By the time Eric got home, he could barely feel his legs.
His head throbbed. The adrenaline was fading—and at the same time, a new kind of pressure was building inside him.
He barely closed the door before leaning against the wall, taking a deep breath.
He didn't know if he had finally lost his mind…
Or if, for the first time in his life—
He was actually taking control.
But there was no time for doubt.
He had a plan.
Or at least the shadow of one.
He sat on the bed, opened his backpack, and poured the gold coins onto the sheets. The golden glow lit up the small room, almost mocking the absurd situation he had thrown himself into.
He exhaled slowly, grabbed his phone, and called Elena.
She answered quickly.
Before she could say anything, Eric spoke:
"I need a week."
Silence.
Heavy.
The kind that seemed to freeze the air itself.
"Eric…" her voice came out weak. "You said it had to be as fast as possible. I already set it up. They want the meeting in three days."
Eric felt his heart almost stop.
The bed seemed to sink beneath him.
The room spun.
"Three… days?" he repeated.
It wasn't enough.
Not even close.
But a promise was a promise.
And he had made one.
He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, trying to swallow the rising panic.
"Alright. In three days… we'll be ready."
Elena hesitated.
When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.
"Are you… sure?"
The truth?
No.
But he needed to sound like he was.
"Trust me. I'll handle it."
Before he could say something reckless—like admitting he was terrified—Eric hung up.
He tossed the phone onto the bed and ran his hands over his face, feeling the cold sweat.
Three days.
And less than one day to gather over a million dollars in euros if he wanted to start phase two.
He laughed.
A short, nervous laugh.
"Great, Eric… now you're an optimistic psychopath."
But there was no time for self-reflection.
He looked at the coins on the bed and made a quick decision:
He would take only ten.
Enough for the first step—even if he had to sell them for far less than they were worth.
Time was the enemy.
He placed ten coins into a small pouch, slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket, and left the apartment.
The mission had begun.
His first stops were pawn shops.
To his surprise, it wasn't hard to find one willing to buy three or four coins at once.
Half the market value—of course.
It was always like that.
When someone is desperate, the world notices.
But Eric had no choice.
He had an insane deadline.
And a nearly suicidal plan.
He sold the ten coins, gathering an impressive amount—
Though still far from what he needed.
Without wasting time, he moved to the second step of phase one:
Getting more coins.
Coins.
Coins.
And more coins.
He went from shops to markets, bakeries to kiosks.
He asked for exchanges.
Paid small extra fees discreetly—
Until the weight of the coins became almost unbearable.
Then—
He saw an old man pushing a rusty bicycle.
"How much for it?" Eric asked.
The man looked surprised.
"It barely works… maybe fifty euros?"
Eric placed 500 euros in his hand.
The old man was so shocked he counted the money four times, sniffed the bills, and still asked:
"You're not one of those crazy guys who run naked on the beach, right?"
"Not today," Eric replied, climbing onto the bike.
A Mountain of Metal
Eric rode across the city.
Again.
And again.
Each time he returned home, he dumped bags full of coins onto the floor.
Each time he left—
He brought back more.
From morning until early evening, he worked like a machine.
Collecting.
Converting.
Returning.
Leaving again.
Riding.
Spending.
Repeating—
Without thinking.
When the sun began to set, Eric could barely stand without shaking.
His hands ached from carrying weight.
His legs felt like lead.
His clothes were soaked in sweat.
He leaned against the bed, struggling to breathe.
And then—
A question surfaced.
Why am I doing this?
He barely knew Elena.
Helping her meant going up against loan sharks—violent criminals.
It was irrational.
Impulsive.
Stupid.
But…
For the first time in a long time—
Eric felt alive.
His blood rushed through his veins.
Maybe it was the gold.
Maybe the adrenaline.
Maybe Elena—
A factor impossible to ignore.
Or maybe it was something simpler:
For the first time in his life—
He had power.
And he wanted to use it.
Phase Two — Or the Beginning of It
Exhausted, Eric collapsed onto the bed.
He opened the box of the new laptop he had bought minutes earlier during his last trip home.
He powered it on.
Opened the browser.
And typed without hesitation:
"How to hire private security."
He paused.
Then started laughing.
"They're going to lock me up someday…" he muttered.
But he kept going.
He researched companies.
Discreet services.
Private contractors.
Freelance ex-military personnel.
Everything.
Each click built a map of possibilities.
He needed something.
Someone.
A group capable of dealing with loan sharks—
Without drawing unnecessary attention.
And he needed them fast.
As he read, one simple truth became clear:
With enough money—
You could hire almost anyone in the world.