Charley woke up to Lucky's paws kneading his chest like a furry alarm clock with boundary issues.
Sunlight streamed through his cracked window, and for the first moment in months, he didn't feel that familiar weight of dread settling on his shoulders.
Then he remembered the card, and his heart started racing all over again.
'Okay, Charley,' he thought, gently moving Lucky off his chest. 'Yesterday you proved the card works. Today you figure out how to use it without ending up in federal prison.'
He made coffee with actual coffee beans instead of the instant powder that had been his staple for months, then settled at his laptop with the focus of a man whose future depended on understanding the enemy.
The enemy, in this case, being the entire American financial surveillance system.
Three hours of research later, Charley felt like he'd been punched in the gut by a textbook.
Banks reported cash deposits over $10,000 automatically to the IRS through something called Currency Transaction Reports.
But that wasn't even the scary part. The scary part was Suspicious Activity Reports—banks filed these whenever they detected "unusual" patterns, even for amounts under $10,000.
'So if I start depositing $9,000 every day, that's actually more suspicious than depositing $50,000 once,' he realized. 'The system is designed to catch people trying to avoid the system.'
Lucky jumped onto his lap and peered at the laptop screen like he was studying the research too.
"See this, Lucky?" Charley pointed at an article about structuring laws. "This is why lottery winners hire accountants. One wrong move and you're explaining your finances to people with badges."
Lucky meowed in what Charley chose to interpret as understanding.
The deeper he dug, the more complex the web became. Credit agencies tracked spending patterns. Social media algorithms analyzed lifestyle changes.
Even cell phone data could reveal sudden wealth through location tracking and purchase behaviors!
'I need a story,' Charley concluded. 'Not just a cover story—a whole new identity backed up by documentation that can survive investigation.'
He opened a new browser tab and started researching business formation. LLC registration, tax ID numbers, business bank accounts—the infrastructure of legitimate enterprise.
'Freelance consulting,' he decided after comparing options. 'Software consulting specifically. High hourly rates, project-based work, clients who value discretion. Perfect for explaining irregular income.'
The beauty of consulting was its flexibility. A successful project could justify a $10,000 payment.
A major client could explain a $50,000 month. And tech consulting was notorious for its boom-or-bust cycles.
By noon, Charley had filled out the online registration for "Dunst Digital Solutions LLC" and uploaded it with the state business bureau.
Cost: $125, paid with his dwindling legitimate funds.
'Money well spent,' he thought. 'This gives me legal cover for basically anything.'
Next, he built a professional website using a WordPress template and his genuine coding skills.
Nothing fancy, but it looked legitimate. It had case studies (completely fictional), client testimonials (written by him), and a portfolio of work that was technically possible even if it had never actually happened.
The hardest part was writing his bio without laughing:
"Charles Dunst brings over five years of experience in enterprise software solutions and digital transformation strategies.
His expertise in blockchain implementation and cryptocurrency arbitrage has helped numerous Fortune 500 companies optimize their technological infrastructure while maintaining competitive market positions."
'Complete bullshit,' Charley thought as he proofread it. 'But impressive bullshit that sounds like it should be worth serious money.'
Lucky had fallen asleep on his lap, apparently exhausted by the morning's research efforts.
By 2 PM, Charley had created profiles on three freelancing platforms, uploaded his fake portfolio, and set his hourly rate at $150—expensive enough to justify large payments, reasonable enough to be believable.
'Phase one complete,' he thought, leaning back in his chair. 'I now officially exist as a legitimate business entity.'
His phone buzzed with a notification. Someone had already viewed his freelancer profile.
'Maybe this cover story isn't as crazy as I thought.'
He spent the next hour planning his financial strategy with the methodical precision of a general preparing for war.
Week 1: Establish pattern of small consulting payments. Build legitimate business income. Move to better apartment.
Month 1: Scale up to mid-range projects. Start networking with actual business people. Create real client relationships.
Month 3: Launch significant projects that justify five-figure payments. Begin serious wealth accumulation.
Month 6: Transition to investment and venture capital activities. Start acquiring assets that generate legitimate returns.
'The key is patience,' he reminded himself. 'Rich people don't appear overnight. They build wealth gradually through consistent success.'
Lucky stirred and stretched, fixing Charley with a look that seemed to say, 'Are you done planning world domination? Because it's lunch time.'
"You're right," Charley said, closing the laptop. "All this planning won't matter if we starve before—"
His phone rang, cutting off his thought. The caller ID showed "Dad."
Charley's stomach dropped. His father never called during the day. Never called unless something was seriously wrong.
"Hey, Dad, what's—"
"Charley." His father's voice was tight, strained. "You need to get to St. Mary's Hospital. Now."
The world tilted sideways. "What happened?"
"It's your mother. She collapsed at work this morning. They think… they think it might be her heart."
Charley couldn't breathe. "Is she okay? Is she—"
"She's stable, but…" His father's voice cracked. "She's asking for you, son. She wants to see you."
"I'm on my way."
"Charley? Take a cab. Don't worry yourself too much."
The line went dead.
Charley sat frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear, while Lucky looked up at him with concerned yellow eyes.
His mother. In the hospital. Asking for him.
'Not now,' he thought desperately. 'Not when things were finally starting to turn around.'
But even as panic flooded his system, another part of his mind was already calculating. Hospital bills. Medical expenses. Treatment costs that could bankrupt a family even with insurance.
His hand moved instinctively to his jacket pocket, where the black card waited like a promise.
'Whatever this costs,' he thought, standing up and gently moving Lucky to the couch, 'I can handle it now. For the first time in my life, money isn't going to be the problem.'
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, his mind already racing ahead to the hospital, to his mother, to the first real test of what unlimited money could actually buy.
A test he desperately had to pass.
Behind him, Lucky meowed once, a sound that might have been encouragement or warning.
Charley didn't look back.