Worst Read of the Year Contender!
All-around good person, Kate, runs a local food bank. Desperate for funds, she makes a local TV appearance asking for donations. Her storefront is delighted to receive a recurring anonymous monthly donation of $1,000. It always arrives in a paper bag and Kate delights in dumping the money out. If it’s singles and the local peeler bar is taking contributions, it might work. If it’s $5 or $10 bills, it’s still vaguely okay, but if the bills are any larger, and the implication is that they are, it’s just plain silly. I worked for a non-profit housing organization and spent one week every month at a little desk in Accounts Receivable counting rents paid in cash. It was dirty, I found little rubber finger-tip covers in my pockets every laundry day, and it also taught me that a lot of money can fit into a little pile. The idea that the anonymous donor would send some sort of “make it rain” gesture in a paper bag was nonsense. Had he no access to envelopes when taking cash out from the ATM?
Kate wants to find out who her benefactor is and manages to catch him, our hero, Ian, and he immediately starts commenting on how hot she looked when she was on the news and gives her nicknames. It’s presumptuous, but potentially forgivable. The next time they meet, Ian has found Kate at a local coffee shop by hacking into her bank accounts to discover where her last financial transaction took place. He learned she had bought coffee and a blueberry muffin at the shop (her bank’s records are really precise, apparently) and decided to pop over to say hello. Kate is shocked, but Ian assures her he didn’t take any of her money. This was the point at which I stopped reading Heart-Shaped Hack. Do I really have to explain why?