Share and share alike

John was just falling asleep when a noise brought him back into full consciousness. He cursed under his breath. Glancing at the clock he saw it was just coming up to midnight. He had to be at work by 6am. There was little that pissed John off more than being tired when he had to give a company presentation.

That's what CEOs did, didn't they? Wasn't it his duty to win new business, to keep the money rolling in for the shareholders? He was one of them, holding several million shares and they had been rising lately, too. John wasn't about to be a majority shareholder for much longer. He knew others that had done the same and he wanted his share of the booty; he didn't care who got in his way, either. Which is why he didn't want to get up and investigate; this piece of business would ensure he was a billionaire instead of a mere millionaire. In the world he was looking to worm his way into, those kinds of details made all the difference when it came to acceptance. He'd always wondered what was on the menu at a White House dinner. He'd bet his whole fortune that it wasn't KFC.

Flicking on the bedside light, John reached for his spectacles. He was almost blind without them on. The room swam into focus and, as if to annoy him more, the noise began again. It certainly sounded like someone was rifling through the drawers of his desk. But, why hadn't the alarm gone off? John didn't have time to think about that as a powerful torchlight momentarily blinded him.

Two bullets later and John was joining a new club: the dead.

--
It was getting light when Frank locked up his garage and swept up the driveway with the broom he always kept by the front porch. Those damn leaves, why did God decide to let some lose them when winter approached, it was most distressing. Frank hated anything done by halves. It was this kind of thinking that had enabled him to build a modest concern into a national business. He was a rich man, but he'd worked hard for his fortune.

He stood below the tree in his front yard, leaning on the broom handle to support himself and looked out at a car sitting opposite his house. Where had he seen it before? Think, Frank. Think hard. He shook his head, the information couldn't be found in his brain's filing system. With a chuckle, Frank thought about whether he was losing it but not really believing that he was.

When the neighbours came out, sometime around 8am, Frank was hanging around his front drive. Literally. A rope held him close to six feet from the ground. Frank wasn't a small man and it would have taken some pulling to get him up that high, so one of the crowd was heard to remark.

--
Logan walked up to the ATM, fingering his cash card nervously. He slipped a glance left and right, as if he expected to be mugged at any moment. When it was his turn, he pushed the card into the slot, punched in his PIN and pressed the Account Balance button. In the back of his mind he knew that there would be a zero balance. Nothing prepared for it to be a cool £3 million.

People stared when Logan let out a whistle and a "fucking hell man". He punched in for a couple of hundred, took the notes and folded them into his pocket. He snatched his card away and walked off at a brisk pace, amazed at his luck.

It took him two more windfalls to believe it was really his account he was accessing.
--

The letter was waiting for Logan when he got home. He picked it off the mat and tore it open. If it was another threatening letter he knew now that he could happily tell them to kiss his hairy arse, he had the cash now. He been delighted to be able to tell other creditors the same recently. They took it rather well. Considering his choice of language.

Once the envelope was ripped away and fluttering to the floor like a dead moth, he opened up the letter. He had to re-read it again to make sure what it said was right.

Dear Mr Hart,
We hope that you have enjoyed your recent financial upswing and would like it continue.

It was us that provided you with this opportunity. As you know, nothing in life is free.

We do require some form of payment on your behalf. However, let us make it clear that the money you have is not welcome. What we require is something else entirely.

Someone will be in touch.

Yours
The Organisation

Fuck, said Logan. It was only now he wished he hadn't taken the money.

--
Logan tugged on the rope as Frank Mallon kicked and thrashed below his vantage point on the branch. There was just enough foliage to hide his crouching figure and he had been blessed that Frank was fastidious when it came to clearing leaves from his driveway. Blessed too that Frank had stopped to look at Logan's car parked across the house.

He tied the rope off and clambered down from the tree and backed away from the house, careful not to leave any footprints on the flower beds. He was back in his car and driving away just as the sun came up. He had fulfilled his promise to The Organisation. Now he would be free to live with his money, never again worrying about his financial status. He was a rich man and he would only get richer.

--
It was a different Logan Hart that could be found in his office. The preceding twenty years had been kind to him, but lines still flowed through his face and he now wore a denture plate. He was also one of the richest men in the world. He'd made that initial bounty grow and grow. Now, he made money for others, the shareholders in his business.

The Organisation seemed such a long way back. He wondered if they were still going, whether they were proud of what he had become. A cough made him swing around in his chair. In front of him stood a scruffy youth pointing a gun at his temple.

What the fuck?

Hello Logan. The Organisation wants you to know how proud they are of you.

Two quick pulls on the trigger and Logan had his answer.