My Wealth Has Arrived

Chapter 1

I’m late today, which is rare. I’m not made that I’m late, I’m mad at the fact that my broken phone chose today not to wake me up on time. Just another thing on my list to, “get things fixed with money I don’t have.” It’s a good thing I don’t live too far from the Detroit Institute of Arts. This is where I am interning for pennies. I try to be grateful, but I can’t live off of $8.50 much longer. By the way, my name is Olamide, but people who know me well, call me Ola. It’s ironic because my name means, “my wealth has arrived,” but I haven’t been wealthy for some time now. At least not financially speaking. My love for anything art has made me wealthy in spirit and wellness. Which is why I am working for barely nothing just to be around art in hopes of expanding my vision for my docuseries that I am entering into the Moon Dance festival. I’m not an artist who can draw or paint, but I am a film artist. I have a bachelor’s degree in film, and have yet to utilize it. My passion is to produce independent films that possess substance, realism and life. So, here I am, working around more than 65,000 pieces of artwork to date and trying to be grateful for it.

“Good morning, dear,” said Iris, the sweet older concierge woman who greets me with a smile every day. Her husband passed a few years back, and she volunteers here just to be around people. I feel for her.

“Hi Iris,” I said as I head to the elevator doors. “How are you today?”

“I’m wonderful, dear. Have you had any luck?” She is referring to any luck with regarding my rent money. She’s always concerned and tries to help me, but I won’t let her.

“Not yet,” I say with a smile. I wave bye and get on the elevator.

I press 2 and my mind starts to worry about all my unpaid bills that I have to sort out later on today. If I don’t pay for my rent on time this week, my landlord will terminate my lease. I try not to think about it and replace my worry with positivity.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I say to myself.

As soon as I step off the elevator, my boss, Erwin Scott, is yelling my name. For what, I have no clue. We aren’t even busy, so I’m assuming he’s just in one of his moods.

“Yes,” I say.

“Where is the catalog that Joan mailed over? If I don’t have that catalog I can’t,” he stopped mid-sentence.

Before he could finish, I handed him the catalogue that has a sticky note on it. I left it on his desk yesterday, because I knew he’d be asking for it today. When I handed it to him, he snatched it, rolled his eyes, walked away and didn’t even say, “thank you.” I’m used to it by now. He can be very rude, so this was mild compared to what I’ve endured. I sit down at my cubicle in front of my computer and start going through my emails. Just as I start to get in the groove, my phone chimes with a notification. I don’t know who it could be from, due to me having zero friends, and the family I have doesn’t reach out. My mom passed away when I was 17, and I don’t know where my dad is. I have never tried to find him. For the past 7 years, it’s just been me.

“Are You Ready For Your Life To Change?” That is what the notification on my phone read. Weird, because it’s not a social media alert, but more like one of those mass alerts you get on your phone when there’s an Amber Alert. I opened the message and my eyes widened after seeing who it’s from. Spencer James, one of the best artist and film directors since forever. He created the path for many artists and is the epitome of creativity. He is my role model. The crazy thing about him is, nobody has ever seen him. I don’t know how he does it, but for the past 30 years, his face and whereabouts have been unidentifiable.

“Here’s the thing, throughout my long career as a successful artist, I’ve accumulated quite a lot of money. Money that I no longer have major usage for. Which is why I’m going to be giving some away. More than $30,000 worth. I know, unbelievable. Well, believe it. Here’s the catch, you have to find it. All over the city of Detroit, I have left artful clues around which may, or may not lead to some moolah. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make it a little quirky, right? So, have fun, explore, and happy findings! This treasure hunt starts, now!”

My heart is beating so fast. By the time I get off work, the money will be found. Then a brilliant idea comes to my head. What if I go around the city and film the treasure hunt? Even if I don’t find the money, what an experience it will be to be involved in one of Spencer James’ artistic events. I can’t pass this up.

“Olamide!” Eric yelled from his office.

I don’t answer. I don’t move. I just sit here and think. If I quit this internship, then I lose my chance at connections and a job. But, if I quit and film my docuseries, I could enter my film into the Moon Dance festival indie film contest and win. At that moment, I know what needed to be done. I stand up, grab my things, poke my head into Eric’s office and flipped him the finger. He gasped as I walked out and jogged down the steps to go home and grab my equipment. I waved at Iris as I jetted out the door. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but I feel hope. Like Spencer James asked, “Are you ready for your life to change?” Yes, I am.

Chapter 2

“Olamide, I need to speak with you!” My landlord, Kyle shouted as I ran out of my vestibules front doors.

“I can’t talk right now, but I promise I will have my rent this week. Please, just a little more time!” I said as I hopped on my bike. I am Detroit bred, and I know my city like the back of my hand, so I will use this to my advantage. As soon as I turn West on Grand Boulevard past Henry Ford hospital and Hitsville Motown Museum, I felt like I was in an apocalypse. People are everywhere, looking here and there. I quickly park my bike against a lamp post and put my head mount with my camera attached on.

“Hello everyone and welcome to the famous and legendary Spencer James treasure hunt of over $30,000 splattered around Detroit, Michigan,” I said as I got back on my bike, while still filming.

I drive past a couple of people walking. I stop and ask, “Are you guys looking for the cash?”

“Hell yeah,” one of the girl says enthusiastically.

“What would you do with $30,000?” I ask.

“Everything,” the guy with her said.

Even though his answer is so simple, I understand it all too well. I thank them for answering my questions and sped off toward Heidelberg Street where the Heidelberg Project is located. It’s an outdoor, non-profit art space that displays funky art on and around a house. Most of the art pieces are made from recycled objects, which makes it beyond cool. I used to go here a lot when I was in high school because I was so intrigued by the creativity of it all. I still am. I figured Mr. James would have hid a clue here somewhere, so I got off my bike and began to poke around. His art isn’t graphitized on anything here, so I begin to film the area. Other people must think like me because there are about 8 people searching around as well.

“Do you think it’s all in one place?” One of the boys asked his friends.

“No, he said it’s scattered, so maybe $10,000 here, and $10,000 there,” his friend responded.

I’m indirectly recording them, until they look at me and I asked them if they mind. They said they didn’t mind at all.

“This city is going mad. I’m going to check Instagram to see if we know anyone who got lucky,” said a girl nearby.

“Oh my gosh! Stephanie found $300 by Belle Isle Bridge. She said it was a weird portrait of a man on the side of a bridge and the money was in the hole of the mouth.”

My eyes widened at the news. So, this is real.

“What are we waiting on, let’s go to that area and search!” One of them screamed.

I guess we didn’t think too much alike, because I figured if Spencer James put money in that area, it’s a slim chance that he put more in the same area. I took a bit more footage, jumped on my bike and jetted off to East Warren near the Charles H. Wright Museum. As I’m riding my bike, a group of teens hanging out of a car window yell, “I found $50!” Good thing I’m still recording. This is a confirmation that the money is indeed scattered in increments. I decide to lock my bike up to the nearest bike stand and begin to walk around. I check my phone for the time. It’s 1:00 pm and the time is ticking. This area is unusually secluded and not too many patrons around. I walk down Brush Street.

“At this moment, there aren’t many scavengers out,” I said as I scanned the area with my camera.

The further I walk down, I see a beautiful purple and white flower painted on the wall on the side of a small bridge. The wall on the other side of the bridge is a painting of a woman with purple skin and wings sitting with her dog. This is not Spencer James work, plus the artist who painted this piece says their name is AM SCOUT. I recognized her work all over Detroit and they are amazingly eye-catching. I scan the ground for any clues and didn’t sight anything. I begin to walk back towards my bike until I see something glisten in the sun. I bend down to pick up a small gold compact mirror. It’s beautiful. I stuff it in my pocket and head back down Brush Street. Time to keep filming.

Chapter 3

“6:46 pm,” is the time my phone reads. It won’t be long before it gets dark. So far, I’ve talked to about 50 people, gotten more than 5 hours’ worth of footage and haven’t found any money. I check the news on my phone.

“We are here to update you on this afternoon’s craziness,” the reporter said. “More than $10,000 has been found around the city of Detroit with more than $20,000 still up for grabs.”

I sit down at a park bench at Campus Martius and watch the people around me hustle and bustle trying to find that last sum of money. I feel like I’ve literally been everywhere. I feel something pressing up against my hip and remember the beautiful mirror I found earlier today. I rub my thumb across the embellishment on the front and open it. My mouth gaped open at the sight of the message in read marker, “Where the Hart Is.” I’m clueless as to what this may mean, but the handwriting looks awfully familiar. I pull out my phone and search, “Spencer James autograph.” I cup my hand over my mouth to hide my scream. It’s the same handwriting. All this time, I’ve had a clue in my pocket and didn’t even know. The question is, what does it mean? I sit there for 5 minutes before I realize exactly what it means. The “Hart,” in heart is spelled like Hart Plaza. I look down the street at where Hart Plaza is, jump on my bike and zoom down the street. I park my bike and begin to look around. There are people near, but they don’t look like they’re searching for the money. After searching the vicinity for nearly an hour, I almost give up. Then I realize, there is only one place I haven’t searched, the Ford Auditorium Underground Garage. I go down the steps to the garage and begin looking around. Nothing. No art anywhere, just a small heart spray painted on the wall where no cars are parked. At the moment I mention the heart in my head, I run over to the painting and nearly faint. Under the heart is a smaller arrow pointing at the ground and there at my feet is a little black book taped to the ground. I pick the book up and my eyes well up with tears at the sight of Mr. James handwriting again.

“To you with love. I’m sure whoever is reading this needs more than I do. Your creative mind brought you here, and destiny of course. I used to fill this little black book up with big ideas. It brought some of my biggest pieces to life and I hope this suits you as well. With love, Spencer James.”

I begin flipping through the little black book and almost faint at what I see taped to the very last page. A check for $20,000 is sitting in my hands. I look around to see if anyone is watching and there isn’t a person in sight. I quickly check my camera to make sure it’s still filming and it is. Out of all the people in Detroit looking for this money, I found it. Me. Olamide. Now more than ever, my name makes perfect sense.