The notification of the $3,000 deposit glowed on Winsten's phone, a beacon of improbable fortune. For most, such a sight would ignite joy, a rush of relief. But for Winsten, steeped in a life of relentless struggle, his first thought wasn't happiness. It was a cold, immediate fear: this had to be a scam or a mistake by the bank. "I don't want to get sued or spend it and have to pay it back," he muttered, the words tasting like ash. "That'd make life even tougher." It was, in his mind, most likely a mistake. Why would $3,000 just miraculously appear in his account?
He reflected on the bitter irony. He was so conditioned to hardship that good fortune immediately triggered suspicion.
Taking a deep breath, Winsten pulled out his phone again and dialed his bank, The Guardian Bank. After waiting a frustrating ten minutes to connect to an agent, he finally spoke. He calmly explained the situation, notifying them of the unexpected money. He emphasized that it was probably a mistake and that he didn't recognize the sender.
The bank agent put him on hold, a few minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity. Winsten listened to the generic hold sound, his heart thumping a nervous rhythm against his ribs. Finally, the agent returned.
"Mr. Winston Stone," the voice on the other end began, a note of official politeness, "we've checked the transaction. The $3,000 is a legit transaction from a major financial company, and we've verified it was indeed for you."
Winsten's mouth fell open, a confused "Huh?" escaping his lips. He was even more bewildered than before. "Ah, what company is this?"
"BlueNova AI 9," she responded.
BlueNova AI 9. Winsten assumed it was a tech company, given the name. He ended the call, still dazed, and immediately looked up "BlueNova AI 9" on his phone. Sure enough, it was a real company, a seemingly legitimate, large corporation.
His confusion deepened. He scrolled through their website, looking for a contact number, but found nothing readily available. The next second, his phone vibrated again. A new email popped up, this one from BlueNova AI 9. He opened it. The entire email contained nothing but a phone number.
He called it. After a single ring, he was connected to a woman. "Hello, this is Winston Stone," he began, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I just received a $3,000 deposit from your company, and I'm calling to inquire about it."
"Yes, Mr. Winston Stone," the worker replied, her voice calm and professional. "The money is correct."
"But why?" Winsten pressed, his confusion turning to exasperation. "Why send it to me? What's the reason?"
"I do not know the reason, sir," she stated flatly. "We are a multiple billion-dollar company. All it says on our system is 'money owed to persons' and your name attached to that payment."
Winston was more lost and confused than ever. "You sure?" he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.
"Yes," the worker affirmed. "We use an AI system that handles and double-checks everything."
"Can you send me a receipt?" he requested, needing something tangible, some proof of this bizarre reality.
"Certainly," she said. A moment later, his phone chimed with an incoming email. He quickly checked, saw the receipt, and then ended the call.
He stood there, phone in hand, the reality slowly setting in. "Huh," he breathed, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "$3,000 just... walked into my lap for free." A wave of pure, unadulterated happiness washed over him, a feeling so foreign it almost knocked him off balance.
He hurried home, the dangerous streets of East New York fading into the background of his newfound elation. As he unlocked the apartment door, he called out, "Lily! Come to the living room!"
Lily emerged from her room, still slightly upset, her eyes downcast. But then she saw him. In his hands, he held not one, but two double-cone ice creams, overflowing with scoops. Her eyes, wide with shock and then pure happiness, instantly lit up. A sound, half gasp, half squeal, escaped her.
She ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I love you!" she cried, grabbing her ice cream.
Seeing Lily's unbridled joy, Winsten felt his own happiness swell, the $3,000 transforming from a perplexing mystery into a tangible source of relief and delight. He took a bite of his own ice cream, its cold sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter flavors of his usual life. He couldn't remember the last time they had both been so genuinely happy, so utterly disarmed by smiles.