Chapter 6: The Gold Bar Dilemma

I stroked the gold bar like it was my own child—the color, the weight—I was smitten.

It was warm from my hands, impossibly dense. I flipped it over, imagining what I could buy—a new car, a better apartment, maybe even a down payment on a real house in the suburbs.

I rushed home, searched Reddit for guides, consulted tech friends, and finally managed to recover the deleted data from his phone.

I pulled an all-nighter, eyes burning from the screen. I posted on hacker forums, DM’d old classmates, and ran every recovery tool I could find. Finally, around dawn, I got a hit—the phone’s backup files, hidden deep in the system.

But now I faced a dilemma: what about Marissa?

Her face haunted me. I’d promised to help her, but now I was holding a gold bar that could change my life. My conscience and greed wrestled for control.

I’d promised to help her escape Mr. Nolan’s clutches. Was I going to break my word now?

I stared at the bar, then at my phone, then back at the bar. My stomach churned with guilt, my palms slick with sweat.

On one hand, there was a beautiful girl who had nothing to do with me; on the other, a generous, trusting boss. My conscience and greed waged war inside me.

I told myself I owed him for the money, the trust. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was about to make a terrible mistake.

So I decided to check my boss’s phone first, to see what secrets he was hiding.

I opened the photo album—no pictures of Marissa, just some work photos and chat screenshots.

There were photos of whiteboards, spreadsheets, a few selfies at company parties. Nothing incriminating—at least not yet.

He must have used a hidden album app, but as long as the files were stored locally, I could find them.

I dug deeper, looking for encrypted folders and hidden apps. The phone was a maze of security, but I’d seen worse.

I connected the phone to my computer, poked around, and dozens of folders popped up.

There it was—a folder disguised as a calculator app. I bypassed the password, heart pounding.

Turns out, my boss was an underground “artist.”

Inside, I found hundreds of photos—some innocent, most not. My skin crawled as I realized what I was looking at.

I found a folder called “How to Photograph Cute Girls with a Phone.” Inside weren’t photography tips, but nude photos of more than a dozen victims!

My hands shook as I scrolled through the images. Each file was dated, labeled with first names. Some of the girls looked barely older than Marissa.

I realized immediately—this guy was a serial offender.

A chill ran through me. He wasn’t just a creep—he was a predator. I thought about all the times I’d driven him around, all the errands I’d run. I wondered how many other people were complicit, just like me.

I grabbed my phone, ready to call the police. With Marissa’s testimony and this evidence, even with his powerful connections, once the police got involved, he’d be finished. No one would dare protect him.

My thumb hovered over 911. I imagined the courtroom, the headlines, the relief on Marissa’s face. For a moment, I was ready to do the right thing.

But then I looked at the gold bar on my desk—and hesitated.

It glinted in the morning light, a silent promise of a better life. I thought about everything I could lose—my job, my freedom, maybe even my life.

Now I understood why he didn’t just Venmo me, but gave me a gold bar instead.

No paper trail, no digital record. Just cold, hard temptation. He knew exactly how to buy my silence.

A gold bar is tangible. Just looking at it, my sense of right and wrong blurred. I couldn’t bring myself to give it up.

I squeezed it in my fist, trying to convince myself it wasn’t real. But it was. It was all too real.

I’d heard that in the South, folks catch raccoons by putting marshmallows in a box with a hole just big enough for a paw. The raccoon grabs the marshmallows but can’t pull its fist out, and won’t let go. That’s how they’re caught.

My grandpa used to tell that story in his thick Georgia drawl, laughing about the greedy raccoon. Now I realized I was no different. I was trapped by my own greed.

It’s easy to laugh at greedy raccoons—but when it’s you, how easy is it to let go of what’s in your hand?

I stared at my reflection in the window, gold bar in hand, wondering if I’d ever be able to let go.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Marissa.