When Eric arrived home, he could no longer feel his legs. His head throbbed, the adrenaline was starting to fade, and at the same time, a new pressure was rising inside him. He barely closed the door before leaning against the wall, breathing deeply. He didn't know if he had just lost his mind or if he was finally taking control of his own life.
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 blanket. The golden glow lit the small room as if mocking the absurd situation he had gotten himself into. He exhaled slowly, grabbed his phone, and dialed Elena's number.
She answered quickly, and before she could say anything, Eric declared:
"I need one week."
On the other end, absolute silence.
A silence that seemed to freeze the air.
"Eric…" her voice came out weak. "You said it had to be as fast as possible. I already scheduled it. They want the meeting in three days."
Eric felt his heart nearly stop.
The bed seemed to sink under him.
The room spun.
"Three… days?" he repeated, stunned.
It was too little. Practically nothing.
But a promise was a promise.
And he had made one.
He pressed the phone against his ear, trying to swallow the rising panic.
"Alright. In three days we'll be ready."
Elena didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
"Are you… sure?"
The truth? No.
But he needed to act like he was.
"Trust me. I'm going to fix this."
Before he could say something stupid — 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 more than a million dollars in euros if he wanted to start phase two of the plan.
He laughed. A short, nervous laugh.
"Great, Eric… now you're an optimistic psychopath."
But there was no time for self-criticism.
He looked at the coins on the bed and decided quickly:
He would take only ten.
Enough for the first stage — even if he had to sell them for much less than they were actually worth. Time was the enemy.
He placed ten coins into a small pouch, tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket, and left home.
The journey began.
The first stops were pawnshops.
To his surprise, it wasn't hard to find one willing to buy three or four coins at once. Half the market price — of course. It was always like that. When someone is desperate, the world knows.
But Eric had no choice.
He had an insane deadline.
And a suicidal plan.
He sold the ten coins, gathered an impressive amount of money, though still far from enough. And without wasting time, he moved on to the second step of the first stage:
Get ordinary coins.
Coins.
Coins.
And more coins.
He went to stores, markets, bakeries, kiosks. He asked for exchanges, paid small extra fees discreetly, until the weight of the coins became unbearable.
That was when he saw an old man pushing a rusty bicycle.
"How much for it?" Eric asked.
The old man, surprised, replied, "It barely works… maybe fifty euros?"
Eric placed 500 euros into the man's hand.
The old man was so shocked that he counted the money four times, smelled the bills, and still asked:
"You're not one of those crazy folks who runs naked on the beach, right?"
"Not today," Eric replied, climbing onto the bicycle.
A Mountain of Metal
Eric pedaled across the entire city, returning home multiple times.
Each time, he dropped off bags full of coins onto his bedroom floor.
Each return trip brought more.
From morning until early evening, he worked like a machine.
Collecting coins, converting, returning, leaving again, pedaling, spending…
Repeating without thinking.
When the sun began to set, Eric could barely stand without trembling. His hands ached from carrying weight. His legs felt like lead. His clothes were drenched in sweat.
He leaned against the bed, breathing hard.
Then the question came.
Why am I doing this?
He barely knew Elena.
Helping her meant confronting loan sharks — violent criminals.
It was completely irrational.
Impulsive.
Stupid.
But… for the first time in a long while, Eric felt his blood alive. He felt alive. Maybe it was the gold. Maybe the adrenaline. Maybe Elena's beauty — an impossible factor to ignore.
Or maybe simply because, 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 on the bed and opened the box containing the new laptop he had bought minutes before returning home on his last trip.
He turned the device on, opened the browser, and without hesitation typed:
"How to hire a private security group"
He paused for a moment.
Then started laughing.
"They're going to lock me up someday…" he muttered.
But he kept going.
He researched companies, underground services, private security contractors, freelance ex-military… everything. Every click formed a mosaic of possibilities.
But he needed something.
Someone.
A group capable of facing the loan sharks without drawing unnecessary attention.
And he needed it fast.
As he read, he realized something simple:
If he had enough money, almost anyone in the world could be hired.