BANG! Trent shot up in his bed, heart pounding so hard against his ribcage it seemed to reverberate into his skull. It took him a few seconds to recognize the source of the noise as the clanging of dumpsters being emptied outside of his apartment. Trent breathed deeply to try and calm the thudding in his chest. He laid back down, but as the details from the previous night started to come back to him, his heart rate began to climb even higher. He knew it wasn't a dream, but still couldn't resist rushing out of bed to check the shoebox in the top of his closet.
Lifting the lid erased the lingering doubt that had crept into the pit of his stomach since opening his eyes. The fat bundles of fifty and twenty dollar bills lay right where he had put them after stumbling back to his apartment sometime around 3am.
Trent had suddenly found himself in possession of more money than he had ever had in his life. It didn't make him rich by any means, but he had already begun to daydream about how he could use it to start turning his life around. Trent wanted nothing more than to climb out of the shithole life he had found himself falling deeper and deeper in. He needed to think. He needed a cigarette. He needed a line.
Trying not to think about his last thought, Trent threw on his heavy parka and lit up a cigarette as he walked out the front door of his 4 bedroom apartment he rented on the east side of Toronto in Regent Park. The best part about winter was how it disguised his neighbourhood to look more or less normal. It was too cold for the crack addicts, prostitutes and homeless to loiter around outside and were confined to wherever it was these people went when it got cold. Shelters maybe. Hospitals or prison cells more likely. Whatever it took to escape the bitter cold that hadn't let up in weeks. As he walked, he couldn't help but realize that the reason he didn't want to see these people hanging around was because they reminded him of himself. He was becoming more and more like what he hated in these people and couldn't find a way out. Until now. Trent's mind returned quickly to the shoebox in the top of his closet and the endless opportunities it represented. Of course the first thing his mind did was calculate exactly how much cocaine he could buy. With that big of a purchase his dealer would surely give him a bulk discount...
Putting the thought of drugs out of his mind, he began exploring his options. He wasn't sure but knew that had around $100k, more that he had ever seen in his life, let alone in possession of. He needed to get the money safe somewhere. Trent smiled to himself at the thought of taking the shoebox to a bank teller and asking to open up an account. He could picture the look on the pretty blonde teller's face as she opened the box to reveal the crisp piles of cash. Suddenly more alert, drawing all sorts of conclusions as to where this man procured such a large amount of money. Protocol probably dictated that deposits this large be overseen by a manager, serial numbers tracked and immediate attention drawn from government agencies. No, the bank was not an option. Trent decided that he would keep the money hidden for now. He still didn't know how illegal what he had done was, and didn't want to draw any attention.
As he walked he began replaying the events of the night before trying to piece together the missing details. Booze. Cocaine. What was the pill he took? Ketamine maybe? Once he got started Trent became a yes man. Shots? Sure. Heroin? Why not. Anything to escape. He remembered a girl at the bar. Feeling the touch of her body against his. Pure euphoria from whatever was in that pill. Her telling him $300 and we could take the party back to his place. Stumbling out of the bar in search of an ATM, telling her he would be right back. Vomiting with the onslaught of fresh air attacking his lungs, sobering him just enough to realize how fucked up he was. Seeing the flashing ATM. And then everything suddenly in complete focus. He had not yet entered his card or touched the ATM, yet in front of him was series of options.
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Trent quickly looked around for the last person who used the ATM and took in his surroundings, but there was no one to be seen. He didn't recognize the street he was on, but couldn't have been more than a couple of blocks from the bar. He checked his watch. 1:53am. The screen flashed, bringing his attention back to the ATM.
"Do you need more time?"
Without hesitating he pressed the button labelled "Yes". Dumbass must have forgot to finish their transaction, thought Trent. His finger quickly moved to the $100 option. To his surprise almost immediately 5 crisp twenties shot into the slot below. This was too good to be true. The screen changed again.
"Please Choose a Transaction Below"
No way this is going to work again, though Trent as he selected "Withdrawal" and then $100 again. To his surprise another 5 twenties shot out of the machine. Trent's pulse quickened. He was vaguely aware that what he was doing was probably illegal. He justified it by telling himself that this would teach the last person to use the ATM a lesson. He could hear voices now, people must have started leaving the bars. He did not want to be seen at this ATM but couldn't resist giving it another try. Curious, he tapped "Account Balances". Trent had half expected to have already depleted the majority of this person's account with the $200 withdrawal. He reasoned that the type of person to leave an ATM without the card and still logged in was not likely the type of person to have a lot of money. The screen changed again and what he saw make his already accelerated pulse beat faster than ever.
"Chequing: $344, 215.78"
He couldn't believe it. Why would anyone have that much money in their chequing account? Didn't people with that kind of money hire people to manage it for them?
The voices from the people leaving the bars were getting closer, he needed to get out of there. Tapping the "Withdrawal" option again, he paused. If he selected "$100" again he would have the $300 he needed to bring the hooker back at the bar back to his shitty apartment. However his greed after seeing the massive amount of money in the account overcame his lust and he tapped on "Other amount". Trent quickly keyed in 1000 and hit withdrawal, expecting to see a message telling him the daily limit was exceeded. However, once again the machine starting spitting out bills, this time in $50 increments.
Trent could now see people on the street he was on, drunkenly stumbling in his direction. They were still far enough that they couldn't see his face, so he decided to try one last time. He doubted that anyone would remember his face, but didn't want to risk it. He chose "Withdrawal" and the then "Other amount" once again. Hey keyed in 10 000 and then froze, his finger hovering over the 0. He had no idea how illegal what he was doing was, but his intuition told him that the consequences for taking $200 versus taking tens of thousands of dollars would be very different. Whether it was courage or a decision making inhibitor stemming from the drugs and alcohol racing through his veins, Trent pressed 0 and then "OK". Immediately the machine starting whirring as 50's and 20's started pouring into the open slot. Without hesitating he began shoving the bills into the large pockets of the down parka he was wearing. The group of people were almost upon him and their loud conversation came to a sudden halt as Trent's frantic movements at the ATM drew their attention.
"Whoah, is that thing spitting out money?!", exclaimed one of the guys in the group and started moving towards the ATM.
Although the ATM was still pouring out cash, Trent did not want to be seen. Pockets almost full, he drew his hood and took off in the opposite direction of the approaching group. He ran as fast as he could, making last minute dashes down back alleys and side streets in case any one had tried to follow him. After several blocks, lungs burning, he ducked behind a dumpster in an alley just of a main street to catch his breath and listen for any pursuers. After listening for several moments he concluded that he was not being chased and relaxed a little. He was about to stand up to head home when he heard the soft crunching of tires on snow. Trent could clearly see the main street just off of the alley he was hidden in and was sure no one could see him in the pitch dark alley. A black Volvo slowly came into view and despite his hiding spot, the car slowed down as it passed the alley making the hairs stand up on his neck. The car did not stop, but Trent could not help but feel like the person in the car was staring right at him before it accelerated down the street and out of view.
