"The Transfers"
Directions: Read the story. Then answer the questions below.
Loren had been surreptitiously moving money from the
accounts of his bank’s wealthiest clients to one he created
for himself in the Cayman Islands for 8 years. He had every
reason to believe that no one suspected a thing.
He had been prudent with all the money he had embezzled from Signet Bank. He wore second-hand suits to his job as a bank teller there. He rode his bike from Anacostia - the squalid, blighted neighborhood he called home - to his DuPont Circle branch each day.
He rarely travelled outside of the Washington, DC, area. He did nothing at all to raise a red flag. He appeared as nothing more than an 18-dollar-an-hour bank employee in a town where many made millions.
No one, he was sure, had ever scrutinized the myriad of transactions which had taken place – lump sum transfers of $9,000 every other week. Otherwise, the truth would have surely come to light a long time ago.
“Nine thousand dollars every other week is just a drop in the bucket to these rich folks,” Loren reasoned. This assuaged his guilt.
In Loren’s mind, it was the greedy people who got caught doing these things. It was the ostentatious ones, too. It was the guys who built multi-million dollar homes with 24 rooms on a pauper’s salary.
To him, the bank was fraught with idiots, and no one was capable of unraveling his master plan. Now it was too late for them.
Today was the day Loren would begin reaping the benefits of all his patience and cunning and begin living in blissful obscurity.
After an ordinary day at work, Loren got on his bike and road over the river to National Airport.
As the plane lifted off the runway for the Caribbean, Loren watched intently out the window. He had close to $2 million collecting interest in the bank and had gotten off scot-free.
As the plane landed, Loren finally allowed himself to fully dream of the carefree life he was about to begin. He moved down the airplane steps, across the tarmac and headed toward the airport. The balmy air felt comforting to his skin.
He breathed in slowly and deeply with anticipation and was surprised to hear a familiar voice.
“Hey, Loren. Not so fast.”
He had been prudent with all the money he had embezzled from Signet Bank. He wore second-hand suits to his job as a bank teller there. He rode his bike from Anacostia - the squalid, blighted neighborhood he called home - to his DuPont Circle branch each day.
He rarely travelled outside of the Washington, DC, area. He did nothing at all to raise a red flag. He appeared as nothing more than an 18-dollar-an-hour bank employee in a town where many made millions.
No one, he was sure, had ever scrutinized the myriad of transactions which had taken place – lump sum transfers of $9,000 every other week. Otherwise, the truth would have surely come to light a long time ago.
“Nine thousand dollars every other week is just a drop in the bucket to these rich folks,” Loren reasoned. This assuaged his guilt.
In Loren’s mind, it was the greedy people who got caught doing these things. It was the ostentatious ones, too. It was the guys who built multi-million dollar homes with 24 rooms on a pauper’s salary.
To him, the bank was fraught with idiots, and no one was capable of unraveling his master plan. Now it was too late for them.
Today was the day Loren would begin reaping the benefits of all his patience and cunning and begin living in blissful obscurity.
After an ordinary day at work, Loren got on his bike and road over the river to National Airport.
As the plane lifted off the runway for the Caribbean, Loren watched intently out the window. He had close to $2 million collecting interest in the bank and had gotten off scot-free.
As the plane landed, Loren finally allowed himself to fully dream of the carefree life he was about to begin. He moved down the airplane steps, across the tarmac and headed toward the airport. The balmy air felt comforting to his skin.
He breathed in slowly and deeply with anticipation and was surprised to hear a familiar voice.
“Hey, Loren. Not so fast.”