Behind the Scenes #B2 – The Banks’ Vault

Where do writing ideas come from? Childhood memories? A unique experience?  Old (scary) teachers who still haunt your dreams? A psychological thriller is the first genre that comes to mind. Inspiration from blockbuster movies? Songs that won’t leave your head? A stranger whose story left you speechless? Or just the urge to escape reality and build the world you always dreamed of? A combination might do it.

Speaking of combinations — once, I was trusted with a very particular one: the code to a real bank vault. At nineteen, I had an internship at a local ABN AMRO store. When maintenance was scheduled, no one wanted to guard the vault behind the ATM — so they sent me. Inside sat around €400,000, according to a colleague’s estimate — packed in plastic bags resting right on my lap. I had the door codes, my backpack, and, if I may say so, I am a decent runner. The nearest train station was within walking distance. Could I make it? My mind started racing. What if I  step out the door and run? Of course, someone had a panic button under the desk that would summon the police in a heartbeat. Even if they arrived in thirty or sixty seconds, I’d still have a head start. What would the police do? Rush to my mother’s house? How would I outsmart them? Check in with my OV-chipkaart and hop a train to Germany? Switch in Utrecht and try to catch a connection to Paris? If the police fell for it, how long could I actually stay ahead? My French is so bad I can’t even order a baguette… I could camouflage myself, but who wants to wear a beret in their free time? Times were different. Thirteen years ago, could they already track my old Samsung? Could I call one of my friends? How big a share would they want? They wouldn’t betray me for a small finding bonus… right? Would the police be scrolling through my Hyves page? Maybe they’d even turn my profile picture into a wanted poster, like I was a cowboy straight out of a western movie. What would I even do with the money? And how big was the chance I’d eventually find myself surrounded by police in Disneyland Paris?

Why didn’t I do it? Certainly not for my internship assessment. But that lingering question — what if? — eventually became one of the cornerstones of my first book: Financial Exchange.

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