully documented your every purchase. Let me tell you that I’m so, so glad you spent your money better than I did mine. You thought of your kids and your family first, and after you got them what they needed, you gave the rest away. I really admire that.

Sadly, my admiration can’t stop what happens next, because I’m afraid that you too overspent, and now you owe a debt that you can’t repay.

You may think you’ve just found my body in your home, but as you might have suspected, your family won’t discover my body. They’ll discover yours.

Had I had the chance to warn you, I would have, but as you'll soon discover, I’ve only ever been able to observe and record, never interfere.

I’m so, so sorry

I know there’s so much to take in right now, but I MUST urge you to take the next steps promptly. Attempting to delay will only result in undoing any good you did with the money while you were alive. I’m afraid I can’t know the extent of the consequences if you resist, but for the sake of your children and everyone you helped with your money, you must. act. now!

So please. You have to.

Choose the next numbers.