The Anomaly

At this point the man no longer remembers how long it has been since he last slept indoors. The nights begin to blur together almost as much as the days, days spent thinking of all the tiny, irrelevant mistakes that culminated in a significant relevance. He lays on the bench looking up at the stars trying not to think about all the thoughts he’s already thought before. He struggles to remember a poem from his past. Something about proofs and diagrams? ‘So soon I became tired with accountability,’ was that the line? He knew how it ended, as he too sat in the mystical moist night air and looked up in perfect silence at the stars.

“Hey! Wake up!” said the officer standing over him holding a flashlight in the man’s eyes. The man couldn’t see the officer’s face, but noticed a scar on his neck (possibly some kind of a burn?). “This park is closed overnight. You need to leave . Now. Do you need any help getting to a shelter?”

“No...uh...no shelter. It’s fine, I’ll leave”. The man, still half asleep, picked up his satchel to leave. It had leather straps and would almost look professional if it wasn’t so worn.

The officer stopped him, “Don’t forget that”. The officer shined his flashlight on a small, black notebook resting beneath the park bench.

“Oh, that’s not mine. I don’t own a notebook”.

“Well, you can’t just leave it there. Throw it out if you want, or else I’m going to have to cite you”.

“Oh. Alright, let me just…”, the man picked up the notebook and walked away.

“Have a good night there, Sir. Try and stay out of trouble,” the officer said to the man’s back as he left.

The man took a closer look at the notebook before he would throw it away. It was held shut with an elastic stitched into the cover. He released the elastic, and flipped through the notebook. It appeared to be blank except for a flash of ink in the wave of pages. He flipped back through the section where it had appeared. There, randomly in the middle of the notebook, was the only page with anything written on it:

MIDLAND VALLEY BANK

Account Number: 8495732467

Authentication Code: HG%7-98@G-JEZ#-P4$8

The man didn’t understand. The information itself was straightforward enough, but it raised far too many questions. He turned to look for the officer hoping he might take the notebook and see if anyone comes looking for it. ‘Would anyone come looking for it?’, the man wondered. The officer had gone. The man found himself standing alone on the verge of sunrise with a notebook and too many questions.

As the day began, he asked around if anyone knew of any “Midland Valley Bank” in the area. No one seemed to be familiar with it, until a random customer in a shop said, “Midland Valley Bank? Is that the one that just opened down on Lakeside Avenue?”. The customer was a woman with large sunglasses and long blonde hair tied up into a ponytail. The man wasn’t familiar with any ‘new’ banks in the area, but Lakeside Avenue was certainly within walking distance. It wouldn’t hurt to see for himself if “Midland Valley Bank” was really there.

He put the little black notebook into his satchel, occasionally looking inside as a reminder that the mysterious item was still there while he continued to search for its purpose. He saw it as he turned onto Lakeside Avenue: MIDLAND VALLEY BANK, the letters were written in a bold green font on a white background outside a very plain looking building. The streets still held the remnants of recent construction: caution tape, orange paint, temporary traffic signs laying against vacant trucks. The man left his things behind a bush just outside of the bank. Even his satchel might betray his current living situation, and he found it best to remove the temptation for others to misplace their decency.

He entered the bank and approached the first available teller. The teller was a familiar looking woman with kind eyes and long blonde hair (that could easily have been tied up into a ponytail). She asked, “How can I help you, Sir?”

“I found this notebook in the park. I think someone may have lost it. I was hoping to return it.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you! Who does it belong to?”.

“Well, I was actually hoping you could tell me. The only thing written in the whole notebook is what’s on this page right here”. He showed the teller the page in the notebook with the account information written on it.

“How peculiar. Let me look up this account for you and see if I can find anything that might be helpful”. The woman rattled some keys and stared into the screen for a moment. Then a hint of concern began to bloom on her face. She said quietly, almost more to herself than anyone else, “I just need to check something with my manager”. She stood up from her chair, “Just wait right there”.

The man was immediately unsettled. He had hoped to just walk in and drop the notebook in some kind of secure lost and found. Now he was waiting to see the manager of a bank while holding what could easily be misconstrued as some kind of stolen property. Before he had a chance to get himself worked up, the woman returned with the manager.

The manager was in unexpectedly good shape. He didn’t wear a traditional business suit, but rather a suit jacket over a form-fitting turtleneck. His smile alleviated some of the man’s anxiety. The manager said, “Sir, my colleague here tells me that you…found...this notebook?”.

“That’s right, but it’s not mine. I’m looking to return it”.

“Well, I’m afraid there is no one to return it to. This account does not have any name or contact information associated with it”.

“How is that possible? Do you not require identification to open an account here?”.

“Oh yes, of course we do. It’s just that this particular account is one of our more exclusive offerings for clients that prefer the utmost privacy and discretion”.

“Discretion?”.

“We require all of the necessary information to open the account. But once it’s opened, the only way to access the funds in any way is exclusively through a customized 16-digit alphanumeric authentication code, like the code you have written here”.

“Oh…”.

“So in this particular case, regardless of how you may have come across this information. As the bearer of both the account number and the authentication code. You, Sir, have complete access to any and all funds linked to this account. Which currently shows a balance of $20,000”.

“$20,000?! That doesn’t make any sense, you can’t just give me someone else’s money?!”.

“It’s not someone else’s money, Sir. According to the policy associated with this particular account, it is your money. These are the terms that were agreed upon when the account was opened. Our clients understand the significant risk associated with this type of account. And between you and me, Sir, regardless of the standing balance, these accounts typically require an extensive amount of collateral to adopt such a risk. If you are feeling guilty about the amount, I can assure you that whoever may have opened this account is more likely to have forgotten about $20,000 than to come looking for it. But as far as the bank is concerned, with the account information and authentication code in hand, you are the legitimate account holder”.

“That... doesn’t seem right”.

“Right or not, I’m not sure if there’s any more information I can provide that will be of any help to you. If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure my colleague will be able to handle things from here. Have a good day, Sir, and thank you for your business”.

“Umm.. thank you”.

As the manager walked away, the teller sat back in her chair and swiveled back towards addressing the man, “So, are you interested in making a withdrawal?”.

“Withdrawal?”. The man was struggling to process this most unusual situation.

“From your account?”

“My account?”

“Sir, can I be honest with you?”.

“Yes. Please”.

“Well, I’ve seen the types of guys that come in asking for these “exclusive” accounts and they’re not nice people. They are always rude, and like my manager said, they have plenty of money. Someone like you, someone willing to return this notebook, you deserve a good day, don’t you?”. The man didn’t know what to say. He stared with a blank expression on his face. She kept talking, “Why don’t you stop thinking so hard, and just let yourself have a good day? If it makes you feel any better maybe you can go out on the town and help someone else have a good day too”. This last thought caught the man’s attention, for the first time in a while the man’s eyes met hers. She took this as an indication and asked again, “So, a withdrawal then?”.

The glow of the screens lit up a professional looking man with a scar on his neck (possibly a burn of some kind). He read from his personal display, “Up next for review is case number A6523-47”.

“Does this case support the rest of our findings?”, asked a man sitting in the center of a table at the far end of the room.

“This one actually differs from our findings quite considerably”.

“How so?”

“The subject in this particular case didn’t keep any of the allocated funds for himself.”

“He didn’t keep any of it? Not for a warm meal or a night off the street?”.

“Not for himself.”

“What do you mean, ‘not for himself’?”.

“He purchased food, nights in hotels, blankets, warm coats, dry coats, sleeping bags, all of the usual items, but he purchased them all for other people.”

“Well, we've seen the occasional… generous… subject before, haven’t we? What makes this any different?”.

“Because he used all of it. All of it went to other people”.

“All of it? You’re telling me that he didn’t spend a single dollar on himself? Not even a candy bar at the corner store?”.

“No sir, not a single purchase for himself”.

“I find that hard to believe, how can you be certain of this?”.

“Because he wrote it down. Every purchase, item, cost, and the person it was for”.

“He wrote it down? Where?”.

“In the notebook, Sir”.

“What notebook?”

“The little black notebook. The catalyst.”

“Let me see it”. In that instant, the displays erupted with images of the different handwritten pages. Countless entries as the man with the scar had just described: Gore-Tex Jacket, $138.93, for Roger because he’s too proud to come in out of the rain. 2-Nights in a hotel, $143.76, for José because he’s still getting used to the winter nights. Three-course meal, $28.96 ($100 tip for the friendly waitress), for Rebecca because I enjoy her conversations. Cash Handout, $100, for Steven because he asked. “Do they just go on like this?”, asked the man at the table.

“Yes, Sir, for the full amount”.

“Is that true?”, this question was directed instead to a woman sitting at the end of the table. It was a woman with long blonde hair; this time it was back in a ponytail.

She said, “That’s correct. We had our people do the math several times”.

“Well, that’s not like any of the other subjects”.

“No, Sir. It’s not.”, said the man at the front of the room.

“Well, that won’t do. It’s clearly an anomaly. Strike it from the data sample and log it as inconclusive. Has the next subject been identified yet?”.

“Yes, Sir. If you’ll refer to the display, the next subject is designated case number B6291-37”.

“Good. Let’s begin immediately. Same as before”.