Se connecterIt was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.
Voir plusWhat happened next unfolded naturally.The head office took control of the scene.The livestream was cut short, but I had already saved the playback.The public outcry had become a tsunami—impossible to contain.Even the bank's PR team was in full-blown panic.They separated me from Pete and Jessie, ushering us into different rooms.I was received by the vice president of the bank, George Wesley.He was extremely polite."Claire, we sincerely apologize," George said. "This was a management oversight on our part, allowing such a rogue element to slip through. Your account has been immediately unfrozen. And this is a small token of our goodwill—please accept it."He pushed a check toward me.I glanced at the figure—twenty thousand dollars.It was more generous than Pete's offer."Mr. Wesley," I said, not touching the check. "I told you, I don't need money. This is ill-gotten gain—I won't take a cent. But I have two conditions."George wiped sweat from his brow."Name them,
I put my phone on silent and ignored every call.The next morning, I woke up, applied my makeup, and donned my most expensive "battle outfit."I hailed a cab and headed straight for the bank branch.Even before I reached the door, a crowd had gathered.Spectators jostled with journalists wielding cameras.The bank's main entrance was locked tight.Red paint had been splashed across the rolling shutters, scrawled with the words "Blackstore."I circled around to the side entrance.Just as I was about to enter, two large men in sunglasses blocked my path."What's your business?" one asked."Looking for Pete."I shook the file folder in my hand."Here to return the money."They exchanged a glance, then stepped aside.In the branch's second-floor conference room, smoke hung thick in the air.Pete's eyes were bloodshot; his tie hung loosely around his neck.Jessie sat in the corner, her eyes swollen like walnuts. She had clearly cried all night.When he saw me enter, Pete sl
I carried the cardboard box out of the office building.The sunlight outside was sharp, almost blinding.I didn't rush home. Instead, I found a small internet café and booked a private room.The moment I logged onto the computer, a notification from another bank card popped up: [Your account has been frozen. For inquiries, please contact your issuing bank.]Pete had acted fast.A blatant abuse of industry privilege—illegally freezing my assets to force me into submission.What dirty tactics.Instinctively, I opened a local forum.A hot topic caught my eye: [Regarding a client's malicious exploitation of a system error for personal gain.]The post was written in official language, describing "a certain Ms. Dune" refusing to return the bank's "erroneous funds" and hinting at attempted extortion.The comment section had already exploded.Some questioned the bank, but most called me greedy and unscrupulous.They were trying to shame me publicly before I could respond.Before I
Once the police officer finished speaking, he waved his hands, signaling the end of the matter.Pete froze."But… officers, this involves ten thousand dollars! That's a huge sum—"The older officer stopped, looked back at him."You think it's a huge sum, too? Then why didn't you train your staff to speak properly? That sign that says the bank will not take responsibility once the customer leaves the counter has been up for decades, hasn't it?"What, the rules only let you win, not the customer? If you want to pursue this, you'd better take it to court."As the officers disappeared through the revolving door, Jessie, who had been cowering like a frightened quail, suddenly snapped.She jerked her hand free from a colleague and lunged at me, claws aimed at my face."Claire! You ruined me! I'm going to kill you!"I was ready. My body shifted slightly to the right, feet rooted.She overextended, and my outstretched foot caught her mid-lunge.She slammed hard onto the marble floor












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