Chapter 30: The Impossible Test
Ben had five days remaining and no solution.
He'd spent the first two days panicking, running calculations, testing his illusion power's limits. The conclusion was inescapable: he couldn't transform fifty thousand dollars and maintain the illusion long enough to satisfy Marcus.
His power's maximum duration on large-scale transformations was seventy-two hours. After that, reversion was inevitable. And creating documentation that appeared legitimate while actually being illusions? Each document took concentration, caused physical strain, and lasted days at most.
The math didn't work. The timeline didn't work. He was trapped.
Lip appeared at the garage on day three, having been summoned by Frank who'd apparently decided this required "actual intelligence instead of criminal improvisation."
"Frank says you need to clean fifty grand but can't," Lip said without preamble. "What's the actual problem?"
Ben weighed how much to reveal. Settled on partial truth. "I can make money look legitimate temporarily. But it reverts. Always. I need it to stay clean long enough to satisfy Marcus, and I can't maintain it that long."
"So don't clean the money. Clean the appearance of cleaning the money."
Ben looked at him. "What?"
"You're thinking too literally." Lip grabbed a marker, started drawing on the garage wall. "Marcus wants proof you can clean money, right? Proof means documentation. Paper trails. Evidence of the process. So give him that instead of actually transforming the cash."
"I don't follow."
"You take his fifty grand—which is already cash, already legitimate enough to spend. You don't transform it. Instead, you create documentation showing how you 'cleaned' it. Fake LLC paperwork, transaction records, receipts from businesses that temporarily exist. You photograph the same money repeatedly in different configurations to show volume. Build a narrative that the money went through your cleaning process, even though it's just the original cash you're returning."
Ben's MacGyver Mind processed the concept, seeing the elegant fraud underneath. "Illusions for the paperwork, not the money."
"Exactly. You're not promising the money stays transformed. You're promising proof of cleaning. So focus on that proof instead."
It was brilliant. Audacious and insane, but brilliant.
Frank loved it immediately. "It's a con on top of a con. We show Marcus what he wants to see without actually doing what he thinks we're doing."
Kevin, who'd been pulled in for logistics, looked horrified. "This is fraud. Like, serious fraud. Creating fake businesses, false documentation—"
"As opposed to the regular fraud Ben's been doing?" Lip's tone was dry. "This is just more creative."
They spent the next seventy-two hours executing the plan with desperate intensity.
Ben created LLC paperwork using his illusion power—registering businesses that appeared legitimate, with addresses pulled from vacant properties his MacGyver Mind identified as unlikely to be checked. The documents needed to last weeks, which meant pushing his power to absolute limits.
Each illusion required excruciating concentration. Ben would hold a blank paper, focus until his vision blurred and nose bled, watch it transform into articles of incorporation with stamps and signatures that looked decades old. Then immediately onto the next document before his consciousness could waver.
Frank used his criminal network to generate fake receipts from actual businesses—bars, laundromats, repair shops, all places that moved cash and wouldn't notice extra transactions in their records. He created a paper trail showing Ben's "cleaning" service funneling money through legitimate channels.
Lip handled the digital components. Created fake websites for Ben's shell companies, backdated them using technical skills Ben didn't fully understand, planted references across forums and business directories. Temporary digital footprints that would pass casual investigation.
Kevin provided the Alibi's books. They created fake transactions showing large cash deposits, immediate withdrawals, pattern of money flowing through legitimate business but maintaining liquid access. Kevin hated every second but helped anyway because "you're part of the community, and we protect our own, even when they're being fucking idiots."
Ben photographed Marcus's original fifty thousand repeatedly. Different lighting, different configurations, different counts. Creating the visual impression of volume, of money moving through multiple hands, of a sophisticated operation processing significant sums.
The work was exhausting beyond anything Ben had experienced.
By hour fifty, his nosebleeds were constant. By hour sixty, his hands shook so badly he could barely hold papers steady for transformation. By hour seventy, he was hallucinating—seeing illusions where none existed, unable to distinguish transformed reality from baseline.
But he pushed through because failure meant death. For him, for Frank, possibly for Kevin who'd helped. The stakes forced him past limits he'd thought were absolute.
On day six, Ben presented Marcus with results.
The original fifty thousand, now with elaborate documentation. LLC paperwork showing "Fisher Consulting Services" as a legitimate business entity. Transaction records demonstrating the money flowing through the Alibi Room, through repair shops, through a network of businesses. Receipts showing exchanges, documentation showing taxes paid, a complete paper trail that made dirty money look clean.
Ben used his Silver Tongue to walk Marcus through it, creating confidence in the system's sophistication. His Danger Intuition guided him through Marcus's questions, showing when to elaborate and when to deflect.
"This is impressive," Marcus admitted, examining the documents. "Professional grade. How long do these hold up?"
"Weeks," Ben said, which was technically true for some documents. "Long enough to move money through any system you need. After that, the original bills are clean—ordinary singles or fives that came from legitimate transactions. Untraceable."
Marcus studied the paperwork, clearly impressed by the apparent complexity. "And you can do this regularly? Different amounts, different timelines?"
"Yes. But it's exhausting. Need recovery time between jobs. This volume took everything I had."
"Fair." Marcus collected his fifty thousand and the documentation. "Consider me convinced. Going forward, I'll send you five to ten grand monthly for cleaning. Sixty-forty split, your favor, same as the security consultations. We're officially partners."
They shook hands. Ben felt the weight of the deal settling like chains—he was now Marcus's money launderer, bound to repeat this impossible process monthly until either the illusions failed catastrophically or he found a way out.
After Marcus left, Ben tried to stand and nearly collapsed. The room spun. His vision doubled. Kevin caught him, barely, and helped him to the makeshift bed in the corner.
"You need a hospital," Kevin said.
"Just exhaustion. I'll be fine."
"Ben—"
"I'll be fine," Ben repeated, though he felt consciousness slipping. "Just need to sleep."
He passed out mid-sentence.
Ben woke to find Fiona sitting beside him.
The garage was dark. His phone showed 2 AM—he'd been unconscious for sixteen hours. Fiona sat in his work chair, arms crossed, expression mixing concern and frustration in equal measure.
"Hey," he managed, voice rough.
"You've been out for almost a day. Kevin called me. Said you collapsed."
"I'm okay."
"You're not." Fiona's tone was sharp. "Kevin told me you've been working nonstop for three days. Frank mentioned you're in deep with Marcus. And your nose—" she gestured at his face, "—has been bleeding on and off since I got here."
Ben touched his upper lip. Came away with dried blood he hadn't felt.
"What are you into, Ben?" Fiona asked quietly. "Really. Because I'm trying to give you space like I said, but Kevin calls panicked saying you might be dying, and I can't just ignore that."
"Business deal. Went longer than expected."
"Bullshit." She leaned forward. "You're Lucky Ben who shows up at exactly right moments, knows things you shouldn't know, and now you're doing deals with Marcus that leave you unconscious for sixteen hours. What. Are. You. Into."
Ben wanted to tell her. Wanted to explain the powers, the transmigration, the impossible knowledge and supernatural abilities that had made everything possible and now threatened to destroy everything.
But revealing that truth meant losing her completely. Either she'd think him insane, or she'd believe him and realize he'd been manipulating reality around her family for months.
"I'm in over my head," he admitted. "Got involved with people I shouldn't have. Made promises I barely kept. And now I'm trapped in obligations I can't escape without consequences."
"Can I help?"
The question surprised him. After demanding space, after discovering Ben and Steve's confrontation, she was offering help.
"I don't know," Ben said honestly. "This is complicated in ways I can't fully explain."
"Try me."
"I can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever." Ben met her eyes. "But thank you. For caring enough to show up when Kevin called. For not just writing me off."
Fiona was quiet for a long moment. "Ian almost died. You saved him. Monica spiraled and you helped. You've been there for my family more than anyone who wasn't blood. So yeah, I'm here. Even though you're clearly drowning in shit you won't explain."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For being someone you can't fully trust. For having secrets I won't share. For..." Ben gestured vaguely at himself, "...all of this."
"Yeah, well. Nobody in South Side is who they pretend to be." Fiona stood, grabbed a water bottle from his mini fridge, handed it to him. "Drink. Kevin left food in the microwave. And when you're ready—if you're ever ready—I'd like to actually know who you are. Not the helpful handyman routine. Not Lucky Ben. Just... you."
She left before he could respond. Ben lay in darkness, drinking water his dehydrated body desperately needed, and cataloged the impossible situation he'd created.
He'd survived Marcus's test by layering fraud on fraud. Created documentation that would revert within weeks, leaving Marcus with evidence of Ben's deception. Bound himself to monthly impossible tasks using powers that would eventually fail catastrophically.
And Fiona—the one person whose opinion mattered most—was beginning to see through his carefully constructed lies without having any framework to understand the truth underneath.
Ben finished the water and forced himself to eat the food Kevin left. His body needed fuel to recover from power overuse that had pushed him past every safe limit.
"I bought more time. Weeks instead of days. But I'm not solving problems—I'm stacking them higher. Marcus will discover the truth when documents revert. Fiona will demand answers I can't give. The gold scam investigation is still closing in. And I've exhausted myself so thoroughly that my powers might not work properly for days."
But he was alive. The Gallaghers were safe. And maybe, possibly, he could find a real solution before all the temporary ones collapsed simultaneously.
The optimism felt hollow, but it was all he had.
Ben lay in darkness, feeling the weight of accumulated consequences, and wondered how many more impossible tests he could pass before his luck—supernatural or otherwise—finally ran out.
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