Chapter 1: The Billionaire's Coin

You ever pull a coin out of thin air and wish it was real? Today, it was.

A billionaire pressed an exquisite, one-of-a-kind coin into my palm.

"I’m going live in ten minutes. The whole world’s gonna know I gave you this coin," he grinned, his voice made for the camera.

"Whoever holds this coin will inherit my entire estate—about seven hundred million US dollars. But I’ll only make my will official after seven days."

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped it. Was this some kind of prank? Or was I about to get mugged on livestream? My heart pounded. But I nodded, took the coin, and ran.

1

The coin felt heavier than it should, rising and falling with my heartbeat, like it was syncing with my pulse.

Sirens wailed in the distance, the scent of hot dogs and car exhaust mixing in the muggy air. That little circle of metal seemed to drag at my pocket, gravity pulling me down like the world suddenly cared where I walked. My hand kept brushing the fabric, half-expecting the coin to burn right through.

Seven days. Seven hundred million dollars…

It sounded like a fantasy, too wild to believe.

My mind spun with possibilities. Suddenly, rent, old debts, the worn soles of my sneakers—everything that usually felt impossible seemed to shrink to nothing. For a second, I let myself wonder what it would feel like to be the richest man in the city. But soon, I realized things weren’t so simple.

This billionaire’s influence was everywhere. Every time he went live, tens of thousands tuned in without missing a beat.

His reputation was gospel in this town. You saw his face on Forbes and on bus-stop benches—everyone knew him, even if they’d never met him. When he spoke, the city listened. My phone buzzed nonstop; even people at the local diner were glued to the TV, voices rising in excitement.

Within minutes, the news exploded across the city.

People at gas stations, barbershops, even the checkout lines at Walmart were talking about it. In coffee shops and on subreddits, folks speculated wildly: Was it a publicity stunt? A scam? Or some wild, real-life lottery?

He hadn’t said my name or what I looked like—just that I was a magician, performing at a certain time and place.

That should’ve given me cover, but anonymity doesn’t last long these days. All it took was a few loose ends and an internet connection.

Pretty soon, someone posted photos in the comments.

"Lol, I saw this guy earlier—total hack. How’d he score that kind of luck?" someone wrote, uploading a candid shot from noon.

I could almost hear the snark in her voice—half teasing, half jealous. The comment section blew up, likes piling on, and soon, people started tagging their friends. My hands got clammy as I scrolled.

Someone else dropped a video. "My family’s deli is nearby—here’s our security footage. He walked north along Lincoln Avenue."

Every frame was a nail in my anonymity. The video wasn’t even grainy—high-def, my awkward shuffle and nervous glances on full display. I could picture the deli guy’s easy smile, the way he’d slip me a free soda, and felt something twist inside me.

I was stunned.

A cold, raw feeling prickled up my neck. Paranoia? No, just clarity. I actually knew both of them.

The one who posted the photo was a college girl who’d been coming to watch my shows lately. She never tipped, but always praised my performances.

She was the type to snap selfies with her friends at every show, all smiles, but her wallet always seemed to have a reason to stay zipped. Still, I remembered her laughter, her bright eyes, and how she always lingered for the big finish. The deli owner was a middle-aged man. I always bought cigarettes from him. He was curious about magic, chatted with me a few times, and once said he envied my freewheeling life.

The guy always gave me an extra quarter or a free soda if I was short on cash, joking about running away to Vegas. Why throw me under the bus? They don’t even get anything out of it.

My brain spun, grasping for a reason. Weren’t we all just trying to get by? It stung, sharp as a paper cut. But I quickly realized—this was only natural.

Seven hundred million dollars—enough to make anyone’s eyes turn green.

Everyone dreams of a windfall. Maybe some part of them just couldn’t resist being part of the story. Or maybe they wanted to feel the power of pushing a domino and watching the chain reaction.

But some people know they’re not cut out for risks, or simply don’t dare. They won’t try for the coin themselves.

Some folks stay on the sidelines, safe behind their screens, but still want a taste of the drama. It’s easier to trip someone else than to take the leap yourself. But at the same time, they can’t stand to see someone else get rich so easily.

This city was about to erupt in chaos.

Somewhere, I could almost hear sirens wailing already, the city’s nervous system lighting up with greed and suspicion. No wonder, when the billionaire gave me the coin, he said with a knowing smile:

"Good luck."

His smirk made a lot more sense now—like he’d handed me a loaded gun and told me to run a mile. In that moment, luck felt like a lottery ticket with the numbers already drawn.