Pocketbook Novels & Stories

Half a year without pay? Alexander's gaze narrowed slightly. A wisp of spiritual power emanated and swept over the three men before it stopped. There was almost nothing in the pockets of their jackets. They did not even have their ID cards with them. There were only a few small notes in their pockets, totaling less than a hundred dollars, and in their trouser pockets were mobile phones, about seven or eight years old, that could not even download and install an app. How could they send and receive money with such an old phone? These people were poor!

Kyle rushed through his morning meetings and tidied up some stuff so that he wouldn't have to be back for a long time. He couldn't wait to get back to his little pain in the ass, princess. He touched his inside jacket pocket to make sure the box from Harry Winston was there and patted the packages on the seat next to him.

My laptop rests on a cardboard box I dragged in from the curb, and my phone charges on the windowsill where the signal is strongest. I open my banking app, and the balance stares back with unblinking cruelty: fourteen dollars and twenty-seven cents. In the side pocket of my bag, I have three dollars in quarters for laundry. I control billions in voting rights and a two-billion-dollar merger proxy, yet I can't afford a coffee maker.

Nasa wallet kaya? Bumitaw ang isang kamay niya sa manibela upang kapain ang pitaka sa bulsa ng suot na tailored pants. Nakakapanliit ang makapal na bungkos ng perang papel na nagsisiksikan sa loob ng black leather wallet. Kay raming pera ni Monsour, ngunit hindi naman nito nagagawang bilhin ang kaligayahan na ubod nang ilap...!

They are filled with cheap, hollow decorative storage boxes meant to look like classic literature. I open one. Empty. I open another. Empty. I reach for a large, leather-bound fake book on the second shelf. As I pull it down, my wrist strains. It is heavy. I pop the cover of the fake book open, and tucked perfectly inside the hollowed-out velvet interior is a thick, black leather ledger. My heart drops into my stomach as I open the cover. It is filled with handwritten columns of initials, massive seven-figure dollar amounts, and what appear to be routing numbers for offshore accounts.

The back cover appeared ordinary at first glance. Worn leather. Cracked corners. Age. Then she pressed against one edge. A click sounded. A hidden compartment sprang open. Silence filled the room. Inside rested a phone. Tiny. Older than modern smartphones. A compact satellite device, no larger than a wallet. The screen glowed softly. Incoming call. No number. No name. Just a single word. HOME Nobody breathed. The phone rang again. And again. The sound seemed unreal. Like something dug out of a grave.

I went to my walmart eco bag and place some cash on my little chinese envelope. I will need it for my plan tomorrow. Atm's are overrated. It's not overrated you just don't have an account at all you illegal alien. Hey it is not my fault if I have no legal documents okay. I really need to go back to the flat to get my savings on my other pouch. Calling it pouch is going too far more like money that was wrapped in a giftwrapper. Hey at least it has design. Nope it looks like a sanitary napkin wrapped in a gift paper.

Steal shoes next. My stomach growled. "Shut up," I whispered to it. It growled again. The kitchen lights were off except for the small lamp above the counter. Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I opened the pantry. Cookies. Chocolate. Potato chips. Cereal. Who needed this many snacks? Rich people. Definitely rich people. I reached for the chocolate cookies first. Then a packet of chips. Maybe the chocolate too. Actually, if I was already committing theft—

Yves: this application collects all the information of the person who installs it on his phone. Me: be more explicit Yves: the application has all the bank details, password etc ... The user will not know anything Me: what is the app? Yves: it's an application to be able to manage your property. House, bank etc ... Me: where is the anarch from? Yves: by entering your data you transfer your goods to louis un truck like that. He has all the information about your belongings Me: I bet my mother uses this app Yves: yes that's clear

2. There was a heavy, satisfying thunk. The latches sprang open. I lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in black foam, was not money. Not another weapon. It was a laptop. A rugged, military-grade model, with a satellite phone docked to its side. And next to it, a small, velvet pouch. I opened it. Inside was a single, high-capacity SD card, the kind used for professional photography and data storage. My trail hadn't ended here. It had just changed form.