Dear friend..... (standard:other, 2124 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Dec 10 2008	Views/Reads: 3209/2128	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Geoff decides to follow through a seemingly spam email asking for money. How far does he go? and is it real?

The sun's heat was particularly humid in the open plan office, as though
the windows were large magnifying glasses, the workers under 
inspection, the heat rebounding from their computer monitors to bombard 
them as though they were in an oven. Benjamin Lowell looked up as a 
shadow fell over him. Trevor Ingram was standing there, holding out a 
bacon and egg sandwich and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “You're a 
workaholic, you know that?” said Trevor. “Doesn't matter,” said Ben, 
taking the food, “I won't be here in two years time, I'll be relaxing 
in the Canaries, playing as many rounds of golf as its possible to 
handle”. “Ah, yes, retirement. I've only got fourteen more years to 
go.” Trevor sat at his desk, across the carpeted aisle from Ben and 
turned on his swivel chair. “Absolutely roasting,” he said, unbuttoning 
his shirt, then standing up and crossing to the window. He looked down 
from the fourth floor at people milling around the courtyard. They 
worked as accounting technicians for a major bank, and both, in their 
own unique way, rather enjoyed it. Something about analysing figures 
and checking invoices brought a certain amount of satisfaction, 
especially as they knew that although they were cogs in the well-oiled 
machine, they were cogs that played an important role in its 
maintenance. Ben relaxed back in his chair, and checked his personal 
email. He found he had three new messages. One was from ‘Naughty 
nymphs'. His subscription was due. Another was from his friend at the 
darts club, reminding him to bring his digital camera on Friday. There 
was an important game and he wanted photographs of the occasion. 
Another was from what simply appeared to be spam email. All it said in 
the subject line was: ‘Dear friend'. He opened it, and skimmed through 
it, then laughed. “Hey Trevor,” he said, “Listen to this”. Trevor 
wandered over from the window and stood by Ben. “Dear friend,” he said, 
“You are my only hope. I am turning to you in desperation. My sister is 
sick and is lying in a coma. I cannot afford her hospital fees, and in 
order for her to receive treatment, I need to raise a total of £2100. 
If you would be so kind as to contribute towards it I would be very 
grateful, or perhaps you could donate by please sending me your bank 
details, and I will take only the amount you request. I hope you can 
help me, and thank you in advance of any contribution you may make. 

Yours, Ags”. 

“Ags,” said Trevor, “Who calls themselves that? Anyway, how blatantly
obvious is that? They've got the cheek to just ask for your bank 
details. Normally they ask after a couple of messages. Delete it, don't 
reply, ‘cos they'll know your email account's active. Anyway, back to 
work”. He turned and crossed to his desk. Ben read the email again, and 
a switch at the back of his mind flicked and he thought: ‘What if...?' 
What if there really is a sick sister who needs help? It just might be 
genuine. He didn't delete it, but put back up his database, and 
continued his work. 

At home, sat with his wife of 37 years, watching a daily gameshow, the
sprouting seed gradually entwined itself into his psyche, and he had 
visions of a woman lying on a hospital bed, attached to a life-support 
machine. What if ...? he kept asking himself. What if I'm the only one 
who can help her? What if she dies, and I could have saved her? It was 
this thought that sent him into the back room to use his laptop 
computer. “What is it dear?” Margaret asked. “Just something from work 
I need to check”. She tutted, and rolled her eyes. “A complete 
workaholic, you really are”. Ben forced a humourless smile, and was 
soon waiting for his email to appear. When it did, he clicked on ‘Dear 
friend', and began to write a reply: 

As you are probably well aware, there are many cons and scams on the
internet, and yours seems like it is no exception. However, in the rare 
case of this being genuine, I feel you will understand my concern if I 
asked to see evidence of your sister. If I am convinced that this is 
real, then I will help you. Thank-you. 

Benjamin Lowell.' 

He turned off the computer and closed the laptop, then sighed, and went
back into the front room. 

The following morning, the first thing he did in work was check his
email, but there was no reply. At midday, he checked again, and a reply 
had appeared. He felt apprehensive at opening it, not really knowing 
why, but he did. ‘Dear Benjamin' it said. ‘I most kindly welcomed your 


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