All About the Zenjamins Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  I. Negative Balance

  II. Golden Ticket

  III. American Dream

  IV. New Money

  V. Class War

  VI. Cash Rules

  VII. Case Closed

  VIII. The Ring

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  All About The Zenjamins

  Beck Rowland

  I.

  Negative Balance

  It was a great idea, but startup capital was always the problem. Zenaida did the math in her head. She had about thirteen bucks in her checking account and nine days until payday. That meant either enough for a little gas and a few day’s groceries, or she could fund her idea, which meant dinners of ramen packs, tap water and multivitamins for the next few days.

  Zenaida sighed. She knew it was impossible to ignore an idea this good, which meant she might as well do what she knew she’d eventually end up doing anyways. Zenaida grabbed her wallet, keys and phone and headed downstairs, taking them two at a time in her excitement. As she bounded down the stairwell, Zenaida’s dark, curly hair bounced behind her. She was a short, lithe girl, with light brown skin and sharp eyes that now sparkled with excitement.

  “Send text message to Davey,” Zenaida told her phone. The screen was a jagged spiderweb of shattered glass, but voice-to-text somehow still functioned. “Is your laptop working? Got a million dollar idea, need to use the Internet.”

  Her phone beeped to confirm the message was delivered. Davey’s reply arrived as Zenaida walked out of the apartment building. She peered at her ruined screen, reading around the cracks.

  “A million bucks sounds nice, but my laptop is still busted,” Davey said. “How about the library?”

  Zenaida paused as she reached her car. The public library computers were ancient, creaking monstrosities, usually overloaded with malware and outdated software. Hardly an auspicious location for an exciting business opportunity, but it would have to do.

  “The library works. I’m low on gas. Pick you up on the main road?” she dictated. Davey replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

  Zenaida’s car sputtered to life on the third try. It was an ancient white Toyota, all peeling paint, dents and rust spots. Zenaida knew the car wouldn’t last forever; it was a miracle it had endured as long as it had. She tried not to think about what she would do when it finally stopped working for good. The air conditioner didn’t work, so Zenaida let the windows down and welcomed the cool summer breeze.

  Traffic was sparse and she made the drive to Davey’s neighborhood quickly, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. A new idea always made her feel alive, the world buzzing with possibility.

  Zenaida knew her dead-end job would lead nowhere, and so the majority of her free time went towards various money-making schemes, business ideas, and hustles. Most of them went nowhere, but at least they offered the possibility of something better. It was either continue the futile struggle towards success, or reconcile herself to a life spent in poverty. Zenaida always chose the former, driven more by desperation than determination.

  Davey Erickson was waiting on the side of the road, an empty backpack slung on his shoulders. He stooped to fit his tall, lanky frame into the passenger seat. With honey colored skin, jet black hair, and dark eyes, Davey could pass for a dozen ethnicities. Some thought he was Latino, while others saw Arab or even Southeast Asian. Since he’d been adopted as a baby, his actual heritage was as much a mystery to himself as everyone else. Zenaida had suggested a DNA test, but Davey said he liked being a racially ambiguous man of mystery.

  “Your check engine light is on,” he said, pointing at the dash. Zenaida rolled her eyes. The light was permanently on, probably because her engine was in permanently poor condition. Davey pointed it out every time he rode with her. He thought it was funny.

  “Hardy-har. Your backpack is empty.” Zenaida replied.

  “That’s right. My IT Certification exam is coming up. Gonna stock up on library books, learn a little about Internet Encryption Protocols, maybe some IP security standards…” Davey said.

  “How absolutely fascinating,” Zenaida said dryly. “You’ve been studying for this thing for months. Why is it such a big deal for you?”

  “This certificate is like an Olympic Gold Medal for IT folk. It’s my way out of this boring Help Desk job and into a serious, respectable IT Director role.”

  “What’s wrong with Help Desk? You make decent money, at least,” Zenaida said.

  “I can program in three languages, configure MPLS schemes, and subnet IP addresses in hexadecimal-- trust me, it’s impressive-- but I’ve spent the past five years showing Baby Boomers how to open their email,” Davey said. “I need something to prove that I’m better than that.”

  Zenaida had a feeling Davey was only being partially truthful. She suspected Davey wanted to prove himself to one person in particular.

  “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with she-who-shall-not-be-named, does it?” Zenaida teased.

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Davey said with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Anyways, forget all that-- what’s this million dollar idea about? Come on, spill the beans.”

  “That’s why I keep you around, Davey,” Zenaida grinned back. “I must’ve pitched you a hundred crazy schemes, none of which have been even remotely successful, and you’re always still excited to hear a new one.”

  “Not all of them are crazy ideas. Remember that white-label electronics hustle you came up with in Senior Year? Some company in Nevada did the same thing last summer and made a fortune. Or what about your genius real estate scheme? That definitely would’ve worked if the bank approved your loan. And hell, what about ZenBlog--”

  “Hey!” Zenaida snapped. “We don’t talk about ZenBlog.”

  Zenaida had pored hours into writing articles, building content, and developing the ZenBlog website, then planted dozens of advertisements on the page. Each person to view the ads would earn her 0.08 cents; Zenaida calculated that it would only take 50,000 monthly visitors to generate $4,000 per month. It hadn’t turned out as expected: after six months of late nights and hard work, ZenBlog averaged only 7 monthly visitors. Turned out you needed to buy ads of your own to attract Internet traffic in the first place.

  “My point is, the fault is never in the design. You have seriously solid ideas. It’s just that it takes money to make money… and you ain’t got none,” Davey said.

  “Exactly,” Zenaida said as she parked in front of the library. “But I think this time might be different.”

  The library was city-funded, which meant a shoestring budget and dilapidated facilities. The place was nearly empty, with only a few elderly patrons browsing the periodical section in the back. Zenaida and Davey pulled a pair of uncomfortable wooden stools over to the computer desk and took a seat. The computer was as decrepit as she feared, nearly groaning with exertion as Zenaida launched the browser and began opening pages.

  “A few months ago, you were telling me about people buying random web domains, just in case it proves valuable to some future company. Do you remember?” Zenaida asked. “You said it was like a Real Estate guy buying vacant lots and hoping someone decides to build a strip mall there one day.”

  “Sure, it’s called Domain Squatting,” Davey replied. “What about it?”

  “It all started at work this morning. I needed to check something on Wikipedia, and one thing led to another, and I somehow ended up reading about Chinese business conglomerates,” Zenaida said.

  “Wikipedia rabbit holes,” Davey said with a knowing grin. “That’s what you do at work all day?”

  �
�I was on break,” Zenaida lied. “Anyhow, I read a lot about ZhongRevo, this enormous Chinese megacorp. Loaded to the gills, easily one of the largest companies in China. They make everything from smart toasters to kitchen sinks.”

  “I know ZhongRevo. They made my laptop, which croaked like a week out of warranty,” Davey nodded. “If your idea involves screwing them over, I’m already fully on board.”

  “If my hunch is right, they’re already screwed,” Zenaida said with a smile. “First, check out this morning’s headline: ZhongRevo Plans Celeb-Studded Launch Party for Upcoming eShopping Platform. The launch is still a month away and it’s already the most expensive website marketing campaign of the last decade.”

  “That’s their new eShopping site? ZRWG dot com?” Davey asked, peering at the article.

  “Yep, see? They reserved the entire Beijing Olympic stadium for the launch. That alone must have cost a fortune! Fifty thousand ZRWG balloons, ZRWG ice sculptures, a ZRWG blimp. Look here: they’ve hired a small troupe of supermodels to march through central Shanghai in ZRWG tee shirts.”

  “They really want to make sure people remember their website,” Davey chuckled.

  “Which is totally ironic— take a look at this other article. It just dropped a few hours ago and pow! The idea hit me like a bolt of lightning,” Zenaida said.

  Shanghai-based Wangtech eServices was shuttered this week following stunning accusations of fraud. Wangtech, which provides Internet marketing and domain registration services for industry giants like ZhongRevo, was accused of submitting invoices for services not rendered...

  Zenaida glanced at Davey, searching his face to see when the bombshell hit. After a few moments, she soured.

  “Don’t you see?” she asked impatiently.

  “See what? Some crooked Internet company got shut down on the other side of the planet. What am I missing?” Davey asked.

  “ZhongRevo is a giant, rich company that just spent a fortune marketing ZRWG dot com, their upcoming Internet shopping site,” Zenaida explained patiently. “Wangtech was their domain registrar. Wangtech was responsible for registering the ZRWG website on ZhongRevo’s behalf.”

  “Oh! And since Wangtech was just busted for billing customers without doing the actual work…” Davey said, excitement rising in his voice.

  “…there’s a good possibility they never registered ZRWG dot com! Meaning absolutely anybody could purchase the domain for themselves,” Zenaida finished, clapping her hands.

  “Holy shit, Zeny,” Davey gasped, eyes wide. “This is legit. This could be huge. After spending so much marketing the site, if you snatched it from beneath their noses… they’d have to buy it off you. This could be worth a fortune.”

  “Exactly! For a company like ZhongRevo, online presence is everything. Once they see someone else has reserved their precious domain, they’ll do anything to get it back,” Zenaida said.

  “Quick, type it into the search box. I want to see if it’s really still available,” Davey rushed.

  There was a search box in the middle of the page, followed by a large, red ‘Check Availability’ button. Slowly, carefully, Zenaida typed ZRWG.com into the box. Then, with a brief, whispered appeal to the powers that be, she clicked the button.

  “This Domain is Available!” Davey cried, his voice reverberating loudly across the library. A distant voice hushed him angrily and he whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Domains are cheap, right? How much to register?” Zenaida asked.

  “Super cheap, don’t worry. Look, they even have a sale this week. New ‘dot com’ domain registrations are only $1.99,” Davey said.

  “Thank God. For once my genius idea will not fall victim to economic constraints,” Zenaida breathed.

  Trembling from nerves and excitement, she fumbled her debit card out of her wallet. It took her three tries to correctly enter her card information, then several more minutes to enter her registration details. By the time she was finished, her palms were slick with sweat. She rubbed them on her jeans, then clicked ‘Submit Payment Information’ with a theatrical flourish.

  “Done! I am now the proud owner of ZRWG dot com,” she announced, reaching out to Davey for a celebratory fist bump.

  “Remember me when you’re rich! You’re sure it went through, right?” Davey asked.

  “Positive. This must be the confirmation email,” Zenaida said. Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket, then frowned at the cracked screen.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Davey asked.

  “Well the reservation went through, but there’s also some weird notification from my bank. Let me give them a call,” Zenaida said. “Go ahead and get your books, Davey. This might take a while.”

  Zenaida banked with Silverwater Finance not by choice, but by necessity. They were the only bank with ATMs in her neighborhood, and the only one still open when she got off work. Whenever she needed to cash a check, it was Silverwater or nothing. A female teller answered on the first ring. Zenaida introduced herself and provided her account number.

  “Excuse me one moment Ma’am,” the Silverwater teller said. Zenaida heard the teller’s voice faintly, muffled by a hand over the receiver. “It’s that girl again!” And then distant laughter.

  Zenaida flushed. She never called the bank for good reasons. Apparently she had a reputation at Silverwater Finance. Zenaida forced a calm voice when the teller returned to the phone. Getting angry with customer service usually hurt more than it helped.

  “I’m sorry for that delay. What seems to be the problem Ma’am?” the teller asked. Something in her voice told Zenaida that she was smiling.

  “My Silverwater checking account should have about thirteen bucks in it. I just made a $1.99 transaction,” Zenaida explained. “Somehow I ended up with a thirty five dollar overdraft fee.”

  “Let me just take a look-see,” the teller said in a voice dripping with artificial saccharine. “Well, Ma’am, it looks like a bill you paid last week was processed late by the vendor. Happens all the time. That dropped your balance down to only... let me see... oh goodness, only $1.89. As a result, your most recent transaction exceeded your available balance, and the overdraft fee was automatically applied.”

  The teller explained this last part in a bouncy, cheerful tone, as if a neat little mystery had just been solved. Zenaida clenched her fist, then unclenched it, struggling for calm. She wanted to be entirely sure she understood correctly before getting angry.

  “My balance was $1.89... and I just made a purchase for $1.99...” Zenaida repeated. “Do you mean to tell me I was charged a thirty-five dollar overdraft fee over TEN measly cents?”

  “Ma’am,” the teller said in a tone that made abundantly clear that Ma’am actually meant Listen here moron. “The overdraft fee is an automatic feature provided for the benefit of our members and the security of their accounts. All members are encouraged to practice sound financial management and are responsible for maintaining a sufficient account balance prior to any transactions.”

  The words came out in a smooth slurry of meaningless corporate gibberish, either recited from memory or read directly from a training script. Zenaida had used very similar language during her own customer support calls at work. The difference was, Zenaida was just doing a job to the best of her ability. The teller, conversely, was taking very audible amusement in Zenaida’s financial woes.

  Zenaida took another deep breath, fighting the temptation to send a stream of profanity down the line. She counted one Mississippi, Two Mississippi, waiting for the anger to fade. She was on Five Mississippi when the teller spoke again.

  “Maaa’am? Will there be anything else?” the teller asked, drawing the word out sarcastically. There was another faint giggle in the background.

  “No. That will be all. Thank you” Zenaida managed through gritted teeth, then hung up.

  She let out a breath in a shaky exhale, then slowly unclenched her fists. Her nails h
ad dug tiny white crescents into her palms. Still fuming, Zenaida headed to the library’s IT section. It was time to find Davey and go. She wanted to get out of the library as quickly as possible.

  “Let me get this straight,” Davey exclaimed. They were in the car, and Davey had reacted to Zenaida’s story with incredulous laughter. “You don’t have enough money. You’re broke, nary a dollar to your name until payday. As punishment for having too little money... Silverwater Finance charges a penalty fee, thus making you even more broke than you were in the first place?”

  “That’s about the gist of it,” Zenaida answered glumly. She was already thinking ahead to next month’s budget. It was hard enough making ends meet on her meager paycheck, and now she’d be starting the month thirty bucks behind.

  “Ain’t that some crap? You know, not to add insult to injury, but I’ll just bet some rich jerk big-wig is making a fortune off your misery. I can see him in some fancy Silverwater boardroom.” Davey effected a faux British accent and turned up his nose. “ ‘Oh, splendid! This year’s overdraft fee policy has increased my profits by nearly 13%’. Then he lights a cigar with a hundred dollar bill and blows smoke in his butler’s face.”

  Zenaida laughed, but her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

  “I wish someone could do something about it! Not just Silverwater ripping people off… I’m talking about everybody who makes it so damn expensive to be poor. The social network hack messing up my credit. The student loan company jacking up my interest rates. The phone company overcharging, then charging me customer support fees when I call to fix it. It all comes down to a bunch of billionaires getting rich at the expense of ordinary people,” she said.

  “What can anybody do? Money makes the world go around,” Davey shrugged.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not fair!” Zenaida snapped. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m in quicksand, where the more I struggle to get out, the deeper I sink. I’m tired of being stressed, tired and scared. And most of all, I’m tired of knowing that people are profiting from my misery, and nobody is holding them accountable.”