The inside of the restaurant’s main office looked nothing like I would’ve expected it. Rows of filing cabinets covered most of the walls, with a floor-bolted metal safe nestled in between two of them, while expensive looking paintings covered the rest of the walls. The carpet was a dark forest green that complemented the mahogany desk in the center. Several sheets of paper and manilla envelopes were scattered across it, along with a landline telephone, a small collection of ballpoint pens next to a fountain tip, and a bottle of white correctional fluid.

The room was also completely empty, without even a single security camera present! The two bookkeepers who ran this place believed they won the carnal lottery and subsequently ran out, leaving the door to this place unlocked and everything inside to me.

I stepped over to the desk and took a seat in the comfy leather chair, but not before properly locking the front door. I’d need some privacy for what I was about to do.

So the name of the game here was money laundering, and my mission was simple. I overheard what their greatest fear was, and I was going to make it a reality; a visit from the federal government.

I flipped open the manilla folder right in front of me that was labeled with the current month and began to flip through the pages. It was all there, sales charts, bulk orders, salaries, the works. And looking through it all, nothing really stood out as suspicious.

But that was because I wasn’t an accountant. I didn’t know all of the little things the mob had to do to keep eyes off of them, but I didn’t really have to, because all it would take was a single big thing to get eyes on them. A devilish smile crept across my lips. It was time to make some trouble.

To start things off, I opened up the sales chart, and after taking time to understand what all of the columns represented, I changed one of the transactions to be above ten grand. It was simple, I just had to add a few extra zeros in the SALE column of that table. I was a genius!

I snickered to myself at… how easy that would be to fix. The accountant’s apprentice was already looking for them, after all.

My body sagged into the chair as I let out a sigh. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as I expected? But before I could toss all of the records into the paper shredder out of spite, I felt a small tingle at the back of my head, a humble request from something that wanted to be let out. It wasn’t Charisma, or some Skill. It was a different attribute. I closed my eyes and focused on it, deciding that it wasn’t likely to be too much of a risk, at least with nobody here. My eyes opened wide as I harnessed Intelligence.

Harnessing a new attribute felt unfamiliar. I didn’t have a need for anything but Charisma all this time, with my own natural talents being more than enough for everything I’d faced. But I was still glad I had it. Especially right now.

The feeling the attribute gave me, it wasn’t as if something was modifying my brain. It was more like something was passively suggesting ideas in the back of my mind. Really good ideas. The first of which was to add a few more transactions to the ledger. A few ten k’s here, a couple of eights there, and a very regular series of several five hundred dollar sales each month.

The attribute didn’t bother to actually tell me what its reasoning was, no matter how hard I poked and prodded it. The best explanation I could come up with was that a lot of the same number repeated so evenly would look suspicious to the trained eye, but not the assistant. Satisfied with what I came up with, I continued on with the next idea.

There was a sub-folder inside of the main one that contained a list of both written and printed receipts. Some were small but others for massive quantities of overpriced food, likely filed away to “prove” that those sales were legitimate and not just mindless cash dumps.

I flipped a switch underneath the desk and a mechanical whirring came to life. Metal blades began to spin inside their clear cage, with only an opening in a thin plastic cover acting as the half-assed shield between someone’s hands and the paper shredder. The receipts all went falling in.

Brrrr

The heavy blades quickly turned the long strips of paper into mulch with its distinctive whir. Music to my ears.

Before Intelligence could suggest something else, I temporarily turned it off. It was helpful, but I was actually starting to have some fun, and I wanted to be the one to think up the next idea!

I’d spent about five minutes trawling through the folder and its several remaining sub-folders before I found something that looked promising. Employment forms.

The restaurant apparently had several dozen men and women working under them, all earning amazing salaries that even rivaled what Hiroi was willing to pay for an apartment complex gigolo or Goldshanks for my expertise. It wouldn’t take a genius to see what was so suspicious about all of that. There was only a single hostess at the front during what should’ve been the lunch rush, and likely just as few workers in the kitchen. Besides, this place didn’t even have enough room to host so many employees! Their high pay must’ve been how the restaurant “spent” all of its laundered money. The few people here would get a normal salary while the rest of it left in those suitcases being carried off by the mobsters.

That wouldn’t do, would it? I took several of the personnel sheets and threw them into the shredder as well. But only a few of them. As for the others, I took a little bit of white-out to their salaries and tripled their previous pay. A smaller number would’ve kept the numbers from adding up and gotten government attention faster, but I didn’t have it in me to fuck them over, even fictionally, after what I’d been through at Mike’s old retail job. Anyone in the service industry deserves to be respected for what they have to go through.

I was satisfied with having played my own part in this act of revenge. I turned Intelligence back on and shamelessly had it hold my hand the rest of the way. It, however, had other plans.

My eyes were slowly guided to the rotary telephone sitting on the desk. The attribute wanted me to make a call. But to whom? And what the hell was I supposed to say?

…

I had nothing. For an attribute that was only at 13, it had given me more than I had expected, and I was honestly grateful. But there was still a little bit more to do, and I knew I had it in me to finish this.

I began to open up the desk’s drawers and pilfer through their contents. Most of them were stationery, but I eventually found a small leather-bound booklet. It was filled with a list of names, titles, and seven to ten-digit numbers. It was a phonebook; jackpot.

There were several numbers inside, and I began to dial them one by one.

“Wholesale Food Solutions, how can I help you?”

“Yeah,” I said, putting on my best impression of the head accountant. “We’re going to need to triple the usual order for Vicci’s Trattoria.”

“Ah, the order you made earlier today wasn’t enough? Well either way, can do, sir!”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

I hung up and dialed the next number.

“Ayy, how’s my favorite money guy doin’!” asked a man on the other end with a thick accent. “You washed the collections I brought you yet?”

“Ahead of schedule!” I exclaimed back. This must’ve been one of the higher-ranked mobsters in charge of running one of the rackets. “Enough that I can take double- no triple, so have it wired over.”

“I ain’t about to look a shark like youse in the mouth, so it’s comin’ right up!”

The man hung up, and I continued onto the third number.

“Hello, Bruno,” a curt woman replied. “Is there something you wished to change with your campaign donations?”

My eyebrows rose as I looked back at the paper. “Marissa Rosemont” was all it read, along with the letters “PAC” written next to it in parentheses. Something about that sounded familiar, and from what I remembered about the one political science class I never really paid attention to in high school, it had to do with election campaigns. It was time to take a risk.

“Uh, yeah,” I answered lackadaisically in an attempt to hide how quickly my heart was beating. “Remind me again who I’m donating to?”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Your Political Action Committee has a relatively modest amount of money put towards several local candidates, most of them incumbents. The police commissioner for one, as well as several prosecutors, and a few trial judges. Our mayoral candidate is the challenger this time around, rather than the incumbent, since our last man got kicked out for corruption within a year into his position. You sure do know how to pick them.”

“R-right, I knew all that.” I covered the receiver with my hand as I let out a muffled laugh. It looked like I hit the jackpot! “So how humble exactly are these donations?”

“As humble as you requested, sir,” the woman replied. She was beginning to sound irritable. “Just enough ‘to not get any attention’ but enough to ‘get them wet’.” There was a one second pause, which I could’ve sworn the woman used to roll her eyes. “It’s not quite a politically appropriate term, but it gets the point across. They’ll be wet.”

“Well, change of plans,” I said with a fake New Jersey accent that matched the lead money launderer’s over the staticky phone. “I want them fucking soaking! Up the money to as high as you can make it, and even more if it won’t land you in jail. It’s time to show these bozos who really runs this town!”

“But that would get attention from federal authorities!” The woman shot back. For the first time, there was concern in her voice.

I silently took a deep breath and let Charisma flow through me. I just wished there was a way to apologize for whatever it would say next. “Is that complaining’ I hear? I thought you were supposed to be head of the PAC, not PMS! Cool your tits before they start running red too!”

“Fine! You want money, I’ll give you money! But if the feds knock on my door, I’m pointing them to you. I hope you enjoy the grave under the bus I’ll throw you under!” She hung up.

I flashed a bittersweet smile. It was in my favor that the lady on the other end had self respect. As wrong as it felt, that made it easier to user her as a tool to fuck the mob over.

I continued down the phone book, dialing the rest of the numbers and having them either send or spend as much money as I could get them to. It didn’t take too long to reach the end of the first page, and on the second, there was nothing. The rest of the booklet was completely empty.

The dozen or so people I’d called definitely would’ve been enough to cause plenty of trouble, I still wasn’t satisfied. I turned the chair around to face the lone safe, and rose to my feet. My shadow loomed over the metal box as I approached it.

My hand went over the dial and slowly began to turn it when I heard a squeak. I turned it again, and the same loud sound rang out. It had only been about a week, but my handyman job drove an instinct into me. “[Diagnose Problem],” I thought to myself.

Tinker (lv 3)

Problem

First tumbler not set

Huh? I was asking about the squeaky wheel, not the tumblers. I grunted in frustration and began to walk away before the realization finally hit me.

I immediately jumped back towards the safe and used the Skill again, trying my best to keep it constantly active. The same notification window stayed in my vision, but as I rotated the dial clockwise, the text began to change. As I hit the number 36, the notification changed to read the following.

Tinker (lv 3)

Problem

Second tumbler not set

“No fucking way.” I shook my head as I began to turn the dial counter-clockwise.

Tinker (lv 3)

Problem

Third tumbler not set

It was official. The System was fucking broken. I let out a muffled laugh that was covered by the squeaking dial as I turned it until the notification changed once more.

Tinker (lv 3)

Problem

Rust on the inside of the combination dial’s rim

My wide grin began to slowly fade as another realization hit me. The System really was broken. Literally. Why else was [Detect Cheating]’s insanity-inducing passive kept on by default, or [Tinker]’s perks so inconsistent with how it was leveled? Why did Attributes rise wildly on some level ups but barely on others, or [Diagnose Problem] consider a safe doing its fucking job as a problem? The only explanation was that whatever hands put this thing together apparently suffered from Parkinson’s or degenerative Arthritis.

I didn’t know what to think of that, at least not now.

The only thing I could focus on was the stacks of hundred dollar bills sitting in the safe. I found a briefcase lying beside the desk and began to neatly fill it with the cash. I’d taken out about half of it, and arranged what was left to all sit in the front. None of it went into my pockets, however, just in case these bills were somehow traceable.

I didn’t know what was possible, and I wasn’t going to take any risks. Besides, I had two jobs now so money wasn’t an issue. As for the vault, hopefully it’d be some time before anyone noticed anything missing.

I got back up, kicked the safe door closed while turning the dial, and made my way out the door. At the front, I found another woman dressed in the same gray pinstripe suit and purple tie as the other mobsters and threw the briefcase into her arms.

“What’s the fucking problem?” she shouted.

“Present for your boss, toots. Courtesy of Bruno.” I poured my Charisma into the line.

She unclasped it long enough to take a look inside, and after a short gasp, closed it shut and held it tightly to her chest. “The boss says thanks.”

I nodded back as she ran out the front door.

It was also fortunate that the people here didn’t ask questions when they were getting something out of it. But that was human nature to want good things to come, though leveraging Charisma didn’t hurt now that I knew how to. If this kept up, even the big boss would be a pushover!

“Excuse me sir, your tiramisu is ready!” came a cheer from behind me. It was the hostess, holding out a plate.

“Actually, I have something I need to get to. Could I get this to go?” I wasn’t about to stick around for one of the accountants to get back.

“Of course!”

I left the trattoria with the desert wrapped in a small plastic box. My only regret was that I wouldn’t be able to see that Bruno’s reaction, or how badly this would fuck the mob over. As I took a bite of my desert, I did have to admit; revenge was sweet.

[Level up! (8)]

[Str: +0 | Con: +0 | End: +0 | Cha: +1 | Atr: +0 | Dex: +0 | Int: +2]

[Str: 13 | Con: 16 | End: 14 | Cha: 20 | Atr: 11 | Dex: 13 | Int: 18]

[Skill Obtained! Situational Awareness (lv 1)]