An absurd and borderline psychotic idea flashed through my mind, but the depths of my desperation left me with little room for hesitation. With a swift motion, I reached for my backpack, extracting my trusty laptop and the external drive. The dim room provided minimal illumination, with the soft glow of my laptop screen serving as the sole light source.
Just as I was about to begin, the door swung open, and my perpetually frost-resistant roommate, Nancy, strode into the room. How she managed not to succumb to hypothermia while wearing skirts in the middle of winter remained an inexplicable feat.
My laptop powered up, and I connected the external hard drive, initiating the process of downloading the sensitive information I had pilfered from Dean O'Conner's receptionist. Swiftly, I executed a code manipulation to make my tracks undetectable and untraceable by the university's security systems.
"Geek," Nancy quipped, her arrival accompanied by a theatrical gesture of throwing open the curtains, flooding our shared space with blinding light. She paraded over to her full-length mirror, half of the room, which was essentially an overdose of all things pink – pink silk sheets, a pale pink dresser, pink accessories, you name it. Staring at her decor for too long would have been a surefire recipe for eye discomfort.
Ignoring her commentary, I continued my work. She perched herself on the floor before the mirror and commenced the seemingly never-ending process of applying more makeup to her already heavily adorned visage. The sheer volume of cosmetics that adhered to her skin defied the laws of physics, deserving of some kind of award.
"Did you choose to spend Thanksgiving alone, locked in this dorm room, because no one can stand being around you?" she jested, smearing another coat of eyeliner.
"Nancy, I know you love the sound of your own voice, but if you could stop speaking, I'd appreciate it, so I don't lose more brain cells," I replied with an eye roll.
"I'm a philosophy major, darling, and the beauty of freedom of speech is that I can say whatever I want," she asserted, complete with a hand-on-hip flourish.
"I believe you've mistaken philosophy for political science," I observed, genuinely amazed by her ignorance.
"It's all the same; I've still got free speech, darling," she asserted, maintaining her defiant posture. With a father fully involved in politics, it made sense how she followed in his footsteps, even if it meant surrendering any independent career choice. The thought of her holding any sort of leadership position sent shivers down my spine.
"People demand freedom of speech as a replacement for the freedom of thought they discard," I stated as I continued my laptop activity, while my download report indicated it was nearly finished.
"Nice loser poem. Where'd you steal it from?" she retorted with a smirk.
"Socrates?" I replied without lifting my gaze from the computer.
"Damn it! Is it even in English?" she inquired, sporting a look of bewilderment. I finally tore my eyes away from my computer, chuckling.
"Socrates? The Father of Western Philosophy?" I mentioned. "Psssh, that's my major. I think I'd know about him if he were real, you moron," she quipped before exiting the room, slamming the door behind her.
Thank heavens. She's finally gone.
Refocusing on the screen, I saw that the download had been completed. I scrolled through the acquired files, in pursuit of my target.
Let's see how precious your investors are, O'Conner.
I accessed the designated file and scanned the list of names, filtering them to reveal the top three investors:
Toi Soto - Donation: $750,000
Keith Baum Saxophone - Donation: $1.3 million
Of course, Stacey's father contributed over a million; no wonder they let her run amok around here. I rolled my eyes and proceeded to examine the rest of the list.
Daniel Vino - Donation: $4 million
I began to investigate the credibility of each of these individuals, meticulously gathering information about their backgrounds.
Toi Soto had earned his Ph.D. from Stanford as early as 2008 and conducted substantial charitable operations in developing countries. Despite my twisted inclinations, I couldn't bring myself to pilfer from someone who dedicated their resources to aiding the less fortunate. So, I ruled him out as an option.
Keith Baum Saxophone was a politician gearing up for a presidential campaign the following year. He was renowned for his corrupt dealings and willingness to be swayed by the highest bidder. Plus, he birthed my ever-charming roommate. Moreover, he was currently at the top of my list.
Daniel Vino, on the other hand, was an mystery. The information I gathered was scanty: he was a businessman living in Italy, graduated from Stanford at a young age of 22, held a Ph.D. in Business Administration and Psychology, with an IQ of 200, and was very wealthy.
My journey then took me through the entire roster of U.S. banks as I probed their databases. With relative ease, I dismantled their firewalls and cybersecurity measures, setting the stage for my infiltration. Initially, I sought Keith Baum Saxophone's financial holdings. His numerous accounts were brought to my attention through a series of pop-up alerts. To my surprise, he was drowning in debt, with frequent weekly withdrawals of hundreds of thousands of dollars from Las Vegas casinos, thanks to his less-than-savory penchant for gambling.
Disgraceful luck for you, Nancy. I couldn't help but laugh.
However, it wasn't possible to rob an empty vault, so I pressed onward, this time setting my sights on Vino. Initially, his accounts appeared straightforward, boasting several hundred thousand dollars in each. Delving deeper, I unearthed several secret offshore accounts in Italy, which posed a more challenging task. It took significant effort to breach their elaborate security measures, but I eventually cracked the code. I gasped at the staggering numbers being shuffled around. Billions of dollars lay scattered across different accounts. The largest account balance read $534 billion, an amalgamation of deposits and a handful of recent transactions and withdrawals. It was surprising, to say the least, this is incredible, truly mind-boggling. I have never seen such wealth before. I only needed $300,000, yet Vino was sitting on a goldmine, utterly oblivious to the fact. Would he ever miss a million or two? Perhaps... $1 million would suffice. My task was to transfer the money from Italy to a domestic account without leaving a trace. I hurriedly set up my own bank account, fortifying it with robust security measures to remain unnoticed.
Next, I pondered the need for a cyber alias to protect myself in case someone managed to infiltrate my defenses. If, by some miracle, a hacker were to compromise my coding, my alias would serve as a secondary line of defense, ensuring that my true identity remained concealed. Rather than my actual name, a code in the form of an alias would surface.
A five-letter word and a three-digit number, the kind of combination that sent every coder into a fit of frustration. That's what I needed for an alias.
A smirk played on my lips as I typed in the alias:
Shield 555.
After finalizing the security for my bank account, I resumed my analysis of Vino's assets. My trembling hands paused as the gravity of my actions began to sink in.
He's in Italy, and he probably wouldn't even notice. He's so obscenely rich that he might not even realize it's gone. But what if he does? He has resources; he could have me extradited... What if it's a crime? Could I be convicted?
My mother wouldn't have another chance... but then again, without the money, she'd die... I can't back out now... My mother didn't raise a quitter.
I revised the transfer amount to $5 million, believing in the age-old adage: Go big or go home. My fingers moved across the keyboard at a frenetic pace, preparing the transmission code over the wires. My heart raced with adrenaline, a pulse of life surging through me. I felt invincible, electrified by the moment.
The exhilaration was short-lived, and I swear I felt my heart skip a beat as I pressed the enter key, initiating the bank transfer. I got up and started pacing the small hallway, trying to calm my pounding heart. I looked at the clock: 11:00.
Damn, isn't it too early in the morning? Fuck Italy, they're 9 hours ahead. Is it too late for them to do that?!
25% complete
Hell. This is actually happening.
33% complete
I'm a fucking criminal. Prison. I can't survive prison!
47% complete
I immediately regret this decision.
68% complete
I just had to be a greedy bitch and up to 55 million. What the hell is wrong with me?!
82% complete
Sweaty. Why am I so sweaty?
99% complete
Downloads paused and stayed at 99% for life.
This is it. I'm caught. I screwed up... I screwed up badly. Maybe I could run away... find a way to get to Mexico or New Zealand... change my name to Yolanda and dye my hair blonde and-
DING
WIRE TRANSFER COMPLETE.
My body went rigid, and I stared at the screen in disbelief. 5 fucking million dollars had been deposited into my bank account... millions of dollars. I sat there, dumbfounded, my heart pounding, i was slowly having a panic attack. Eventually, I dragged my trembling hands back to the keyboard and booked the next flight to Seattle.
This will be the first Thanksgiving where we feast on turkey.
A wide grin enveloped my face, so intense that it ached from years of minimal muscle activation due to constant frowning.