On Christmas Eve, Ben Rivera stops at a bank for last-minute cash, but a man in a ragged parka has other plans. With a gun pressed to his head, Ben must think fast — and a clever gamble leaves the robber empty-handed. But just as relief sets in, Ben faces an even bigger twist: he’s mistaken for the thief.
Elena was tapping her nails on the frosted cab window, her breath fogging up the glass. She peered out, squinting through the swirl of snowflakes. “You better not take forever, Ben.”
“I’m literally just grabbing cash,” I said, pulling my hood tighter against the wind. “Two minutes, tops.”
“Two minutes,” she repeated like a warning, brows raised, eyes sharp. “If you make me sit through another one of Mom’s lectures about ‘lateness being a sign of disrespect,’ I’m leaving you to fend for yourself.”
I waved her off, pretending I wasn’t half as nervous about her mom as I actually was. My boots crunched against the snow, and I jogged toward the glowing “First Edgecliff Bank” sign. It was one of those tiny ATM vestibules that smelled like old receipts and damp shoes. Warmth hit me as I stepped inside, along with that metallic, bank-note smell.
There were only two other people in the vestibule.
One was a wiry man in a grimy green parka, his hood up, hands shoved in his pockets like he was cradling something fragile. He rocked on his heels, eyes darting too fast for comfort. Homeless? Strung out? Hard to say.
The other was a woman I pegged as “old money” the second I saw her. Rich people have this way of being casual about looking expensive. Her red cashmere coat looked like it cost more than my rent, and she was scrolling through her phone, perfectly oblivious.
“Great,” I muttered to myself. “Just a normal Christmas Eve.”
I swiped my card and tapped the screen, glancing at the timer counting down for “Processing Transaction.” The Coatman was mumbling something low near Cashmere Lady. I figured he was asking for change. She didn’t even look up.
I reached for my cash the second it slid out of the machine, but something cold pressed against the back of my head.
“Don’t turn around,” said a voice behind me. Low. Sharp. Too steady to be bluffing. “Take out three hundred from your checking account, or I’ll paint the wall with your brains.”
My heart thudded so hard I thought it might bust through my chest. I blinked once. Twice.
Okay, think, Ben. Think.
First thought: He’s bluffing. It could be a key, a stick, anything.
Second thought: If he’s not bluffing, I am one bad decision away from being a chalk outline.
Third thought: I don’t even have a checking account. Just savings.
“Alright, man, just—” I lifted my hands a little, slow as honey. “Just chill, okay? I’m gonna get it.”
My fingers moved like they were underwater as I tapped the buttons. Checking account. Three hundred. Enter.
“Transaction cannot be completed.”
I winced. “Hey, man, I just opened this account. Maybe there’s a limit. Let me try again.”
“Do it,” he said, voice tighter now, like he was clenching his jaw.
I tapped again, knowing exactly what was coming. Another error. “Transaction cannot be completed.”
I let out a nervous, too-loud laugh. “Look, man, I’m not lying. I’m broke. I was just seeing if my paycheck cleared. It didn’t.”
Silence. The kind that makes you sweat in the cold. I felt his breath on my neck, smelled stale coffee and something sharp, like rusted metal. The seconds stretched so long I started counting them in my head. Five… six…
He pulled the pressure off my head.
“Well,” he muttered. “Thanks for trying, buddy. Stay safe.”
He patted my shoulder.
My jaw went slack as I watched him stroll past me, out the door, like a guy just heading to his next errand. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe it.
“Did this dude just thank me for not having money?”
“HE TOOK TWO HUNDRED FROM ME!” The scream yanked me out of my daze.
I turned to see Cashmere Lady clutching her phone like a lifeline, staring at the door. “He stole two hundred from me!” she shrieked again, eyes wild with disbelief.
I looked at her like she had to be joking. “Two hundred?” I pointed at myself, still holding my sad little receipt. “He asked me for three! THREE.”
Her mouth opened and shut like a fish gasping for air. “I… I didn’t know it was negotiable.”
I threw my hands up. “Unbelievable.”
She hugged her coat like it might protect her from me, too. “Are you calling the police?” she asked.
“No,” I snapped, already storming toward the door. “I’m calling Santa.”
I stepped outside into the white fog of falling snow. The city felt too quiet. No cars. No shouts. Just the crunch of my boots.
“Hey,” I said to the two teenage girls behind the counter of the nearest convenience store. They stared at me like I was a horror movie villain. “Call the cops. A guy just robbed the bank next door.”
They blinked.
“CALL. THE. COPS.”
Nothing.
I huffed, reached behind the counter, and grabbed their phone. “9-1-1,” I barked into the receiver, pacing like a caged dog. I told them what happened, where it happened, and they said a squad car was on its way.
By the time I made it back to the vestibule, two men in suits were talking to Cashmere Lady. She pointed at me.
“That’s him! The guy who robbed me!”
My brain short-circuited. “ARE YOU SERIOUS? Look at me!” I flapped my arms at my busted jacket, boots hanging on by threads. “Do I look like I’m out here robbing rich people?”
The men stared at me like they weren’t quite convinced.
“CALL THE COPS,” I repeated, tapping my temple. “I called them FOR HER.”
One man tilted his head. “You called it in?”
“YES.”
“Where?”
“Store. Right there.”
He glanced at his partner, and they shrugged. I didn’t wait for them to figure it out. I walked straight out, feet crunching hard against the snow.
Elena was outside now, pacing like a mom waiting on her rebellious kid to come home. Her coat wasn’t zipped, which was basically a death sentence for a nurse like her.
“Where the hell have you been?” she snapped, arms crossed. “You’ve been in and out of that bank like a maniac.”
“I DON’T WANNA TALK ABOUT IT.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
I turned, pointing at the bank like it was haunted. “Guy put a GUN to my head, Elena! A GUN.”
Her face drained of color. “What?”
“Yeah, and then Cashmere McCasherson accused me of robbing her. Me.” I clapped my chest. “ME.”
Her eyes darted behind me, and her whole face shifted. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”
Sirens.
My chest got tight.
“Great,” I muttered. “Perfect timing.”
A cop got out, eyes already locked on me like I’d just written my name on the crime scene. “Sir, we need to talk to you.”
The cop didn’t cuff me, but I was one wrong move away. I was tired. Freezing. Done.
Cashmere Lady finally clicked into reality. She ran out, waving like she was flagging down a plane. “Wait, wait! He didn’t do it! He helped me call the police!”
The cop glanced at her, then at me. “You the one who called us?”
“Yup. Used their store phone.”
He nodded, waved me off. “Stay out of trouble.”
I shuffled to the cab. Elena passed me a flask from her bag. I took a long sip, hands still shaking.
“You’re not gonna believe this,” I muttered, leaning my head back on the seat. “I think I just got thanked by a mugger.”
Elena tilted her head. “What?”
“Guy said ‘thanks for trying’ after I couldn’t give him cash.”
She blinked once, twice, then started laughing so hard she snorted. I joined her, breath fogging the cab windows.
I glanced out at the falling snow and spotted him. Green parka. Hood up. On a crowded bus.
He saw me. Tipped two fingers to his brow, like a salute.
I stared until the bus disappeared.
“Drive,” I muttered. “Let’s just get to your mom’s house.”
