A Day In the Life Of Carpe Pecuniam

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Given that there is a fair bit of world building already done in Identity, I figured I would write a story about the daily life of my character Carpe Pecuniam. It will most likely be a work in progress that I'll add more to as i'm inspired to do so. Anyway, here goes...


My days always begin alone. I wake up in my queen size mattress, with no wife or girlfriend, while this bothers me to a certain extent, It is quickly pushed to the back of my mind. I'm married to my company, there is always time for that later. Dollabank has been growing incredibly quickly since it was first founded. With somewhat of a rocky start, the company was now seeing it's best days. Being the biggest cash cow on the market, I had more responsibility than ever. I needed to make sure everyone from my clients to my investors and especially my employees were all happy.

My penthouse, while appearing luxurious to the working class, was actually quite small compared to the other monstrosities that some richer friend's of mine owned. It consisted of a humble living room with a beautiful Bay Window display overlooking the city. This area contained an open kitchen complete with a gas stove, dishwasher, refrigerator and an empty liquor cabinet. The floor was soft bamboo, which easily connected to the hardwood floors of the rest of the house. A marble counter-top lay upon the the open wall of the kitchen, with a few mahogany stools on either side of the fixture. Connected to the living room were two bedrooms to the north of the penthouse and a bedroom and a bathroom on the south side.

As i made my usual Tuesday morning breakfast,  a 4 egg omelette with chives, french bread, microwave sausage and orange juice, I glanced over at my stove clock: 8:30. It sure is good to be the boss, I thought to myself. Had this been earlier in my career working for JP Morgan I would have to be rushing out the door in order to wait in traffic for an hour. Nowadays, while I pride myself in my diligence and work ethic, I do take a few liberties. If I arrive to work 10 or 15 minutes late, it won't bankrupt me.

Locking up my penthouse and taking the elevator down, I find myself with a familiar stranger. We are both wearing a Keys brand suit, so I decide to strike up a conversation. 

"That suit fits your form really well, was it tailor made?"

"Are you hitting on me?" The man replies, rather upset with the homosexual advance he imagined I was making.

"Nevermind." I stated quickly, not wanting to invoke any other false allegations. 

We awkwardly avoided eye contact until the elevator doors opened and I thought I would finally be relieved from the discomfort. This however was not the case. As the man and I both drove to work we have the pleasure of each others and eye contact avoidance until we at last entered the garage and parted ways. I thought saying goodbye or making a remark about seeing him tomorrow, would be appropriate, however given the probability that he would most likely perceive the remark as a homosexual advance, I thought better of it.

Given that it was Tuesday I decided on driving my BMW, the other two choices being my much older Rolls Royce, and my newer, midlife crisis (even though I'm in my 30s), Lamborghini. I drove my BMW on Tuesdays through Thursday given it's higher fuel economy, the other two cars I mostly use for board meetings (and Mondays) and night my night life respectively. My drive to work was uneventful as usual. I flipped through the radio stations and decided on 44.3 Outlaw. It was mostly advertisements for the upcoming election, I took a mental note of some of the candidates, but I wasn't paying too much attention. On my route I did pass by the DollaBank billboard I just made a payment on. My father being a billboard salesmen, it filled me with a sense of pride to see my company's brand being elevated on a pedestal above a major highway on a glorious, white billboard. Even if it wasn't the most optimal way to advertise, I still feel it was worth it.


When I finally arrive at my office at 9:40, it was a hectic mess. That is to say, it's usually a hectic mess and today was no different. Anyone who says finance is boring has never worked for me I chuckled to myself. I find it therapeutic to sometimes just stand at the entrance and watch my employees work. As my eyes shift from one to the next, watching them all work hard to complete their daily assignments, I find myself reflecting on how far my company has come. I started DollaBank when this city was just beginning, with only a few employees. The fact that over 50 were working for me now, and it's only been 2 years, it's unbelievable.


"Mr. Peciuam, phone call for you." I'm snapped out of my daydream by the caring, yet urgent voice of my secretary.

"Sorry about that Lynda" I said. "Put them on speaker in my office, I'll be there in a minute. Did you catch who it was by any chance?"

"It's The People's Party, they want you to support them in the race and donate to their campaign. Also try and make it quick, there is a representative of the Langston Family in the lobby"

"What?" I croaked, in a manner that failed the convey the anger, confusion, and fear I felt upon hearing that name.

"Can't a lower manager tell them to leave? It's against policy for us to involve ourselves with organized crime, not to mention highly illegal. They have no business here, I've been refusing the mob since I first set up shop"

"They're refusing to leave unless they see you personally and are saying that, 'we'll make you an offer you can't refuse'" Lynda said this last part in a horribly fake Italian accent. I always wondered how she could take matters involving millions of dollars so lightly.



To Be Continued..... Will Post Part 2 Tomorrow.

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“Lynda could you could the rep from People’s Party hold? I feel I should address our qualms with the esteemed family first”

“Sure, I’ll just tell them you're not a dirty communist and to call back some other time.” Lynda chuckled.

Millions of dollars I think to myself millions

When I arrive in the lobby Tyrone, the 230-pound black man, who’s head of security, my personal bodyguard and a childhood friend of mine, is sweating bullets. While he normally gets nervous over the insipid, I'd never seen this amount of perspiration before.

“Tyrone is everything alright?” I ask sincerely.

“Look, man; all I’m gonna say is you better not do anything to piss these guys off. I don’t want them after my ass when I gotta save yours.”

“I’ll try buddy,” I say giving him a pat on the back, realizing just how serious this could get. “Where are the guests in question? Is that them over there?” I point to the leather couch we have on the right side of the lobby.


I begin walking over to greet the members of the esteemed family. Before I can say anything one of them stands up and attempts to embrace me. Before he gets too close and breaches my, as Tyrone calls it. security perimeter I stick out my hand for a formal handshake. After a quick frown flashes across his face, he accepts my handshake graciously.

“Mr. Pecuniam, it is an honor to meet you. Let me introduce myself. My name is Mason Langston. These are my god brothers Vito and Cheeky. We’ve come a long way to your home turf in order to give you an offer you cannot refuse.” Given their Italian accents, expensive suits and the fact my company has denied their offers before, I fear the worst. I take a deep breath and sit down across from them.

“Straight to business then” I muttered, attempting to hide the anxiety in my voice. “Please, tell me your proposal. I’m all ears”

“You see, being an esteemed family, we often acquire a great deal of cash from our various businesses, we would greatly appreciate if your company could manage these…”

“No. Absolutely not”

“Mr. Pecuniam this would lend you a great deal of favor with the Family it would benefit both parties...”

“I said no. If that is your final offer I don’t care. Banks run on trust, I can’t do anything my clients wouldn’t approve of. If you still refuse to leave I’ll have my security escort you out. Please do not come back.” Tyrone overhearing this attempts to object“It’s your job!” I respond sternly across the lobby then mouth out “I’m sorry” as he started walking to my side.

“Very well,” Mason Langston said. “We cannot complain about an answer from the top. We will take our leave now.” My eyes locked onto them as they exited the lobby. Their footsteps echoed as they began backing away towards the exit. I felt beads of sweat forming on my neck. Tyrone reached for his chest holster and murmured security codes into his radio. Silence befell upon the lobby as various clients started taking notice of the events unfolding. More footstep echoes. A door opening. A car starting. As The Langston family drove away, Tyrone and I exhaled simultaneously and returned to our work without a word.



Working on part 3 right now. Will be a conclusion to the story.

Edited by uncannierlink
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Being the 5th offer from an esteemed family I rejected just that month, I was beginning to fear the worst. However, like many things, these fears were pushed to the back of my mind as I got back to work. The fact that DollaBank was going to bring in $400.000 in profits that month also helped put my mind at ease.

As the day ended and I finished my work, I said goodbye to my employees and started to head home. Once again I turned on 44.3 Outlaw and ignored all the politics. Driving through Roseport I noticed my usual butcher was closed for the day. This having ruined my plans for a home cooked steak dinner, I was left with the sole option of eating out.

As I entered my apartment building, I couldn’t find the doorman, even though he’s usually on shift at that time. I looked around but didn’t really mind it either way maybe he was on a smoke break. The elevator was thankfully empty this time, though I couldn’t get my mind off the fact that someone was watching me. As the elevator climbed the feeling intensified. I kept looking at the curved mirror even though I knew the elevator was empty aside from myself. A faint, musty smell began to manifest in the elevator as I drew closer to my floor. It was familiar but I couldn’t quite figure out exactly what it was. It almost smelled like a rusty, uncleaned gas grill 3 days after it was last used. The smell grew stronger as I approached my floor. When the elevator doors opened, it’s strength increased by 10. The entire floor smelled like it. The closer I was to my apartment, the stronger the smell became. Thoughts and fears raced through my head. My chest starting pounding. Everything the mobsters said to me when I turned down their offers was playing back in my head. What did they do? Which family was this!? Why does it smell!?! The feeling of being watched grew stronger. I could barely pull out my keys and open the door. The keys rattled together in my hand as I tried to fit it into the lock. After an excruciating 2 minutes, I was finally able to pick the right key and turn the lock. I opened the door a crack. I didn’t want to see what it was. The smell grew 100 times stronger. My heart rate spiked even more. With a grunt, I pushed my door open. My eyes widened. My heart punched my ribs faster. My stomach climbed up a foot. The red dripped down every wall and filled every crack in the floor. Staining all the furniture and painting all the windows. Blood. I slammed my door shut. My knees buckled. Everywhere. I covered my mouth with my hands but it didn’t help. My stomach climbed up another foot dumping its contents on the floor. I sat there leaning over my dinner until my heart rate fell and I felt comfortable enough to call 911.

The police arrived in 5 minutes. In 30 minutes my building was a crime scene. I sat outside on a brick wall with a blanket. One of the officers stood next to me. He tried to assure me that I was safe, saying they were assigning this case to an FBI agent. Someone named Anderson. I didn’t care much. I called Tyrone and told him what happened. He said he would let me stay at his place until my apartment was cleaned up. The officers gave me a ride. I thanked them knocked on Tyrone’s door, said hello and fell asleep the instant I touched his couch.


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