Cashing In

I didn’t know what had happened. Not at first. But then I knew. 

I was looking at prison walls and the vomit down them was mine.

There are some things you can’t come back from. It’s as if the world swallows what came before and leaves you in a big open space of guilty realisation. Loneliness.

Freedom, I had thought. The chance to start again. No longer the quiet girl, underestimated in the corner.

But as I sat in the airport bar, I noticed the policemen. I ordered a triple vodka, then another. Plan A was to drink a lot, quickly. Mainly in the hope of eluding the police and celebrating my freedom. Plan B was they find me in, haul me into the station, at least I wouldn’t have to pay the bar bill.

Not that money was a problem. I had more than enough, but I hadn’t been born rich and still found a free drink tasted nicer than a bought one.

I drank a lot before the police found me, so much that I wasn’t even bothered when they asked to see my passport.

 

I didn’t start out to hurt everybody I loved. I honestly believed what the firm told me. They said I was lucky discovering them early. I invested in good faith. The returns were amazing. When I was offered the chance to earn a percentage on the packages I sold, I couldn’t believe such a big company would want me. But I thought they saw something special, I blossomed with the attention. And I hate to say it, but it turned out I was good, really good at it. I had always been sensible with money; my family knew that. So, when I told them, I’ve found an excellent investment opportunity, they trusted me.

People started noticing the changes. I got a flashy haircut and flew to the States for a motivational conference. I came back with smart clothes and a burning desire to share my success. It didn’t take long until all my friends and theirs too were involved.

I didn’t tell anybody about the percentage I received each time they invested. But I thought it was fair enough, given that I was the one that did all the initial hard work.

 

It was only when the journalists contacted me that alarm bells started ringing. At first, I didn’t believe them until they told me to try and cash my own stocks. Which I did. And I couldn’t. Sickening fear ate me from the inside out. The thought of facing everyone, with all their money gone, forever being the one that lost it, it was all too much. I know I took the cowards way out, and it was even worse that I was found trying to run away. I passed out in the cell in a haze of drunken shame. I would get a lawyer. I would say I was brainwashed. But most importantly I would have to say, I’m sorry.