A crisp notification chime echoed from my roommate's iPad. I instinctively looked up, my eyes landing on the glowing screen. A WhatsApp message bubble popped up, and the name of the group chat was glaringly obvious: "Free ATM Club." Driven by some inexplicable gut feeling, I reached out and tapped the bubble. The members of the group included Connor, who had just stepped out, our landlord, and my other two roommates. "Celebrating another massive payday this month!" "All thanks to Connor's quick thinking. Bumping up Oliver's rent saved us a fortune!" someone texted excitedly. "Exactly! With Oliver acting as our free full-time maid, we're saving on cleaning fees and takeout too!" another chimed in. The screen was instantly flooded with celebratory memes and laughing emojis. I stood rooted to the spot, my blood running ice cold. Because in this house, I was the only one excluded from that group. I was Oliver, the gullible ATM. 1 My fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. Swiping the screen, I scrolled up through the chat history piece by piece. Group Admin: Connor. Date created: January twelfth of last year. That was the exact day after I got a high-paying offer from a tech company and excitedly bought him drinks to celebrate. He had been plotting this since then. And judging by the tone of the messages, he and our landlord had known each other for a long time. "Gary, I found a fat sheep for us." "He's my college roommate. A total nerd who only knows how to work. Dumb but loaded." Our landlord replied almost instantly. "Beautiful work, Connor. Let's do it the usual way." In the first few weeks, there weren't many messages. Mostly just Gary asking when Connor planned to move in and if he needed any furniture. It wasn't until late January, after the New Year holidays, that two more people were pulled into the chat. Felix and Dylan. They were buddies of Connor from his hometown. "Welcome to the Free ATM Club, boys." Connor sent a GIF of confetti falling. "Bro, can we really live here for free?" Felix was clearly curious. "Absolutely! The sucker already paid the deposit." "Connor, you're an absolute genius!" "I freaking love this group name." "Man, we should have met ages ago." Dylan followed up with a starry-eyed emoji. "We're one big happy family from now on!" Gary the landlord popped in to add. Staring at those blinding words, my stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. I quickly pulled out my own phone, opened the camera, and recorded the entire chat history from top to bottom. When Felix and Dylan first joined, the conversation was somewhat restrained. They mostly discussed how to split the monthly rent and handle the transfers. Connor: "I set this whole thing up, so I'm taking the master bedroom with the en-suite bathroom. No objections, right?" Felix: "Dylan and I can share the big east-facing bedroom." Dylan: "How are we splitting the money?" Connor sent a long audio message. The transcribed text was crystal clear: "This apartment is in a prime location and comes fully furnished. The market rate is somewhere between three and four thousand bucks." He paused, then sent another text. "I told Oliver the total rent is sixty-six hundred. So technically, we should all be splitting it evenly at over two grand a head. But I just made him cover twenty-two hundred himself." "The actual bottom-line price for this place is thirty-six hundred. We just need to split the remaining fourteen hundred." "Since I brought you guys on board, I'll pay six hundred. You two split the remaining eight hundred." "As for utilities, internet, and HOA fees, I'll Photoshop the bills and inflate the numbers." "Whatever extra cash we squeeze out of Oliver there, we split forty-forty-twenty." "The landlord and I take forty percent each, and you two split the remaining twenty." "How about that? We basically get to live in a luxury apartment for free, and we might even make a profit every month." Dylan replied instantly. "I'm totally down. What about you, Felix?" Felix sent a thumbs-up. "I'm in. A golden location and a high-end apartment like this? It's a no-brainer." The rent they claimed was thirty-six hundred, yet I was paying twenty-two hundred all by myself! And I was sleeping in the smallest, worst-facing bedroom in the entire apartment! What an incredible scheme. Click. The sound of the front door unlocking echoed from the entryway. I instantly shoved my phone into my pocket and exited the WhatsApp interface on his iPad. Connor walked in carrying an Amazon package. He tossed it aside, picked up his tablet, and obliviously resumed playing the trending TV show he had been binge-watching. "Oliver, is dinner ready?" he yelled toward the kitchen. "Almost done." I turned and walked back into the kitchen, forcefully suppressing the rage boiling in my chest, pretending absolutely nothing was wrong. Just like I had done countless nights before, I pulled the hot food from the oven, set it on the dining table, and called them out to eat. 2 "Wow, the smell of this beef stew is unreal." Felix took an exaggeratedly deep breath, a look of pure intoxication on his face. "Oliver could open a five-star restaurant with these skills." Dylan chimed in with his usual flattery. Looking at their sickeningly fake smiles, a chill ran down my spine. "I purposely left out the onions. I know Connor can't stand the taste." I kept my voice perfectly flat. "You know me best, man." Connor smiled radiantly, flashing his white teeth. "Eat up before it gets cold." I pulled out my chair, sat down, and picked up my fork. "Oh, by the way, Oliver, Gary texted today. He said we need to pay the entire rent for next year upfront by March first." Connor said casually, stuffing a piece of beef into his mouth. "What? Haven't we always paid every six months?" I played along, feigning surprise. "Gary says this apartment is right downtown, and people are lining up for it." "There are a few corporate guys working in the financial district offering more than we pay, and they're willing to drop a whole year's cash at once." "He's only keeping the price the same as a favor to me." "But the hard condition is we have to pay all twelve months in one lump sum." My hand hovered over my plate for a fraction of a second. Images of their dirty deals and money-splitting grins flashed through my mind. I decided to play right into his hands. "I see. I only budgeted for six months, so I'll probably have to pull some funds from my investment accounts." I kept my head down, staring intently at the potatoes on my plate. I couldn't bear to look at his revolting face. "As long as you can pull it together. I was honestly worried you wouldn't have that kind of cash on hand." Connor let out a heavy sigh, putting on a mask of deep distress. "You know I live paycheck to paycheck. By the time I pay off my credit cards, I've got nothing left." "Just thinking about a whole year's rent makes my head spin." "Yeah, the economy is terrible right now. Making a buck is harder than eating dirt." Felix echoed the complaints. Listening to them put on this poverty charade, my mind replayed the endless stream of payment screenshots and transfer receipts from their group chat. The hard-earned money I bled for had become their endless bankroll to party in this metropolis. The meal tasted like sawdust. My throat felt like it was coated in sand. Yet they ate with immense pleasure, wiping the very last drop of gravy from the pot with their bread. The moment they finished, Connor collapsed onto the plush living room sofa. "I'm so stuffed. Oliver, I'm leaving the dishes to you, man." "The season finale of my show is tonight, I gotta catch up." Felix and Dylan also found quick excuses, slipping away into their rooms. Looking at the messy dining table. I didn't say a single word. I just silently gathered the greasy plates and silverware. The cold water in the sink stung my knuckles. But it was nowhere near as freezing as the chill in my heart. Hearing the muffled sounds of video games and laughter bleeding through their doors. I dried my hands, walked into my tiny bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Pressing my spine against the cold wood, I let out a long, heavy breath that had been trapped in my chest. I pulled out my phone, put on my noise-canceling headphones. And opened the video I had just recorded. 3 Those chat logs were like rusty knives. Plunging into my flesh, one after another. The timeline in the video went back to the week before Thanksgiving last year. We had agreed to do a deep clean of the apartment over the weekend. But that morning, Connor woke up clutching his stomach, rolling around on the couch in agony. "Oliver, my stomach is cramping so bad. I can't even stand up." Seeing him pale and sweating, I actually ran three blocks in the cold to a pharmacy to buy him heavy-duty medication. I even told him to go back to bed and rest. Shortly after, Felix called. He claimed his boyfriend's car broke down on the highway and he had to go pick him up. Then, Dylan sent a voice note complaining that his company landed a last-minute project and his whole department was forced to work overtime. In that massive apartment, I was the only one left. Thinking the place needed to be spotless for the holidays, I gritted my teeth and did all the scrubbing myself. And what was the reality? In that hidden chat, Connor posted a photo of my back as I knelt on the living room rug, violently scrubbing a stain. "Look at our free housekeeper going to town." "Haha, he was born to do the grunt work," Felix replied instantly. "I'm at the designer boutiques downtown right now. How do these limited-edition sneakers look?" Dylan followed up with a mirror selfie. "Sick! Drop a pin, I'm right around the corner. I'll come meet you," Felix texted back. "It feels so good having a servant at home." Connor sent an emoji of a guy smoking a cigar in sunglasses. I stared at my own hunched, exhausted back on the screen. My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they almost broke the skin. I was so exhausted that day I couldn't even stand up straight, eating nothing but a slice of cold toast for dinner. Meanwhile, they were spending my money, ruthlessly mocking my stupidity in their little club. I took a deep breath, blinked away the burning in my eyes, and dragged the progress bar further back. A blizzard hit us last December. I caught the flu. My fever spiked to a hundred and three degrees, my bones aching so badly I didn't have the strength to get out of bed. I texted Connor, begging him to grab some fever reducers from the convenience store downstairs on his way home from work. He refused without hesitation. "Sorry bro, I'm swamped today. I'll probably be stuck at the office until midnight." "Maybe you can order something on Uber Eats." In the end, I had to drag my completely shattered body out into the snowstorm, waiting thirty minutes for a cab to the ER. I sat in a freezing hospital chair hooked up to an IV for four hours. Not a single one of them checked on me. At one o'clock that afternoon. Felix posted a receipt in the chat. It was a lavish seafood feast totaling eight hundred and eighty dollars. "The extra rent and internet money cleared today. Let's treat ourselves, boys." While I was delirious with a fever in the hospital, unable to even get a sip of water. They were sitting in an upscale restaurant, using my cash to feast on sweet Alaskan king crab and oysters. I clenched my jaw and kept reading. October eighteenth of last year. My birthday. I took a half-day off work, wanting to cook a huge dinner so we could celebrate together. I happily slaved away in the kitchen for three hours, laid out a massive spread, and sent a picture to our main group chat. A full thirty minutes passed before Connor replied. "Ah man, my bad Oliver. My boss just dumped a massive project on my desk. I'm not gonna make it back tonight." "Same here, my manager is breathing down my neck." Felix chimed in. "I'm stuck in the suburbs with a client. I can't make it back either. Go ahead and eat without us, man. Happy birthday." Dylan offered his excuse. That night, I sat alone at the long dining table. Listening to the wind howl outside, watching the food slowly turn cold. And where were they? In their secret group chat. Connor posted a selfie from a high-rise steakhouse with panoramic city views. Felix and Dylan were in the background, laughing hysterically and holding up champagne flutes. "Cheers! Celebrating another night of saving on dinner!" Connor captioned the photo. "That idiot is probably still sitting at home waiting for us to cut the cake." Felix sent a crying-laughing emoji. "The slop he cooks is so bland anyway, I wouldn't even feed it to a dog." Dylan added his ruthless remark. Those blinding words. They ignited a raging fire in my chest, burning away every last ounce of goodwill I had left for them. The brotherhood I thought we shared. The mutual support I believed we had in this cold city. It was all one giant, humiliating joke. 4 I closed my eyes, turned off the video, and used every ounce of strength I had to steady my trembling breath. I backed the video up to the cloud, took screenshots of every single conversation, and meticulously analyzed every number mentioned. Hunched over my desk, I compared their logs with my bank statements, line by line. The more I calculated, the colder my blood ran. Without realizing it, I spent nearly a week staying up late every night. I finally matched almost every single chat screenshot to a specific transfer from my bank. I stood up and walked over to the window. Outside was the mesmerizing skyline of the city, millions of bright, warm lights. But this cramped, west-facing bedroom I was in felt as lifeless as a freezer. I would never let them drain another drop of my blood. Not a single drop. My phone screen suddenly lit up on the desk. A text from Connor. "Oliver, you asleep? My stomach is totally empty." "I'm craving those handmade tacos from the food truck down the street." He appended a pathetic, begging cat emoji. I stared coldly at the screen, locked my phone, and pretended I never saw it. Ten minutes later, he came over and pounded heavily on my door. I remained frozen in my chair, choosing to be deaf. After a long while, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment. He went downstairs himself. I immediately slipped out of my room and crept into his master suite. I tapped his iPad awake, needing to see what they were plotting now. "Why is that idiot so quiet tonight? I'm starving." "Probably dead asleep by now." "Sleeping like a log. I knocked forever and got nothing. Now I have to put on a jacket and freeze my ass off going downstairs." Connor sent an eye-rolling emoji, then dropped a massive bombshell in the chat. "Next Sunday is the deadline for next year's rent and HOA fees." "Once he pays up, I'm going to start some drama and find an excuse to force him out." "Then I'll have my brother move in. My brother said he'll cover the rent going forward." The chat exploded the second that message went through. Felix spammed three exclamation points. "Bro, that is an absolute kill shot!" Dylan followed up with a barrage of blurry, over-excited reaction images. No wonder they were forcing me to pay a full year upfront. They had dug a massive grave and were just waiting to bury me in it. I quickly screen-recorded the conversation, retreated to my room like a ghost, and continued reconciling the final batch of bills. Want to bleed me dry? Want to kick me to the curb? Keep dreaming. But once I calmed down, thinking about Connor's reminder for the annual rent and the cut they were taking, something didn't add up. Based on their percentage split, Gary the landlord was risking a felony by forging leases and faking bills just to make a couple of hundred bucks extra a month. The risk-to-reward ratio made zero sense. That wasn't Gary's style. He was a shrewd businessman. I opened up an apartment rental website, typed in our building's name, and messaged a few brokers about the real market rates for a unit like ours. The broker's reply hit me like a sledgehammer. "Sir, for a unit with that floor plan in your building, if it's newly renovated with high-end furniture, the monthly rent is around forty-five hundred." "If it's an unfurnished, older unit like you described, it sits at around three thousand dollars." "And if the interior hasn't been maintained well, the price is negotiable. You could get it down to twenty-five hundred." The apartment we were in had outdated fixtures, and the furniture was a mismatched collection of thrift store finds. Some of it was literally picked up off the curb. If they were really making a killing off this place, the true bottom line had to be significantly lower than three thousand. I sat frozen in front of my monitor, my mind racing. If he wasn't even making a few hundred extra dollars on the spread, why would the landlord risk going to jail to help them fake a lease? Was he getting a much bigger cut somewhere else?
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