I didn't rush.
In this new life, I had learned the value of patience. It wasn't just a trait; it had transformed into a powerful weapon that I wielded carefully. Every single step I took had to carry weight and purpose.
The first call I made was to my family—essentially, my mother and my younger brother. Our home still felt heavy with the grief of my father's passing a decade ago, a lingering presence that couched itself in every room and crevice. Relatives often appeared only when there was money involved, leaving them as little more than distant acquaintances. It was a bitter realization, and one I had grown used to over the years.
But when I heard my mother's voice, an unexpected warmth washed over me. This time, I wasn't met with the usual scolding I'd grown accustomed to. Instead, I was greeted with a gentle concern that made my heart ache. "Focus on yourself first, Sam," she urged softly. "Stay safe."
I swallowed hard at her words. In my previous life, I had flaunted my wealth, taking on the brash persona of Big Sam, dismissing all of her advice. My selfish greed had clouded my better judgment then. But not anymore. This time, I would truly listen.
As I hung up the phone, a quiet, resolute determination settled over me. I owed my mother and brother more than just a facade of pride. I owed them a path towards something better—a clean slate.
Gone were the reckless days of diving headfirst into deceit without a second thought. No more blind trust in shady partners, no sharing information carelessly, and certainly no falling for mentors who promised me riches without the risk. That chapter of my life was firmly closed.
Now, I had a wealth of knowledge about the scams that worked, those that fell apart, the banks that scrutinized accounts, and the moments when the police were most likely to strike. More than anything, I had learned the hard way who to sidestep.
John's face flickered in my mind like an unwelcome ghost—the man I believed had betrayed me.
Not this time.
I would begin with smaller, low-risk ventures. I would be clever about it. My new goal? To outsmart the scammers themselves.
The blueprint of my plan was straightforward: convince someone that I operated an untraceable account. If done right, they would trust me enough to provide payment slips and even offer a cut of their ill-gotten gains. The risk was minimal—only those already playing dirty would fall for my bait.
I spent hours fine-tuning my pitch, my fingers cramping from the endless repetition. After I felt prepared, I reached out to Funds, my first target.
At first, Funds was hesitant, skepticism oozing from his words like oil. "You sure this account is untraceable?" he queried, his doubt evident.
I leaned back in my chair, exuding calm confidence. "Trust me on this one. It's foolproof. You'll see. We'll split it 20/80—you keep 80%, and I take 20. Sounds fair, right?"
A tense quiet fell between us, palpable and heavy. Finally, he broke the silence. "Fine. We do it your way."
The day I had been preparing for had arrived. Funds completed the transfer, and I swiftly called a friend who possessed a legitimate untraceable account. The transaction processed without a hitch. Then, I delivered my twist: "Police just raided my location," I said, keeping my tone casual, a calm veneer masking the adrenaline that coursed through my veins.
Panic ensued. It was the kind of visceral reaction I had been waiting for—a rush of power mixed with the thrill of the game. The stakes were rising, and I was in control this time.
Panic swept through funds he quickly block me the messages we had exchanged were wiped out—completely gone. I received a clear directive: I was not to involve him any further in this situation. I laugh
After a moment of contemplation, I gathered my share of the legitimate funds this time and leaned back, my eyes fixated on my phone's screen, lost in thought.
"So, it works," I said quietly to myself, feeling a sense of calm and collectedness wash over me. It felt so different from my previous life, where a moment like this would usually set my heart racing in a frenzy of anxiety and urgency.
From that day onward, I adopted three critical rules to guide my actions:
1. Never celebrate a victory too soon.
2. Keep my plans and intentions to myself—no sharing.
3. Always have an exit strategy in place.
Slowly but surely, money began to come in—a trickle at first, but gradually it turned into a steady stream. It was enough to allow me a little luxury in my life, improving my circumstances just enough to eat better, breathe a bit easier, and, most importantly, to survive.
Then one evening, just as I was settling into my routine, my phone vibrated on the table next to me.
It was John.
"Bro, afa it's been a while. I've got a sure thing for us. Let's meet up?" he texted.
A wave of emotions washed over me—shadows of past anger, feelings of betrayal, and an instinctive caution swirled together, threatening to pull me back into a darker time. In my previous life, I would have jumped at the opportunity to respond immediately, the thrill of old alliances tempting me to reconnect.
But this time was different.
I sat there, staring at the message as if it were a ticking time bomb. I took a moment to breathe, then eventually, I swiped the text away and deleted it. I paused again, wondering what I should say. Finally, I decided to respond in the way that represented my newfound resolve.
"I'm I ham very busy this period. I don't have time for the old games," I typed back.
Having sent the message, I placed my phone down, leaning back against the chair with a combination of relief and triumph. A small, but decisive smile crept across my face.
"Checkmate," I whispered softly to myself, acknowledging the victory in my response.
Yet deep down, I understood the reality of my situation. This was merely the beginning of a much larger game. The streets, filled with their own secrets and watchful eyes, were keeping tabs on my every move. The shadows were lying in wait.
I knew one thing for certain: the game was just beginning, and I was determined to come out on top.