He went to the nearest ATM, three blocks away, his breath coming in shallow hitches. He shoved his debit card into the slot. He typed his PIN with trembling fingers. The screen didn’t show his balance. It simply flickered once and swallowed the card. A message appeared in stark, white letters: Account Closed. Please contact your local branch.
The guard sighed, the weary sound of someone dealing with a prankster. He tapped a few keys and turned the monitor around. There was the resident profile for 4B. The name was correct. The social security number, the emergency contact, the employer—all Elias’s. But the photo attached to the file was not Elias. It was a man with a broader jaw, thicker hair, and a smile that looked far more confident than Elias had ever managed to be. Identity Thief
He’s me, Elias whispered to the steam rising from his cup. He’s doing my life better than I did. He went to the nearest ATM, three blocks
He climbed out onto the fire escape just as the heavy thud of boots hit the hallway outside. He disappeared into the city, a man with no name, no past, and no face, searching for a new shadow to inhabit. If you’d like to keep going with this story, let me know: The screen didn’t show his balance
The thief sat back down and resumed typing. You should run, Arthur. It’s what you’re best at.
I’m the upgrade, the thief whispered. I’m the one who’s going to use this life for something. You’re just the man who stole it first. And now, I’ve reported Arthur Vance for the murder of Elias Thorne. The police are on their way.
Desperation drove him back to the library the next morning. He didn't go through the front. He used the delivery bay, slipping in behind a crate of periodicals. He knew the blind spots of the security cameras; he had mapped them out himself during a boring summer shift.