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I Rest My Case

I didn’t know who I was; was no one. I had been lost. Uncool in school, average in college. I had no potential in life greater than that of anyone passing me. Imagine the worlds in their heads. Imagine each person here not as a character to supplement your narrative, but the center of their own story. There I was caught in my imagination and I knew I could never do anything as great as anyone else. My talents had yet to show themselves. Still haven’t.

So it appealed to me. So being called by my last name and dressing in a suit and tie made me someone. An important figure. So assembling with CEOs in their crisply pressed shirts and easily reddened faces made me connections. I got a better job. Met people. Mingled. I was invited to parties, social like never before. Imagine my life turned around, my universe suddenly flooded with opportunities that should never have presented themselves to someone so mind-numbingly average.

But I never knew what they wanted.

I relayed messages, delivered packages. Simple tasks, menial, and yet I was someone for them. How could I tell counterfeit checks? Determine deceitful behavior? I’m ordinary and therefore everything I touch must be too. Who was I to question my work? With them, I had a name, I had a place. Imagine how that felt for a kid sitting on the sidelines of his own life.

And you blame me for not noticing when things turned sour? The calamities, the crimes, how could they have involved me? Nothing involved me.

This fraud, it’s business. It’s a game of stocks. You win some, you lose some. These so called “victims” are nothing but the martyrs of life’s tendency to screw everyone over. Forget their claims. They don’t understand. I can tell you now with certainty: I know who I am, and I am no criminal.

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