Investing for a Friend: The $500k Debt Trap

I made a killing in the stock market. When my colleague, Mark, found out, he begged me to let him in on the action.
Come on, we should all get rich together, he'd said, clapping me on the shoulder. I'll just wire you the cash, you buy whatever you're buying. We're work buddies. I trust you.
I know the risks, he assured me. "If it all goes to zero, I won't blame you. It's on me."
"And when we cash out, drinks are on me."
Against my better judgment, I caved.
Then, his mother was hospitalized. He came to me, demanding half a million dollars.
"You can keep whatever's left over as your fee," he pleaded. "Just please, I need to withdraw the money. My mom is sick. It's an emergency."
I stared at him, completely baffled.
"But... you already pulled all your money out. What are you talking about?"
A shadow fell over his face. "I've wired you my entire salary for years," he snarled. "Even with a few losses, there's no way you don't have half a million. Don't think for a second my money is your money. Cut the crap and pay me."
I held my ground, insisting that he was the one who had moved the funds.
That's when his wife showed up at my door, screaming. They launched a vicious smear campaign, turning the internet against me.
But when I finally laid out the bank statements, they learned a hard lesson in regret.

1
"Just give me the money! Have you no sympathy? My mother is lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the money to pay her bills!"
Marks voice was a raw mix of fury and grief, his eyes burning into me with accusation.
The office was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone seemed glued to their work, but I knew every ear was tuned to the drama unfolding at my desk.
"I trusted you," he pressed on, his voice cracking. "That's why I asked you to invest for me. Just be straight with mehow much did you lose?"
Seeing me remain silent in front of my monitor, he spun my chair around and jerked me to my feet.
"Look, how about this?" he said, as if offering a generous concession. "Whatever was lost, I won't make you pay for it. Just transfer the rest back to me. My mom needs that money."
A wave of irritation washed over me. I had a deadline to meet, and I didn't have time for this nonsense.
"The money's already gone because you transferred it out," I said, my voice sharp. "There's five hundred dollars left in the account. I can send you that right now if you want."
I pulled out my phone, opening the trading app to shove the screen in his face.
Marks eyes bulged. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "Are you kidding me? For the past three years, I've sent you my entire eight-thousand-dollar paycheck every single month! That's over two hundred grand! You're supposed to be some stock market genius; you should have doubled it by now. And you're telling me there's only five hundred bucks left? Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Chloe, another colleague, decided to chime in. "Mark's right, Ava. We all saw him transferring his salary to you every month. You say he took it back out? Where's the proof?"
That was the signal. The dam broke, and the office erupted in a chorus of judgment.
"Ava, listen to me," an older colleague said with a sigh. "You have to have a conscience."
"Don't defend her, Rick!" someone else snapped. "This is life-or-death money we're talking about. How can she be so shameless?"
"These young girls today Now I see how she affords all that coffee and takeout. She's living it up on someone else's dime."
"I trust Mark. He's a good guy. It has to be Ava who pocketed the money."

One of the more hot-headed guys even gave me a shove. I was in my twenties, fresh out of college, completely unprepared for the vicious, shameless tactics of these seasoned office sharks.
I bit down hard, fighting back the sting of tears. "I never wanted to invest his money in the first place! He begged me to, and I told him about the risks. You want proof? Fine. I'll show you the proof."
I started scrolling through the transaction history on my phone.
As I did, a flicker of panic crossed Mark's face. He shot a quick glance at Chloe.
Just as I found the records, Chloe rushed forward, clutching a stack of files. "Make way! Make way!" she shouted, then "accidentally" slammed into me.
My phone flew from my hand, tumbling down the nearby stairwell with a sickening clatter. The screen went black.
A smug smirk played on Chloes lips. "Oops. I just bumped you. How did your phone end up down there? Don't tell me you never had any proof to begin with and you were just trying to blame me."
Rage flooded my senses. I gave her a cold, hard stare. "We both know who's guilty here. It doesn't matter. The records are synced to my computer."
I turned to log in to my work PC, where all my important accounts were saved.
But Mark lunged forward, grabbing my hand. "Enough with the act!" he roared. "Is it really that hard to just give me back my money? Stop with all these games!"
"I didn't take your money, so why should I pay you back? You're stopping me from getting the proof. Are you scared of what I'll find?"
My words hit their mark. A nasty look crossed his face, his eyes darting around as he scrambled for a new strategy.
Just then, his phone rang. "Hello? Okay, I'm on my way!"
It was the hospital.
Mark grabbed my arm again, dragging me out of the office.
When we got to the hospital, it turned out his mother's bill was due. A nurse was speaking to him in a soft, sympathetic voice. "Honestly, sir, at this point, you're just throwing money away. Your mother's condition"
Mark cut her off, his face grim, and pulled me away from the payment counter.
"Please, I'm begging you," he said, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "My mom's illness can't wait. Just give me back the money."
For some reason, the hospital was unusually crowded today. He had pulled me into the thick of it, and now his voice suddenly boomed, drawing the attention of everyone around us.
"You can keep all the profits you made from the investment! Just give me back the principal. I'm out of options. I'll even say I'm borrowing it from you!"
He looked utterly heartbroken, as if I were the villain in a Greek tragedy.
A few people holding cameras, who must have been reporters, smelled a story and instantly swarmed us.
"I know I had my own selfish reasons for asking you to manage my stocks," Mark cried out to the crowd, "but you've made a lot of money off me, too! My mother is innocent in all this! If you just give the money back, I'll do anything you want!"
I scowled and took a step back. "Stop trying to guilt-trip me. You know exactly where your money went. As soon as I get home, I can throw the proof in your face."
From across the lobby, his wife, Linda, came running, a designer bagmy designer bagslung over her shoulder.
"You little bitch, how dare you show your face here!" she shrieked. "Look what you've done to my mother-in-law!"
"Everyone, come and see!" she wailed. "This woman is holding our money hostage! My mother-in-law needs it to live! Is there no justice in the world?"
The couple performed their parts perfectly, painting me as a heartless monster. The crowd murmured, and cameras flashed in my face. It took everything I had to push my way out of the throng and escape.
I found out later that the reporters were from some tabloid, originally there to stalk a celebrity. I'd just handed them an even juicier story.
I let out a bitter laugh. I was about to become famous.
And I was right. It didn't take long for my social media accounts to be flooded. The comments were a cesspool of filth.
Mark and Linda gave an interview to the reporters, weaving a tale so tragic it would make a statue weep. The video ended with a direct condemnation of me.
"To this Ms. Ava, how can you sleep at night, stealing money meant to save a life? Do you not fear divine retribution? We urge you to return the funds immediately. The public is watching, and you won't get away with your lies."
The internet exploded. Self-proclaimed warriors of justice came out in droves.
One user posted their location, just a mile from my apartment. "Alright, people, what do you need me to do? Taking requests. Your friendly neighborhood enforcer is on the scene."
"I looked her up. This girl graduated from a top university. Guess that school's standards have really slipped!"
"Don't you dare lump us in with her! It's a disgrace that we went to the same school. She probably bought her degree."
"Her parents are supposedly well-educated people. If my daughter turned out like that, I'd hang myself from the shame. And look at them, still traveling and posting pictures."
"Maybe she's paying for their trips with the stolen money. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"He trusted you with his money, and you steal it when his mother's life is on the line? You're not even human."
In no time, trolls had dug up every piece of my personal information, slinging mud that splattered across three generations of my family. On my own postsvacation photos, pictures with friendsthe same people who used to leave fawning comments were now tearing me to shreds over unproven accusations. I scrolled through the hate, a stone sinking in my stomach.
This had to stop.
I compiled every single transaction statement, ready to print them out and shove them in Mark's face.
Just then, my mom called, her voice trembling. "Honey, what's going on? A group of young people just came up to us out of nowhere and started screaming at us, calling you names. Your father was so upset he could barely breathe."
"Are you being bullied? Don't be afraid. Mom and Dad are coming home right now to stand by you."
I hadn't cried through all the insults and accusations, but now, hearing my mother's voice, my eyes burned. I swallowed hard, not wanting them to worry, and calmly reassured them. This was my fight to finish.
But then I saw a new comment. It was a picture of my parents.
"Family, I'm here. Let me know what needs to be done. I'm about to teach these two a lesson on how to raise a child so she doesn't grow up to be a menace to society."

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