Marcus hated the rain, and he hated the red umbrella. It had been left on his doorstep two weeks ago with a cryptic note: Hold this. Wait for the signal.
It was a cheap, nylon thing, bright scarlet against the grey London pavement. Marcus was a quiet accountant who specialized in risk aversion. This was an unacceptable risk. He should have thrown it away. But some primal, fearful curiosity kept him clutching the curved plastic handle.
Every day at 4:17 PM, he stood on his balcony, umbrella in hand, watching the street below. He felt ridiculous, a pawn in a game he didn’t understand.
On the fourteenth day, the rain stopped. The sun peeked out just as the clock tower struck 4:17 PM. Marcus sighed in relief, about to go inside.
Then he saw her. A woman across the street, wearing a black trench coat, looked up at him and gave a single, sharp nod. She wasn't carrying anything. She turned and walked quickly down the road.
Marcus felt a jolt of adrenaline he’d never experienced. He ran down the stairs, ignoring the umbrella on the balcony railing. He had to follow her.
He chased her through alleyways and crowded market stalls. She moved with purpose, blending seamlessly into the city's hustle. He lost her near the Thames. Panting, frustrated, he slumped onto a bench.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the woman in black.
"The test? What test?"
"The umbrella was the signal," she said, nodding back toward his flat, which was visible across the water. "You were supposed to leave it on your railing at exactly 4:17 PM as confirmation you were ready for the assignment. By bringing it with you, or forgetting it entirely, you proved unreliable."
Marcus looked back at his balcony. In the afternoon sun, the bright red umbrella sat exactly where he left it.
“But I left it right there!” he said, pointing wildly.
She smiled faintly. “Yes. You did, after chasing me first. The assignment was never about following me. It was about following instructions precisely, despite the distraction.”
She handed him a small, sealed envelope and disappeared into the crowd. Marcus opened the envelope with shaking hands. Inside was a single sentence typed on plain white paper: Your bank account now contains ten million pounds.
He stared at the number, the red umbrella visible in the distance, a silent promise and a missed opportunity all at once. He realized he hadn't failed a test; he’d completed the easiest, and most confusing, transaction of his life.
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