Part 3
I spent the rest of the day in a blur of anxiety, checking my pocket for the box every few minutes and and making endless clerical errors as I worried about the large briefcase of cash I was resting my feet on, under my desk. Nothing even remotely exciting ever happened to me. In fact my life seemed to have barely any drama at all these days, so when my boss called me in to talk about my promotion I was so nervous I could barely speak in whole sentences.

And then suddenly it was 5 o clock and I was free. I hurried home, skipping the bus and instead taking the briefcase to the toilet, locking myself in a cubicle and taking a crisp twenty pound note out of the briefcase to pay for a taxi.

Feeling very much like a spy I asked the taxi to stop two streets away from my house. I didn't want to be followed. From there I got my key ready in my hand and walked briskly home with my head down. I opened the door, stepped inside, closed it behind me, locked the door and bolted it. I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to head for the kitchen when someone behind me spoke.

'Excuse me love,' said a man's voice,' Sorry to startle you. But you're going to need to put that briefcase down.'

I turned to see a balding man with a kind face step out of my dining room. He was still wearing his coat. Quickly I reached for the door handle.

'Lads,' he said, almost casually. Four black clad men in masks burst out of my kitchen and fanned out behind the man, each one keeping a pistol pointed at my head.

'Also,' he said, smiling apologetically, 'we're going to need that... thingy you've got in your pocket.'