Chapter 2: Secrets Behind Every Deposit

We were like two runners on a treadmill, stuck in place for five years, never even getting a real break.

The memory of our honeymoon—just a weekend in Nashville, crammed into a cheap motel—flashed through my mind. We’d promised ourselves something better, someday. Someday had never come.

Now, finally, we could catch our breath.

A wave of relief, sharp as a blast of cold water, washed over me. For the first time in years, I felt the tight band around my chest loosen.

But that was a lie. It wasn’t a bonus. It was... something I’d traded my time for.

And I didn’t even know if it would all vanish one day, just as suddenly as it appeared.

That thought haunted me. Every night, as I watched the numbers tick up, I wondered what price I was really paying—and if I’d see it coming before it was too late.

——

The next day at lunch, Marissa from accounting leaned over, grinning like she couldn’t wait to spill.

She always had the inside scoop, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper whenever something juicy was brewing.

"Hey, did you hear? Barry hit it big!"

My hand, stirring my coffee, froze mid-circle.

The spoon clinked against the cup, a little too loud in the break room.

"Hit what?"

"He got rich!"

Marissa pulled up her Instagram feed, flashing Barry’s wife’s latest post.

A Rolls-Royce Phantom steering wheel, a mansion’s backyard, and a swimming pool shimmered on her screen.

The sunlight bounced off the leather, the pool water a perfect turquoise. It looked straight out of a reality show.

Caption: "Thank you, babe. From now on, I’m living the good life~"

I stared at Barry’s proud smile in the photo, and a cold shiver twisted my stomach.

His eyes looked glassy, almost feverish. He grinned for the camera, but something about his face seemed off—like he was trying too hard to prove he was happy.

He chose the $140 million.

"Tsk, who knows where that windfall came from," Marissa pouted. "Last month he even borrowed two hundred bucks from me for gas."

She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was jealous. We all were, at least a little.

I ducked my head, took a sip of coffee, and kept my mouth shut.

The bitter taste lingered on my tongue. I wrapped my hands around the mug, trying to steady my trembling fingers.

At the bottom of the cup, I could see my fingers shaking, just barely.

He chose the lump sum.

And I chose the "$1.50 per minute"—not knowing when it would stop.

Between us, who’s really the winner?

That question gnawed at me, the answer shifting every time I thought I’d settled it.

2

When my account balance broke a million, I stood in front of the ATM, finger hovering over the screen for what felt like forever before I finally tapped "Check Balance."

The little vestibule reeked of antiseptic and crumpled receipts. I wiped my palms on my jeans, finally daring myself to hit the button.

$1,032,480.00

The number glowed on the glass, like some kind of mirage.

I half-expected it to vanish, or for an error message to pop up, or for a bank clerk to suddenly appear and demand an explanation.

Seventy-one days.

A dollar fifty a minute, seventy-one days, and I’d managed to stash away half a down payment for a house.

I never thought I’d see six figures, let alone seven. My mind spun with possibilities—college funds, a new car, maybe even a real vacation for once.

I took a deep breath, my fingertips trembling as I snapped a photo—then deleted it right away.

It felt like if I stared at it a second longer, someone would discover my secret.

I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting a stranger to be lurking nearby. Paranoia was becoming my new normal.