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37 - Financial Rights

Analise finished a second bowl of chilli and sat back in the chair.

She looked at the piles of mail. She didn't need the house-phone, so Mum could sort that one out when she got back; she dropped the red phone bills on top of the fan-mail. She did need to pay the rates. But did she need to pay the car? If she kept it in the garage, probably not; she added those bills to the fan-mail. Picking up the latest rates bill and her three letters, she went to the computer in the den. She opened her latest letter, it was from work.

"... unauthorised absence ...", "... unexplained absence ...", "... two ignored warnings ...", "... final warning ...", "... dismissed." She'd been fired! Under normal circumstances, she'd be in an ever-expanding pool of tears. But, in this particular present, she didn't care. "F*** 'em", was her only comment. She'd stared death in its howling, gaping maw; she could certainly find a new job ... when she wasn't so battered and bruised. She started to log on to pay the rates.

She had exactly $782.94 in her account, no $612.94 as she'd taken $170 out this morning for the phone and some cash. After the rates, she'd have $103.57, but she'd have been paid for Friday, so she'd have $267.29 - that wasn't going to last long, she'd need a part-time job. Then there was the power and food on her credit card. She reckoned she could survive until the next rates bill. Her fingers had finished logging on, she looked down to see if the on-screen balance agreed. It didn't.

"F*** ME!", she exclaimed. Her balance read $53,862.46 - it had to be a mistake by the bank. She scanned the last statement for an erroneous deposit, there wasn't one. What's more, the opening balance was not what she knew it had been - and it was over by $51,247.82! Someone was playing games with her, but they'd picked the wrong game - this was what she did for a living. She pulled up a list of opening balances - they grew steadily over the past two years by around $2,500 per month, never the same amount, some more, some less, no obvious pattern. She picked a statement at random. No single large deposit. Deposits had been subtly increased, withdrawals had been decreased. She checked the monthly interest payments - petty fraudsters always overlooked those - but a quick mental calculation showed they were correct for the shown balance each month. Grudgingly she accepted that whoever had done this was good.

She pulled up a list of direct debits - again they were meticulously consistent; correctly wrong. She pulled up a list of standing orders. "Ah ha!", she cried, "got you!" - repayments for her student loan were inconsistent. But there was a logical pattern to them if ... She opened another window and logged into her student loan account - it showed a balance of $0.03 - they owed her three simcents, she should have owed them $23,101.09 After a few more investigations, she said to the screen, "OK, so you're a f***ing genius." She was $76,596.29 richer than twelve days ago - that was some day rate! Her mind flashed back to the stacks of $1,000 Simolean notes on the bed in the beach hut - 7.5% commission wasn't bad either. She paid the rates, and the car bill. She thought about moving the money to different accounts, but whoever had done this would be able to follow anything she could legally achieve. She logged off and went to bed, offering up a silent prayer that there wouldn't be another storm. She didn't think her mind would survive another night like the last.

She lay in bed listening for the wind - thankfully it didn't come. She couldn't stay here, too much had changed ... no ... she had changed too much. She'd pack her few things and go and find Dad.

Except, he clearly didn't want to be found. She'd find the 'Milk Tray' man, she could be that kind of girl now. She cried gently as she remembered he was dead. Then she broke down and wept her heart out, as she recalled her twin sister's violent death. She drifted into sleep, warmly recalling the eerie sound of helicopter rotors and the beatific face with deep-brown eyes.