Benjamin was in jail

Benjamin had been behind bars for twelve long years, serving a thirty-year sentence for a string of bank robberies that once made headlines. Prison life had taught him patience, routine, and the art of lowering expectations. Most days passed the same way, but one morning, everything changed.

The warden called him into the office with an unusual expression—half serious, half amused.

“Benjamin,” he said, flipping through a file, “your uncle from Ludhiana passed away. He left you an inheritance.”

Benjamin froze. “An inheritance?”

“Over fifty thousand dollars,” the warden confirmed. “We’ll place it in a trust until your release.”

Benjamin felt joy rush through him like electricity. For the first time in years, the future felt tangible. Before sending him back to his cell, the warden added one final offer.

“If there’s anything reasonable you want to buy before the money is tied up, now’s the time.”

Benjamin didn’t hesitate. During his years in prison, he had read countless magazines about technology. Computers fascinated him—machines that could do almost anything, solve problems, and open doors.

“I want a computer,” he said confidently.

The warden raised an eyebrow but agreed.

A week later, a brand-new Compaq computer arrived. Benjamin treated it like treasure. He cleaned the desk, positioned the screen carefully, and sat in front of it like a man about to change his life.

A few weeks later, the warden stopped by Benjamin’s cell to check in.

What he found stopped him cold.

The computer lay smashed on the floor, screen shattered, keyboard in pieces.

“What on earth happened?” the warden asked.

Benjamin crossed his arms. “That thing doesn’t work.”

“Doesn’t work?” the warden echoed. “It was brand new.”

Benjamin shook his head. “I tried the simplest task. It failed completely.”

Curious, the warden asked, “What did you want it to do?”

Benjamin looked him straight in the eye. “I hit the escape key. Nothing happened. I hit it again. Still nothing. I’m still here.”

The warden stared for a moment before Benjamin added, “I’m thinking of suing Compaq.”

Sometimes, expectations matter more than instructions.

Elsewhere in the world, another lesson was unfolding—this one far more profitable.

During a well-planned bank robbery, the lead burglar shouted calmly to everyone inside, “Nobody move. Money belongs to the government. Your lives belong to you.”

The room went silent. Every employee lay flat on the floor without resistance.

That simple sentence changed everything. It reframed fear, redirected focus, and eliminated panic.

Later that night, back at their hideout, the younger burglar—fresh out of business school—suggested they count the money.

The older burglar, who had little formal education but decades of experience, shook his head.

“Why count?” he said. “Just watch the news tonight. They’ll tell us how much we took.”

Experience, it seemed, could outperform textbooks.

Back at the bank, the manager surveyed the damage and turned to his supervisor.

“Call the police,” he said—then paused.

“Actually,” the supervisor replied slowly, “let’s add the ten million we embezzled last year to what the robbers took.”

Opportunity had a way of disguising itself.

The next morning, the news reported that fifty million pounds had been stolen.

The burglars stared at the television in disbelief. When they counted their take again, they only had twenty million.

“We risked our lives for this?” one of them shouted. “The bank manager made thirty million without leaving his desk!”

The older burglar sighed. “Looks like education pays better than crime.”

From prison cells to boardrooms, one truth remained constant: intelligence isn’t just about knowledge—it’s about how you use it, where you stand, and whether you understand the system you’re in.

Sometimes the escape key doesn’t work.

And sometimes, the real robbery happens after the thieves are gone.

Disclaimer: All stories published on this website are for entertainment and storytelling purposes only. They do not have an identified author and are not claimed to be based on real events or people. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.