The Binder

In the corner of a dark, narrow alley, a young man sat slumped against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest. The rain poured relentlessly, soaking him to the bone. His face, though undeniably handsome, bore the unmistakable marks of exhaustion, regret, and helplessness. Anyone who glanced at him could instantly sense the weight of his emotions and the burden of his problems. Passersby cast curious side glances in his direction, but he paid them no mind.

This young man was Zebrylle. Moments earlier, he had received a devastating phone call from his closest friend. The money they had painstakingly accumulated through stock investments—an astonishing $7 million—was gone. They had been betrayed and scammed by one of their own. Alden, a trusted member of their team, had vanished with the entire fortune, fleeing abroad and leaving behind nothing but shattered dreams.

Today was supposed to be a day of triumph—a day they had eagerly anticipated. It was the day they planned to divide the fruits of their hard labor: the money they had earned through years of dedication to the stock market. From their college allowances to the part-time jobs they juggled during their free time, every dollar had been poured into their shared goal. The five of them had agreed to delay dividing the profits until they reached a milestone they had set together, and finally, that day had come. But instead of celebration, they were left with betrayal and loss.

For Zebrylle, the blow was especially devastating. While he had knowledge of the stock market, he lacked the consistent success that Alden seemed to possess. Feeling inadequate, Zeb had invested almost every penny he earned into their collective capital, keeping just enough for his daily expenses. He did this to support the team, believing in their shared vision and compensating for what he perceived as his own shortcomings.

Alden, however, let greed take hold. While it was true that Alden had the highest success rate in bidding and often brought significant profits to the group, his arrogance grew alongside his wins. He began to see himself as the sole reason for their success, dismissing the contributions of the others. What Alden failed to acknowledge was that the team's journey was built on a foundation of trust and shared effort. The other four members were far from passive participants—they had provided the initial funds that allowed Alden to even begin investing. Zebrylle, in particular, had gone above and beyond, continuously injecting his hard-earned money to ensure the team could compete in larger, more lucrative markets.

Alden had entered the stock market with nothing, relying entirely on the group's resources. Yet, in the end, he had taken everything for himself, leaving behind a trail of broken friendships and shattered dreams. Now, in that desolate alley, Zebrylle sat alone, consumed by a mix of anger, guilt, and despair. His heart ached not just for the lost money, but for the betrayal of someone he had once trusted like a brother.

Two weeks had passed, and Zebrylle spent every single day isolating himself from the outside world. He ignored his phone, avoided the news on TV, and buried himself in silence. Fortunately, he had restocked his food supplies just before the day they were scammed. This allowed him to survive without stepping out of his rented room for an extended period. But his devastation ran deep—he hadn't even reported to his part-time job, and by now, he had no idea if his boss had fired him or forgotten about him entirely.

Today marked the last day his food supplies could last. He had no choice but to leave the house and restock. He headed to All We Have Mart, a sprawling grocery store where you could find almost anything, from food to daily necessities. Dressed in a plain shirt and worn-out pants, with an unkempt inch-long beard and a haggard appearance, Zebrylle made his way to the store.

At the mart, he carefully selected only the cheapest products, a visible reflection of how tight his budget had become. Standing at the counter, lost in thought, he was jolted back to reality by the cashier calling out to him.

"Sir, your total is $160."

Zebrylle froze for a moment, the words sinking in. With only a thousand dollars left in his account and a few bills in his pocket, the number felt like a punch to the gut. Just two weeks ago, he had been on the verge of becoming a millionaire, ready to divide the profits of their hard work. Now, he was standing there, staring at a basket of cheap goods and feeling the weight of his dwindling finances. Letting out a sigh, he reluctantly handed over his card to pay.

Ding!

Payment successful from account ending XXXX.

The receipt printed, and Zeb gathered his groceries, heading back to his small rented room on his battered e-bike. As he pedaled down the street, the weight of his situation pressed down harder with every turn of the wheel.

Halfway home, something unusual caught his eye. An elderly man in a suit was standing on the sidewalk under the scorching sun, sweating profusely yet smiling warmly. He was trying to convince passersby to open a bank account with some unknown bank. The sight was almost absurd.

Zebrylle slowed his pace, his curiosity piqued. Who on earth would want to open a bank account for an unfamiliar bank—especially one that recruited clients on the sidewalk? The whole setup seemed off. Not only was the bank name unrecognizable, but the idea of signing up for a bank account in the middle of the street felt ludicrous.

"How would they even complete the registration process out here?" Zeb thought to himself. "Where's the proper equipment to issue cards? And why would any legitimate bank resort to such desperate tactics? They're a bank—they should have the resources to build credibility, not stoop to this."

Despite his skepticism, there was something oddly compelling about the scene. The old man's smile seemed genuine, his demeanor persistent yet kind, even as people ignored him. Zeb couldn't help but wonder: Was this bank just another scam waiting to happen? Or was there more to the story?

With his thoughts tangled between curiosity and doubt, Zeb continued on his way. But just as he was about to pass by, the old man caught sight of him. Their eyes met, and for a moment, it was as if time slowed. Zeb felt an inexplicable pull, like something deep within him had been stirred. The old man's gaze seemed to capture a fragment of his soul, carrying a weight far greater than mere words could convey.

The old man smiled—a knowing, almost enigmatic smile—and gestured toward Zeb.

"Young man, why not come over and try registering for our bank? You won't regret it," the old man said in a calm, confident tone.

Zeb hesitated, his expression skeptical. A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind. "God, am I really such an unlucky fool that I'm about to get scammed again?" His instinct screamed at him to walk away, but something about the old man's presence gave him pause.

Though doubtful, Zeb decided to stay and hear him out. "It's just listening," he reasoned with himself. "It won't cost me a penny. Besides, the least I can do is acknowledge the old man's effort."

Reluctantly, Zeb approached the man, his arms crossed and his posture guarded. Still, something about the encounter felt strangely significant, like a small ripple in what had otherwise been a stagnant sea of despair.

Zeb listened to the old man's pitch, which was delivered with a business-like tone meant to sound persuasive. However, the content was a hodgepodge of outrageous claims. "If you register, you can conquer the world," the old man declared with enthusiasm. "Dominate your destiny! A budget will be deposited directly into your account without costing you a penny!"

The longer Zeb listened, the darker his expression grew. The absurdity of the statements piled up, each more ridiculous than the last. "This is definitely a scam," he thought, his patience wearing thin. But as he observed the old man's proud and earnest demeanor, he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity.

"Poor guy," Zeb mused. "He must've been scammed himself. Maybe some con artist promised him riches or played a cruel prank. Why else would he be out here, sweating under the blazing sun, promoting something this bizarre?"

Still, Zeb decided to humor the man for a moment longer. "Alright, old man," he said skeptically. "How much do you need for this registration? And what's in it for you? How much are they paying you to pull this off?"

The old man's response left Zeb stunned. With an unwavering smile, the man said, "What I receive is a fortune greater than any money could ever buy. It's so valuable that nothing in this world can rival its worth."

Zeb raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"Good karma," the old man replied, his tone as serene as a monk's. "The kind of karma that paves the way to a life of peace and fulfillment."

Zeb blinked, his skepticism morphing into something closer to disbelief. "This guy is completely nuts," he thought. "Or maybe just hopelessly idealistic."

He was about to walk away when the old man called out again, stopping him in his tracks.

"Look," Zeb said, his voice shaky but louder this time, tinged with both annoyance and exasperation. "Old man, I was already scammed into being broke. I don't have spare money for your registration, or whatever this is supposed to be!"

But the old man's expression remained unchanged. His smile was as steady as ever, radiating calm and patience. "Young man," he said gently, "it is not your money that's needed to open this account. It's your karma."

Zeb let out an audible groan, his frustration clear. His face darkened further, but as he looked at the old man's genuine expression, his resistance wavered. "What's the harm?" he thought. "I won't lose a penny, and maybe this'll help him feel like he accomplished something. He's old and out here sweating under the sun, doing this ridiculous job. It's the least I can do."

"Fine," Zeb finally said with a sigh. "I'll register. What do I need to do? And what are the rules for opening this so-called account?"

The old man's eyes lit up, as if Zeb had just agreed to the most important deal in the world. "It's simple!" he said, pulling out a strange-looking device. It was a peculiar gadget that looked like a cross between a smartphone and a store's POS machine. The device had a touchscreen interface and a small slot that resembled a mini-printer.

"All I need to do is record your data here," the old man explained, holding up the device. "Your name, age, and a few other details. That's all."

Zeb nodded reluctantly. The process sounded simple enough, and he didn't see any harm in it. The old man asked a series of straightforward questions, and Zeb answered them without hesitation. Once the data was entered, the old man tapped a button on the screen, and the device whirred to life.

To Zeb's surprise, the machine produced an ATM card almost instantly. The card was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its surface was a deep, glossy black with intricate gilded designs that shimmered like diamonds and other precious jewels. His name was embossed in elegant lettering, adding to the card's luxurious appearance.

Zeb stared at it, momentarily taken aback. "Wow," he muttered under his breath. "This company really went all out on the design. It looks more expensive than any card I've seen, even those big bosses carry around. They must've spent a fortune to make it this fancy—just to scam people. High-level stuff."

Turning the card over in his hand, Zeb smirked. "Well, I didn't spend a penny, and I got a cool-looking card out of it. Even if it's useless, it'll make a stylish souvenir for my wallet."

As he tucked the card into his pocket, the old man smiled warmly. "Congratulations, young man. This card is more valuable than you realize."

Zeb gave a skeptical chuckle. "Sure, if you say so," he replied, climbing back onto his e-bike. As he pedaled away, he couldn't shake the feeling that this bizarre encounter was far from ordinary.