I wouldn't call myself a criminal, others would I'm sure, and by the letter of the law that's the box that I would be dropped into. But I consider myself more of an opportunistic businessman not dissimilar to anyone in sales or the stock market, I just happen to disagree about where the line falls on legality. And I'd argue I have more morals than the average capitalistic, power hungry hoarders of wealth that seem to have weaseled their way into power.
I've been around awhile and have seen my fair share of the inside of vaults that I wasn't invited to see, but the last job has made me stop and consider my line of work, or at least caused me to pause and ponder about human nature.
I'm writing this less than 24 hours after the job, mainly to get my thoughts in order and try to capture the moment I had what I would describe as an existential crisis. As usual the plan was meticulously organised, crew acquired, time and date and location precisely picked. Everything was going smoothly and with hindsight I should have been suspicious at how well our scheming was working. The target was a independent bank called Duygusal PLC, operating for the last decade or so a few miles out of the town we were temporarily staying in. We had gotten in smoothly with little fuss, alarms were disarmed, no security guards and any cameras were easily spray painted over.
Our safe-cracker, Jane, was busy with acquiring access to the safety deposit boxes while we emptied the less guarded areas, a little cash, a few pieces of jewellery here and there. I sometimes wish my expertise was combination cracking, the tension that rose within me, despite the distraction of filling our bags, waiting for the more coveted prize of the well guarded safes deep within the vault is as intoxicating now as the first job I'd ever done.
When we heard Jane's voice ring out that she'd cracked it, we all rushed to see what our efforts had rewarded us with. This was the point that I can vividly remember and I'm sure it will stay burned into my memory for as long as I live.
The first drawer I opened didn't contain jewels or bonds or gold.
The only thing in there was a single photo. It was a shot of a man mid laugh, the kind that makes you clutch your belly and struggle to breathe and on the back in faded ink, it read; Stuart 1997. I stared at it confused. In all my years I had never come across anything like this. And were it not for the hundreds of other similar drawers I would have put it down to an oddity, it would have become an anecdote told at drunken parties and become a fond odd memory. Instead, I opened another drawer, disregarding the first and was welcomed by a folded piece of fabric. I pulled this one out, half surprised and curious as to what it could be, but also expecting to find riches wrapped within it. But it was a baby's blanket. It was old but had been obviously cared for, the balloons and teddy bear design had lost it's bright colour but it smelled fresh as if it had just been washed.
At this point I looked over at my crew and saw them in various states of confusion and disbelief, each one holding a random object or peering into a drawer with a frown.
We went through every single box and drawer. There were more photos, figurines, odd knick-knacks, bits of clothing and many, many letters. Some were just pieces of paper, others were postcards or carefully folded into envelopes. They were letters of love in different forms, from friends to lovers.
This was the moment I lost what little sense of reality I had. It didn't make sense. It was obvious that these items were of sentimental value but who would think to keep them in a bank? A mixture of emotions whirled inside of me, the brief disappointment from earlier had long since evaporated and I found myself feeling numb, as if I had just been dropped into a void. I turned my head sluggishly to see the crew starting to leave, a few slamming drawers shut, others swearing and gesturing angrily at me to go and I could only follow silently. Even though it was only last night, if anyone were to ask me how I got home or what was said, I honestly could not say.
But before that I not only remember it as pictures and sounds in my mind, but also as a full body feeling. I don't think that feeling has dissipated much and I'm sure it won't for some time. I tell myself that I'm an anarchist, that I earn outside of the law that's forced upon us within our society and without a lack or morals. I'm a good person. I would never hurt anyone and never have. But after last night, for the first time, I question whether I've been lying to myself. Have I been trying to justify my actions or do I truly believe in them? I can't decide and I haven't slept. I don't think it will be answer that will come quickly.

Time to take a break.