314

Akil’s snarky comeback was rudely interrupted as another right cross slammed into his jaw. The men beating him nearly senseless chuckled as they pummeled him with repeated punches, kicks and profanities “Get up motherfucker! Not so funny now are you, bitch?” said the largest of the group. “Yeah homey!” said another sarcastically as he pulled Akil up by his long dreadlocks, “We’re just getting started here.” The third man then landed a solid kick to the kid’s midsection causing him to reflexively double over in pain and gasp for air. All this because the 23-year-old found it exceedingly difficult to simply walk away when confronted by an asshole (or three) on the street. He did, additionally, since childhood, have a thing about being made fun of, and the men now violently accosting him, apparently found his disheveled manner of dress especially humorous on this particular cold and soggy San Francisco evening. Akil, slight in build but stubborn in attitude, did his level best to fend off the three much larger attackers, but to little avail. What felt like a brutal, half an hour-long ass-kicking (but in reality, was like, seven minutes) eventually came to a painful end as his assailants seemed to grow bored and threw him headlong unto a wet, smelly, decomposing trash heap in the dark alley where they had just pummeled him. Lying flat on his stomach, he could hear their laughter slowly fade as they walked away giving each other congratulatory high-fives, satisfied that they had sufficiently silenced the mouthy young punk. As Akil attempted to stand and steady himself, he fell forward to his knees clutching his stomach which had just been used as a heavy bag. Just then, something caught his eye when he noticed a glistening object in his peripheral vision. He spotted what looked like a small black, antique-looking notebook, the water droplets sparkling from the light coming from above the back door of one of the alley’s businesses. What caught his attention was the fact that in the dark and dirty alley, the notebook stood out as it was in uncharacteristically pristine condition. He picked it up, briefly inspected it, shrugged, and shoved it in his pocket as he staggered home.

Akil Simmons is what one might call a classic underachiever, a slacker… some might even stoop so low as to call him a bum. Although fairly intelligent, he lacked focus and railed against any and all forms of authority. Consequently, he rarely kept a job longer than a few months, and his small, cluttered, Tenderloin studio apartment visually articulated the story of an individual whose shit, was nowhere near together. He enters his tiny abode, navigates his way through an obstacle course of trash and dirty laundry over to the old, worn mattress in the corner of the room, collapses, and passes out from pain and exhaustion. As he is currently between employment engagements, Akil wakes sometime around noon the following day, still hurting from the previous evening’s activities. He stumbles over to the fridge, grabs a carton of milk and an old, unopen bag of frozen vegetables, sits at his tiny kitchen table, and pours himself an ample bowl of cereal. As he holds the frozen veggies to his throbbing temple, he ponders the events of the night before, he ruminates on how, in his mind, he had held his own (considering the fact that it was three-on-one) and a curious grin creeps across his lips. After breakfast, Akil takes a quick shower, gets dressed, and heads out.

He spends most of his unemployed days at a park near his home, the park is filled with people who live their lives, such as they are, on the street. This is definitely not the kind of park where you’ll see family picnics with happy children playing. No, you’re far more likely to step on a used hypodermic needle, or worse. Nonetheless, he likes to sit on a particular bench and watch the old, dispossessed men play chess like he used to with his grandfather when he was a child. His grandfather's passing, a few years prior, has left Akil alone in the world but watching the old men play brings back some of the few good childhood memories that Akil can muster nowdays. As he observes the gameplay, he suddenly remembers the notebook that he found the night before. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the notebook, it has a black ribbon tied around it, he unties it and opens the notebook. When he opens the book, an old, brass skeleton key falls onto his lap. The curious old key is very ornate with the number “314” engraved on it, Akil wonders what it could possibly open. Upon inspection of the notebook, he finds hand-written numbers. A single digit is written on each of the first dozen or so pages with a few random letters thrown in for good measure. The rest of the notebook’s pages are blank, save the last page which has “$” written in bold handwriting, circled, like for emphasis. This, of course, piqued Akil’s interest as the sum total of his pockets’ contents was somewhere south of four bucks and he, like many of us, often daydreamed about finding vast riches someday.

As he flips through the book, trying to figure out what the numbers could mean, only looking up occasionally to note the current chess game’s progress, he sees Gerald, four decades his senior and the only park dweller he knows by name. They speak often, just shooting the shit really, but Akil does consider him to be a friend… perhaps his only friend. Akil beckons Gerald to come over as he quickly thrusts the key into his jacket pocket. Gerald nods, walks over to Akil, takes a seat on the bench, and greets him with a gregarious “What’s up youngster?” Akil responds “Yo man, check this out” He shows Gerald the notebook and asks “What do you think these numbers are?” The older man takes a look at the numbers and without missing a beat says “Oh yeah, these are coordinates”, Akil responds “Coordinates?”, Gerald answers “Yeah man, when I was in the army I was trained as a cartographer. I drew maps and based on the number of digits, I’d say these numbers are longitudes and latitudes, minutes and seconds”. Akil, looking a bit puzzled asks “So you mean these numbers lead somewhere?”, “Yeah” Gerald responds, “Let me see.” Gerald takes the notebook, takes a pen from his pocket and rewrites the numbers together in the proper format. “By the looks of them, it’s not too far from here. If I had a map, I could show you.” Akil thinks for a moment and says “Nah, that’s cool, thanks a lot man.” And walks away. Akil, thinking that if there was any chance that these numbers, the old key, and the dollar sign in the book actually might lead to some money, he wanted to keep this bit of information to himself, at least for now. He went home and hoped that if he googled these numbers in the format that Gerald had written down, he would find the location to where the book led. He meticulously enters the numbers into his old cell phone’s search engine, and a map pops up with a street address, he clicks on the street view option and sees an old, boarded-up building in an industrial section of West Oakland. Akil gathers all of his change hoping he has enough train and bus fare to make it to the old building on the other side of the bridge.

As Akil sat on the Bart train, traveling beneath the San Francisco Bay, he wondered what it might be like to have some real money for a change, to not have to worry about where his next meal was coming from, to live in a decent apartment, to wear nice clothes. The train trip gave him time to think long and hard about what he had done with his life thus far, pondering the myriad bad decisions he had made, his total lack of motivation, and general antisocial attitude… Akil came to the inescapable conclusion that his life, such as it was, hadn’t really amounted to very much at all. The thought about the possibility of improving his life with the money he hoped that he might find at the end of this improbable rainbow was utmost on his mind.

After a long train ride and several bus transfers, Akil Simmons found himself face to face with the dilapidated, old abandoned building that he hoped might mean something good happening for him for once in his lifetime. The old building was huge and looked to have once contained dozens of large offices with hundreds of employees performing who knows what types of tasks, who knows when. He looked around to see if anyone was in the area and seeing no one, he went around to the back of the building to see if he could find a way inside. Dusk was rapidly approaching as he noticed that the boards on one of the first-floor windows was loose. Finding an old 2 x 4 on the ground, he used it to pry the wood off of the window. Underneath, the window had already been broken so he easily climbed through the opening and entered the dark, dusty old building. “Now what”, he wondered to himself pulling out the flashlight that he had brought. Just then he remembered that there was a number engraved on the old key, he pulled the key from his pocket and read out loud “314”. “Hmmm”, he thought to himself “Could this be the number of one of the offices?”. He began searching, looking for office number 314, hoping that if he found it, that this key would open it and that somehow, somewhere he might find the money that the “$” in the book eluded to.

He found an old stairway and headed to the 3rd floor, thinking that would be where he would find the office he sought. As he reached the 3rd-floor landing, he suddenly jumped back as a huge rat hurriedly crossed his path. After recovering from being startled by the oversized rodent, he shined his flashlight at the number of the first office and sees 301. He headed down the dark hallway where the office numbers increased. By the time he eventually reached 314, his heart was racing with the thought of what he might find, what he hoped to find, what he had to find. He tried the handle and the door was locked, he took the key from his pocket and as his trembling hand approached the lock, he could barely contain his anticipation. He tried to put the key into the door lock but alas, it didn’t fit. He tried again but there was no way this key was made for this door. Akil’s heart sank as he wondered if his entire trek was in vain, if after getting his hopes up that something good might happen for him at least once in his miserable life he would be disappointed, like always. Out of utter frustration, he yelled “Fuck!” and kicked the door so hard that it flew open. He shined his light inside and his eyes widened as he saw that room 314 contained rows of dozens of large wooden boxes built into two of the opposing walls. Each box had a brass keyhole in it, just the type of keyhole that his key was made for by the looks of it. However, all the boxes appeared to been already opened, as if they had been emptied decades prior. Akil nonetheless went to the nearest wall, looked into each dusty old box, one by one, and found them to be empty indeed. He swung around in the dark room, walked over to the opposite wall, and stopped in his tracks as he saw that one, and only one of the boxes appeared to be locked. He swallowed hard as he approached the closed box and slipped his key into the keyhole. He took a deep breath and low and behold, the key turned, and the box opened. He looked inside the box and saw nothing; the disappointment was now palpable. He reached deep inside and in the very back of the box, he felt something. His breathing quickened as he retracted a package, wrapped in old, yellowed newspapers that upon closer inspection were dated 1921. Akil slowly unwrapped the package, his eyes widened in disbelief as inside he found two bundles of $100 bills. A tear ran down his cheek and he sank to the floor with his new found fortune. Illuminated only by his flashlight, he counted his bounty and smiled wide as he now had in his possession, $20,000, more money than he had ever seen in his life. He shoved the bundles into his pockets and left as fast as he could, excited beyond belief, all the way home.

The next morning, Akil approaches the bank nearest to his home to deposit the cash (well, to open a bank account and deposit the cash). He approached the pretty, young teller and said proudly with an enthusiastic grin “Hi, I’d like to open a bank account.”, she replied, “What type of account would you like to open, sir?” “What you got?” he replied. “Well sir, we have a variety of accounts, there are savings, checking, money markets, CDs.” Not having much experience with banking, Akil places the two banded bundles of bills on the teller’s counter and asks “What kind of account would you suggest for this?” The teller looks curiously at the money and says “Can you hold on for a moment please while I get a manager?” Akil agrees to wait as the teller leaves, returning momentarily with the bank manager. The manager, Mr. Lee, introduces himself to Akil and says “Mr. Simmons, I hear that you wish to open a new account with us today” Akil nods in the affirmative, Mr. Lee then says, “I understand that you have some rather unusual bills that you brought in today. May I please see them?” Akil, now confused, responds “Sure, but what do you mean unusual?”, Akil hands him one of the bundles of cash. The manager takes out one bill, looks at it, and says “Well sir… these bills are a century old and in perfect condition… that, in and of itself is highly unusual, may I ask from where you acquired these notes, Mr. Simmons?” Akil thinks for a moment and says “Ummm, this money was left to me by my great grandfather, he recently passed away.” The bank manager offers his condolences and says something that Akil would never forget “Well, you do realize that each one of these bills is likely worth a lot more than its $100 face value, don’t you?” Akil’s eyes widen, he clears his throat and asks “Ummm, how much more?” The manager responds “Well I’m not sure exactly but I can call someone to come take a look and he can give you an idea. Do you mind waiting?”

Akil agrees to wait and takes a seat. Sometime later, a small, elderly gentleman enters the bank and is greeted by the manager. The manager asks Akil to join them in his private office. In the manager’s office, Akil is introduced to the diminutive, elderly gentleman, Mr. Friedmann. They all sit and Mr. Friedmann says “So young man, I hear you have some interesting currency in your possession, do you mind if I take a look at it?” Akil says “Not at all, sir” and hands the man the bundles. Mr. Friedmann removes one of the bills from its bundle and examines it slowly and carefully using a large magnifying glass. He turns the vintage bill over, from front to back several times, and sort of moans as he looks at it “Mmm… mmm.” Akil waits anxiously for the man’s evaluation to conclude and after several moments the man looks up at Akil over his bifocals and says “Well Mr. Simmons, I have only seen a few of these bills in my entire career as a professional numismatist, and never have I seen this many in one place and in such perfect condition! You have $20,000 face value, 1902 $100 gold certificates, these bills, however, were printed in 1921, evident by the image of John J. Knox here on the front left. Each of these certificates is likely worth in excess of $3,500 today, meaning you have in your possession nearly three-quarters of a million dollars. Akil’s jaw drops as he can hardly believe what he is hearing but Mr. Friedmann continues, “However, I would say at auction, a collector might pay upwards of $1.5 million for the bunch, perhaps more as this is quite a rare collection.” Akil nearly falls out of his chair hearing this news and says “Seriously!? This is crazy!” The bank manager walks over to Akil laughing heartily, slaps him on the back, and says “Congratulations young man! It would appear that your great grandfather thought a great deal of you… now, what would you like to do, sir?”

Six months have now passed and Akil sits alone beside his beautiful pool outside of his small but beautiful home in an upper-middle-class residential area of San Francisco. With the gold certificates having sold for just over $2.5 million, due to a frenzied bidding war at auction, the now 24-year-old millionaire, recounts the curious journey that brought him here. He never really found out the full story behind the notebook, the key, or where the money came from, but considering the outcome, he wasn’t asking too many questions. One would think the fact that a windfall of this magnitude might cause a young man like Akil Simmons, from his socioeconomic status and troubled history to go a little crazy and blow a great deal of his newfound fortune on frivolous pursuits, however, inexplicably, the opposite is true. Six months prior, Akil had hired Mr. Friedmann to oversee the selling of the certificates at auction and during that lengthy process, their business arrangement evolved into a genuine and close mentor/mentee relationship. After the auction, Mr. Friedmann advised Akil on how to wisely invest his money so that he would maintain a level of financial security for many years to come. Akil was so tired of the daily struggle his life had become, that he was ready for a change, a change for the better, and with his investments performing as they were, he would have little to worry about financially if he just played it cool.

An ornate chess set sits next to Akil, he studies the board as his back door opens and a nicely dressed Gerald exits the house with two tall drinks. He sets the drinks down and takes a seat, he smiles warmly at Akil and says… “Your move, buddy.”

The End