The numbers are screaming at me. People think math is quiet, but they are wrong. When the math is wrong, it sounds like glass breaking in a dark room. I used to be a forensic accountant. I used to find the hidden cents. Now I work for Sol. Sol does not care about cents. He cares about souls. He is a shadow with a ledger, and I am the hand that holds the pen.
I see the pattern now. It started with Benny. Then Sarah. Then a boy named Rider. All of them died of an overdose. The police said it was a bad batch of street junk. They called it a tragedy. I called it a deposit. Every time one of those names hit the morgue, a million dollars moved. It did not move through a bank. It moved through the city morgue.
My hands are shaking so hard I can barely type this. I found the file tonight. It was buried under layers of fake companies and ghost accounts. The syndicate is not just killing people. They are using the bodies to move the money. They “liquidate” a person. They turn a human being into a transaction. The morgue is the vault. The doctors are the tellers. And the “accidents” are just the way they open the safe.
My heart feels like a trapped bird hitting its wings against my ribs. I saw the names for next week. I saw the list of “liquidations” coming up. My sister’s name was at the bottom of the page. Elena. She has a bad heart. She needed surgeries. I took this job to pay her bills. I thought I was saving her. But her debt was bought. Her debt is owned by Eternal Rest. That is the name of the morgue fund. She is not a person to them. She is a million-dollar hole in their book that needs to be filled.
I can hear a car idling outside my apartment. It is 3:00 AM. No one idles a car at 3:00 AM unless they are waiting for something to die. Is it Sol? Is it Marcus? Marcus is the one who “cleans” the scenes. He has hands that look like they are made of grey stone. He never blinks. If he is outside, he is not here to talk about the math. He is here to balance the ledger.
I have to get to Elena. I have to get her out of that clinic. The clinic is part of it. Everything is connected. The hospitals, the debts, the deaths. It is a machine that eats people and spits out clean cash. I can feel the coldness spreading in my chest. It is the same coldness I saw on the faces at the morgue. Their skin looks like wet paper. Their eyes are empty because the syndicate took everything, even the value of their breath.
The door downstairs just clicked. I know that sound. It is a skeleton key. Sol gave me one once. It slides into the lock like a secret. My breathing is too loud. I am trying to hold it, but my lungs are burning. I have to move. I have to run. But where do you go when the whole city is a bank and you are just a withdrawal?
If I don’t make it, look at the files. Look at the overdoses. Look at the “accidental” falls. Follow the money into the basement of the city. The numbers don’t lie. They never lie. They just tell you how much you are worth when you are dead.
The floorboards in the hall are groaning. Someone is standing right outside my door. I can see the shadow moving under the crack. It is long and thin. It looks like a pen waiting to cross out a name. I am not a person anymore. I am a zero. I am a zero and they are coming to collect. Elena, I am so sorry. I thought the money would save us. I forgot that money is just another word for blood.
The handle is turning. It is slow. It is quiet. It is the most terrifying sound I have ever heard. I am going to jump. The window is high, but the hallway is certain death. I have to reach her. I have to tell her she is not a number.
I’m jumping. I’m jumping now. Please, if you find this, don’t let them close the account. Don’t let them turn us all into zeros.