It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand.

I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction.

Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction."

Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?"

I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…"

She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?"

I froze.

No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter.

She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

"Why are you still standing there? Can't understand plain English?" Jessie Cartney shouted, all while meticulously filing her nails. "There's a line behind you, you uncultured—"

Even the security guards in the hall had come over, drawn by her voice.

I couldn't help but laugh—truly, I did.

In all my years, I had never seen someone rush to hand money to a bank, only to be shooed out with a broom.

I wasn't ready to give up. I nudged the receipt toward the glass counter.

"Number 035. Let me confirm one last time. If the bank makes an operational error, and the amount is wrong, does that still count as your 'not responsible once I leave the counter' rule?"

Jessie didn't even glance at the slip. She didn't lift her eyelids.

"You're a broken record, huh? Can't see the big letters on the wall? Once you leave this counter, whatever money you have—or don't have—is your problem. That's the rule, got it? The rule!"

She deliberately emphasized the word rule, her expression arrogant as if she owned the bank herself.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

"Fine. But remember, you said that. Rules are rigid. People aren’t. I'll follow your rule."

I folded the receipt neatly and slipped it into my pocket.

Jessie snorted.

"Poor people and their fuss. Security, keep an eye on her. Don't let her make a scene again."

A guard shoved me forward.

"Move along, don't block the way."

I walked out of the banking hall, letting the shove carry me.

Once outside, I glanced down at the black bag in my hand. Inside was five thousand dollars in cash, freshly withdrawn from the vault.

I took out my passbook and flipped to the last page.

The bold print from the bank's printer stared back clearly:

Deposit: 5,000.00 dollars

Balance: 15,000.00 dollars

I originally had ten thousand in the account. I had come to withdraw five thousand.

But that idiot Jessie had turned my withdrawal into a deposit.

I glanced back at the bank's entrance, then at the metal plaque displayed prominently that said, "Cash must be counted on the spot; the bank is not responsible once you leave the counter."

I used to think those words were harsh. Now? They were the cutest thing in the world.

If you insist on rules, fine. I'll play by your rules—carefully.

I didn't go straight home.

At a time like this, going home to sleep would be pure foolishness.

The bank's system might be slow, but it would eventually catch up.

Once Jessie realized the accounts didn't balance, the first thing she'd do was freeze my account.

I had the truth on my side, sure. But going to court against a bank? Dragging it out for a year or more? I didn't have that kind of patience.

I turned and walked into a commercial bank next door.

I pulled out the five thousand dollars in cash.

"I'd like to make a deposit."

The teller smiled brightly.

"Of course, ma'am. Please wait a moment."

A few minutes later, the cash had turned into numbers in my bank account.

But that wasn't enough.

I pulled out my phone and opened the mobile banking app for the other bank.

Staring at the "15,000" in my account, I didn't hesitate. I clicked transfer, all of it.

The money went to a third-party custodian account.

Want to freeze it? Good luck. The paperwork alone would exhaust them. By the time they finished, I'd have already withdrawn it and converted it into gold bars buried safely in my backyard.

Once all that was done, my stomach growled loudly.

I found a random place to eat. Halfway through my meal, my phone rang.

An unknown number. A local landline.

I had a pretty good guess who it was.

But I didn't answer.

The vibration stopped, then rang again.

And again.

Relentless, like a tireless death knell.

I didn't pick up the phone, not because I was scared. I was eating. And eating while talking on the phone ruins digestion—especially when the voice on the other end is a barking lunatic.

I finished the last piece of meat, let out a satisfied belch, and the phone was still ringing.

This time, a different number.

I slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin and pressed answer.

Before I could even speak, Jessie's hysterical shriek came through the line.

"Claire Dune! You little—! Get that money back to me! Now! Immediately! Right this second!"

I wasn't angry. I picked at my teeth with a toothpick, voice calm.

"And you are…?"

"Don't play dumb! I'm from the bank! The one who helped you this afternoon!"

Her voice trembled; she was close to losing it.

"Oh, it's you," I said casually. "What's the matter, 035?"

"Cut the crap! I messed up this afternoon, gave you extra money—no, I deposited it wrong!

"You'd better get it back to me right away, or I'll call the police!

"It was ten thousand dollars! A huge sum! If I report it, you'll go to jail!"

I held the phone slightly away from my ear. Her voice was nails-on-chalkboard loud.

After she finished yelling, I spoke slowly, "Excuse me, are you sure you're remembering this correctly? This afternoon, I confirmed it with you more than once. You said the bank isn't responsible once I leave the counter."

There was a noticeable pause on the other end before she erupted again.

"That was just me venting! Don't take my words literally! I'm telling you, Claire, the bank's money isn't that easy to take! This is unjust enrichment! It's a crime! If you don't return it, I'll make sure you regret it!"

I laughed.

"If it's a crime, go ahead and call the police. Let them come and get me."

I hung up.

And just like that, I blocked the number.

'Want me to return the money? Fine. But if you're asking, show some respect. This tone—commanding, bossy—is that how someone asks for a favor?'

Besides, I was not one to take a loss.

The next morning, I went to work as usual.

Just inside the lobby on the first floor, I saw a crowd gathered near the reception.

Right in the center stood Jessie.

She wasn't wearing makeup today.

Next to her was a middle-aged man in a suit—the bank manager from their branch, Pete Conrad. I'd seen him pacing the lobby before, hands clasped behind his back like a petty landlord inspecting his turf.

Two police officers were also present.

Jessie's sharp eyes spotted me the moment I stepped in.

She froze for half a second, then lunged like a starving wolf that had spotted its prey.

"That's her!" she screamed. "Police! Arrest that thief!"

She came at me so aggressively that she nearly collided with me. I sidestepped, and she stumbled, almost falling flat on her face.

The commotion drew the attention of everyone in the lobby. It was peak office hours. Colleagues stopped in their tracks. Even the receptionist covered her mouth in shock.

"What's going on? Who said Claire stole money?"

"Can't be. She's always been so honest."

"Bank people coming here themselves… this has to be true."

Whispers buzzed like flies.

Jessie steadied herself, spun, and pointed directly at me, her finger threatening to poke me in the nose.

"Claire! Do you have no shame? You took money from the bank and didn't return it! You can't hide forever! Hand it over and apologize publicly, or else you won't last a day in this company!"

Her shrill voice drew the gaze of passersby who had no idea what was happening.

Pete straightened his suit and stepped forward, face all business.

"Claire Dune, correct? I'm the branch manager. Yesterday afternoon, due to a staff error, your account showed abnormal funds. This constitutes unjust enrichment. We've brought a legal notice and hope you will cooperate and return the money. Otherwise, we will take enforcement action."

He spoke with the pomp of authority, shifting blame to a "staff error" and making the consequences sound like "enforcement measures." What he didn't mention was Jessie's tone yesterday.

One of the officers approached, an older man. He looked at me, then at Pete.

"You're Claire Dune?"

I nodded. "Yes, that's me."

"The bank filed a report claiming you illegally appropriated funds. Is that true?"

I hadn't answered yet when Jessie shouted over me.

"Yes, it's true! The surveillance captured it! She knew the amount was wrong and still took it! That's theft! Fraud!"

I looked at her coldly.

"Jessie, you can make jokes, but you can't throw accusations around. You say I stole—what did I steal? The money came from your hands at the counter. The receipt was printed and signed at your instruction. All processes were legal and compliant. How does that count as theft?"

Jessie trembled with rage.

"You knew it was wrong! You even came back to check! That proves you were aware! Knowing and not reporting, taking advantage—that's a crime!"

I laughed loudly. People around looked confused.

"Exactly, I came back. I came back to politely remind you something might have been done wrong. But how did you respond?"

I pulled out my phone, opened a recording, and turned the volume to maximum.

The lobby instantly fell silent. Only Jessie's shrill, biting voice echoed from the phone.

"Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?

"When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything.

"Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?

"Move along, don't hold up the line!"

Short, but explosive. Jessie's face turned ghostly pale, as if plastered with white powder.

Pete's face darkened. He shot Jessie a sharp glare—obviously, she had withheld this conversation when reporting the incident.

The crowd murmured in shock.

"Wow, the bank is ruthless."

"The way she talks is unbearable."

"'Not responsible once you leave the counter'? That's draconian!"

"Once I was short fifty dollars, they told me the same thing."

"Now they want the money back when they overpaid? Double standards!"

Public opinion flipped in an instant. Those who had just pointed at me were now criticizing the bank.

I stopped the recording and looked at Pete.

"Did you hear that? It was your employee, speaking directly to me. 'Not responsible once you leave the counter.' That is your rule—your ironclad rule.

"I am a law-abiding citizen. If the bank's rule says the money isn't your responsibility, then it's mine.

"If I returned it now, I'd be making Jessie violate the rules. I cannot harm anyone."

Jessie panicked. She lunged at my phone.

"You're taking things out of context! You didn't get my consent for this recording! That's illegal!"

I stepped back calmly.

"Officers, listen. This is the bank's attitude. The corporate giants can start fires, but ordinary people can't even light a candle?"

The older officer frowned. He took the slip from Pete, examined it, listened to the recording, then handed it back.

"Pete, this is… complicated. Since there was a prior verbal agreement, even if it may not align with the law, the facts exist. The funds went through the proper counter process.

"This is not theft, nor robbery. This is a civil dispute. Since it's a contractual dispute, it's not under police jurisdiction. You'll need to file a case in court."