Jake sat in the gutter, staring at his phone screen. Rain dripped from his hair onto the cracked glass.
One million dollars.
The numbers didn't make sense. They couldn't be real.
His hands shook as he wiped the screen. The notification was still there. Glowing. Impossible.
**BANK ALERT: $1,000,000.00 DEPOSITED**
Below it, that strange message in a font he'd never seen before.
**TRILLIONAIRE SYSTEM ACTIVATED**
Jake's brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Systems didn't just deposit money into broke delivery drivers' accounts. This had to be some kind of mistake. Or a scam. One of those things where they put money in your account and then steal everything when you tried to use it.
He pushed himself up from the gutter. His knees nearly buckled. Cold water sloshed in his shoes with every step.
There was a bank across the street. The ATM glowed blue in the rain.
Jake stumbled toward it like a drunk. His fingers fumbled with his wallet. The debit card slipped out twice before he managed to jam it into the slot.
Please enter your PIN.
He typed it in. Four numbers he'd used a thousand times.
Select account.
Checking.
His balance appeared on the screen.
$1,000,247.83
Jake's stomach lurched. He grabbed the side of the ATM to keep from falling over.
It was real.
The money was actually there.
His checking account, the one that usually showed $43.12 if he was lucky, now had seven figures in it.
"This isn't happening," he whispered. "This can't be happening."
He selected withdrawal. The machine offered options. Twenty dollars. Forty. Sixty. Other.
Jake pressed Other with a shaking finger. Typed in the maximum the ATM would allow. Eight hundred dollars.
The machine whirred. For a horrible second, Jake thought it would flash an error. Insufficient funds. Account frozen. Something that would prove this was all a hallucination brought on by having his life destroyed.
Then bills started sliding out.
Twenty after twenty after twenty.
Jake grabbed them with both hands. The money was real. Crisp. New. He counted it twice. Eight hundred dollars. From an account that shouldn't have enough money to buy groceries.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out with cash still clutched in one hand. Another message. Same weird font.
**CONGRATULATIONS, HOST. INITIAL FUNDS VERIFIED.**
**TASK 1: SPEND $1,000,000 IN 24 HOURS**
**REWARD UPON COMPLETION: $10,000,000**
**FAILURE PENALTY: LOSS OF ALL FUNDS + SEVERE CONSEQUENCES**
**TIMER BEGINS NOW**
**TIME REMAINING: 23:58:34**
Jake watched the numbers tick down. Fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-seven. Fifty-six.
"No." He shook his head. "No, no, no. This is insane."
**SPEND $1,000,000 LEGALLY WITHIN 24 HOURS OR LOSE EVERYTHING**
**FAILURE TO COMPLETE TASK WILL RESULT IN ACCOUNT SEIZURE AND ADDITIONAL PENALTIES**
**DO YOU UNDERSTAND?**
Two options appeared below the text. YES or NO.
Jake's thumb hovered over NO. He could just ignore this. Walk away. Pretend none of it ever happened.
Except the money was real. He was holding eight hundred dollars of it.
And the message said consequences if he failed.
What kind of consequences?
His hand was shaking so hard he almost dropped the phone. He pressed YES before he could think about it too hard.
**EXCELLENT. YOUR 24-HOUR WINDOW HAS BEGUN. GOOD LUCK, HOST.**
The countdown continued. Twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes.
Jake leaned against the ATM. His mind was racing. A million dollars. Twenty-four hours. The message said spend it legally. That ruled out just handing it to random people on the street. The IRS would show up asking questions he couldn't answer.
He needed to buy something. Something expensive enough to make a real dent. Something that wouldn't get him arrested.
Cars.
The thought hit him like electricity.
He could buy cars.
Jake's jaw clenched. Six months ago, Elena had dragged him to a dealership. Elite Motors on Fifth Avenue. The kind of place that sold vehicles worth more than most people's houses.
She'd wanted to look at a Mercedes. Just window shopping, she'd said. Just dreaming about what they'd buy when Jake finally got a real job.
The salesman had taken one look at Jake's worn-out sneakers and clearance rack jacket. Told them they were wasting his time. Said Elite Motors was for serious buyers, not people playing pretend.
Elena hadn't spoken to Jake for three days after that. Too embarrassed by the whole thing.
Jake pulled up the address on his phone. Fifth Avenue. Forty-minute drive from here.
He looked down at himself. Soaking wet. Covered in filth from the gutter. He smelled like garbage and defeat.
Perfect.
His scooter was still parked outside the hotel. Jake walked back, keeping his head down. The last thing he needed was round two with hotel security.
The engine sputtered when he turned the key. Come on. Not now.
It caught on the third try. Jake twisted the throttle and pointed the scooter toward Fifth Avenue.
The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time Elite Motors came into view. The showroom blazed with light. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed off the inventory like jewels in a case. Ferraris. Lamborghinis. Bentleys. Cars that cost more than Jake used to make in five years.
He killed the engine and climbed off. Water dripped from his clothes onto the perfect pavement.
Twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes left.
Jake checked his reflection in the showroom window. He looked like a homeless person. Hair plastered to his skull. Jacket torn at the shoulder. Jeans stained with gutter water.
He pushed through the glass doors anyway.
The showroom hit him with a wall of warmth. Everything gleamed. The floor. The cars. Even the air seemed expensive. Soft jazz played from speakers he couldn't see.
A red Ferrari sat in the center like a piece of art. The price tag was visible even from the entrance.
$340,000.
Jake's wet shoes squeaked on the polished tile. He left a trail of water with every step.
A salesman looked up from a desk near the back. Mid-thirties. Sharp suit that probably cost more than Jake's entire wardrobe. His expression shifted from professional smile to barely concealed disgust in half a second.
He stood up and walked over. His nameplate read Marcus.
"Can I help you?" The tone said he already knew the answer was no.
"I need to buy a car." Jake's voice came out rougher than he intended.
Marcus looked him up and down. Took in the soaked clothes. The gutter stains. The beat-up scooter visible through the window behind them.
"Sir." Marcus folded his arms. "This is Elite Motors. We specialize in luxury and exotic vehicles. Our inventory starts at six figures. I think you might be looking for something more in your..." He paused. "Price range."
Translation: Get lost, you can't afford anything here.
Jake felt heat building in his chest. The same feeling from the hotel. When Victor called him useless. When Elena looked at him like he was something stuck to her shoe.
"I said I need to buy a car."
Marcus sighed like Jake was a child refusing to understand simple instructions. "Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you're dripping water all over our floor. And frankly, you're making our other customers uncomfortable."
Jake glanced around. An older couple near a silver Bentley was staring. The woman clutched her purse tighter when Jake's eyes met hers.
"I have money," Jake said.
"I'm sure you do." Marcus's smile was thin. Patronizing. "But Elite Motors isn't the place for browsing. These are serious investments for serious buyers. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave before I call security."
There it was. Security. Again. Like Jake was some kind of threat just for existing in their space while poor.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. The countdown glared at him.
Twenty-three hours. Eleven minutes.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Jake looked at Marcus. At the Ferrari. At the Bentley where the rich couple was still staring.
"Call security then," Jake said quietly. "But I'm not leaving until I buy what I came for."
Marcus's jaw tightened. He pulled his phone from his pocket. Started dialing.
"Last chance," Marcus said. "Leave now or I'm having you removed."
Jake didn't move.
Marcus raised the phone to his ear. His eyes never left Jake's face.
"Yeah, this is Marcus at Elite Motors. I need security to the showroom. We have a situation."
Jake just stood there. Dripping. Waiting.
This was going to be good.