We Came to Collect the Jackpot
“We came to collect the prize money.”
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Harvard dormitory, third floor of Radcliffe Quad.
Morning sunlight slanted across ivory walls where the paint had peeled away in patches. The old window frame creaked in the wind.
Grace Fairfax woke to that familiar noise.
The scent of lavender fabric softener brushed her nose.
It was a peaceful, perfect morning, unchanged from the day before down to the number of stains speckling the ceiling.
Except for one thing.
······.
In her half-awake mind, last night’s film reel began to spin out of control.
The dark warehouse. The silver powder drifting through the air like a sudden snowfall.
And then her arms, flung around Lee Sanha’s neck, and the hot brush of his cheek against her lips.
“Aaaaah!”
Grace screamed and buried herself under the blanket.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The bundle of bedding on the bed thrashed wildly.
“I’m crazy! I’m crazy! Grace Fairfax, you’ve finally lost it! What possessed you to do something so outrageous? That’s it, you’re never getting married now!”
She clawed at her hair and hurled desperate excuses at the ceiling.
“No, no, that wasn’t a kiss. It was just... right, a bisou! A French greeting! We’re global business partners, aren’t we? There’s nothing strange about greeting each other the French way. We’re going into France someday anyway, so what’s the problem?”
The cool, imperious Harvard valedictorian who dreamed of inheriting a multinational empire was nowhere to be found.
Grace slapped both cheeks hard, once and then again.
“Pull yourself together. It was $8.6 million. If you hit a jackpot like that, a little hug is fine. Right, it was a kind of incentive. A success bonus, basically.”
She put on a solemn face.
She tried to rationalize the whole thing with business logic, but she couldn’t stop her cheeks from turning pink.
“This is because I slapped my face. That’s why it’s red. When a person strikes their cheek with a hand, it creates about 4.5 newtons of force, which drives red blood cells toward the epidermis and causes temporary erythema, so this is completely physiological.”
Just as she was still trying to convince herself in the little hand mirror, a news report drifted out of the radio.
Ignoring the grim economic news, Grace pulled out the brightest cardigan and pleated skirt in her closet.
Today was the day she would cash in the lottery tickets.
And she would be doing it with Lee Sanha.
······ together.
Her grip tightened on the hanger.
Her face in the mirror was turning red all over again.
“Ah, seriously!”
She flung the clothes onto the bed, dove back under the blanket, and pummeled her pillow with her fists.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Then, from the neighboring bed, her roommate Sarah Charlotte spoke in a sleep-choked voice.
“The ghost of the mattress is groaning in pain, Grace. It says the springs might give out any minute now. What kind of exorcism are you conducting this early?”
“It’s nothing! Just stretching!”
“······At five-thirty in the morning?”
At Sarah’s suspicious tone, Grace covered her face with the pillow instead of answering.
Then Sarah whispered through the crack in the door.
“Oh, right. I drew tarot cards last night. Your card came up as The Lovers. Upright, too. Something good’s going to happen soon.”
Grace’s heart dropped.
The Lovers? Of all days?
How was she supposed to look Lee Sanha in the eye today?
The shame from yesterday’s kiss felt heavier than the $8.6 million jackpot.
***
Late-autumn leaves rolled across the road in front of the dormitory.
An unfamiliar engine note reached us somewhere on the Cambridge streets.
Screeeech—
Grace, standing at the bottom of the dorm steps, turned toward the sound.
Angular design, a blunt gray body.
It was a crew cab pickup truck with a rear seat.
The driver’s-side window slid down with a smooth hiss.
I adjusted my sunglasses and jerked my chin toward the passenger seat.
“Get in. I already loaded everything in the back.”
“······.”
Grace drew her coat collar close and walked over with regal composure.
“Ahem~! You’re exactly on time, huh? I was going to leave you behind if you were late.”
“I’m always punctual.”
She opened the passenger door, climbed in, and immediately checked the back seat out of habit.
“······haha.”
A dry laugh escaped her lips.
On the rear bench sat a pile of battered California apple boxes and Continental cereal boxes, stacked haphazardly.
The only people in the truck who knew those boxes contained $8.6 million worth of winning lottery tickets were the two of us—Grace and me.
Grace asked, “Where’s Victor?”
“He’s laid up with a cold. He was really sorry he couldn’t come.”
“He’s hardly a loss either way. Anyway, are you really going to leave those boxes like that? Anyone would think this was a grocery delivery truck.”
“That’s exactly why it’s safer. We can’t exactly use an armored cash transport vehicle.”
I stepped on the gas, and the truck rolled forward smoothly.
Outside the window, 1992 slid past.
Between the brownstones, banners announcing bankruptcies and closures hung everywhere.
An electronics store abandoned with its neon sign dead, empty storefronts with newspaper pasted over the glass, drunks staggering through the cold.
On the sidewalks, homeless men and women sat in rows holding cardboard signs that read Looking for work or food, while Salvation Army volunteers handed out flyers for free meals.
Young people in baggy jeans and flannel shirts roamed the campus district, but even their faces carried a trace of unease from somewhere unseen.
Old Chevrolets and Buicks crawled slowly along the road, and the occasional Japanese car still drew looks of envy and suspicion.
Brian Adams’ husky voice drifted from the truck radio.
♫ Look into my eyes, you will see / What you mean to me ♫
The slickest love song in the world, one that had swept the charts on both sides of the Atlantic at once.
Grace’s hand darted to the volume knob.
“Ahem!”
“What?”
“Nothing, the song just feels a little... flat. I’ll turn it off.”
She covered her embarrassment with a cough and changed the subject.
“So the lottery office pickup is in downtown Boston, right? The Massachusetts Lottery headquarters?”
“Yeah. Near Duxbury Street. First prizes have to be claimed at headquarters.”
I turned the wheel and answered flatly.
“All we need is ID and the tickets, but the tax withholding paperwork will take a while. Oh, right—did you go over the legal side? Two people hauling in tens of thousands of tickets at once is going to look suspicious.”
“Of course. A private individual buying lottery tickets in bulk and claiming winnings is perfectly legal. My lawyers have already reviewed it. It may look like we’ve undermined the equal chance of winning for ordinary citizens, though... and I suppose we’ll have to absorb that criticism.”
At Grace’s answer, I nodded.
In fact, something similar happened later at MIT after Grace’s project.
It was the 2012 case known as the MIT Cash WinFall incident, when MIT students exploited a loophole in the Cash WinFall lottery and made several million dollars.
There was no legal issue there either; as I recalled, the real trouble came from tax complications.
Which meant Grace’s project, as long as she paid her taxes properly, wouldn’t run into any problems either.
“Once we cash out, we move straight to the next phase.”
“You mean the Harvard Alumni Association?”
“That’s right.”
Grace intended to deposit the lottery winnings into the fund managed by the Harvard Alumni Association.
First, trust.
Entrusting assets to the association would give her the status of a “vetted investor.”
Second, leverage.
The deposit would become collateral, allowing her to secure a much larger credit line.
Third, networking.
This deposit would open the door to the association’s connections and information network.
And finally, there was the matter of leaving an impression on Director Charles Winsrop, the chairman of the Oddball Entrepreneur Competition judging panel. That was the real reason Grace had chosen the Harvard Alumni Association.
I nodded, agreeing with Grace’s plan.
“As expected, I picked a good partner.”
“······.”
For a moment, Grace’s fingertips twitched.
She cleared her throat and looked out the window.
The ears reflected in the glass had gone red, as if she were wearing ruby earrings.
Grace went on, deliberately casual.
“So where did you learn to drive? You’re pretty steady.”
“I picked up a bit from truck drivers, over the shoulder. I’ve been on a lot of rough roads.”
“······Now I’m really curious about your past. It feels like there’s nothing you haven’t done.”
All the way there, I could feel Grace stealing glances at my profile.
Before long, the glass facade of the Massachusetts Lottery building came into view outside the window.
The moment we entered the Massachusetts Lottery headquarters, fluorescent lights stabbed at my eyes.
Our footsteps echoed hollowly across the linoleum floor in the empty lobby.
At the reception counter, a middle-aged clerk with a surly expression was chewing gum while sorting papers.
“Excuse me.”
“······.”
I approached the counter, but she only glanced at me and turned away, ignoring me outright.
“Hello?”
“······.”
“Hey.”
“······.”
I called out three times, but the clerk didn’t even bother to look my way.
Racial discrimination against Asians.
It was common in America in early 1992.
Unable to stand it any longer, Grace stepped forward, indignant.
“Hey! Are you chewing that gum with your ears? How many times has he called you already...!”
“Tsk.”
Only then did the clerk turn to us.
She gave the cereal box in my hands a cursory glance and said indifferently, as though she had no interest in us whatsoever, “Yes? What can I do for you?”
“We’re here to claim lottery winnings.”
“······What prize tier?”
At the clerk’s question, I opened my mouth to answer.
“Sixth prize...”
“Oh, in that case, small prizes can just be collected directly at a retail outlet. You don’t need to come all the way here—”
The clerk cut me off as if she’d heard enough.
And since I had no intention of hearing any more from her either, I cut her off in return and kept speaking.
“Forty thousand sixth-prize tickets, five hundred fifth-prize tickets, fifty fourth-prize tickets, ten third-prize tickets, two second-prize tickets, and one first-prize ticket.”