[Finance Fiction] Crack Protocol — Chapter 2: The Disappearing Group(chatgpt)
Theme: Finance Fiction (bank) + Suspense + Espionage + Workplace + The Dark Side of Human Nature + Anti-Money Laundering (AML)
🛑 Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Although inspired by banking practices, regulatory frameworks, and anti–money laundering operations, it does not depict any real events or institutions. All job titles, departmental structures, internal control processes, thresholds, and supervisory procedures have been altered, blended, or fictionalized. Readers should not use this as professional guidance, investment advice, or legal judgment. Any resemblance to actual persons, entities, or systems is purely coincidental.
Taipei City, Taiwan
00:12 — Headquarters, 11th Floor East Wing, Cross-Border Payment Monitoring Unit
By day, Wu Qilun was a credit officer. By night, he rotated into cross-border payment monitoring, earning the modest comfort of a night shift allowance.
The night carried its own atmosphere.
No phones. No managers pacing the aisles. Only the cold air from the vents, and the steady hum of server fans.
On his screen, the remittance flow curve sagged into the Asian time-zone trough.
Qilun focused on the snapshot queue: twelve transactions, all marked [Bypass Mode], quietly waiting under the tag [Pending Daily Batch Conversion].
The numbers hadn’t disappeared. But they felt sealed in glass, silent, untouchable.
02:58 — Monitoring Desk
At the stroke of three, the system packaged the day’s transactions into conversion files, pushed them into the AML reporting engine, and dispatched them toward Audit, Compliance, Credit, and Risk.
The progress bar slid to a full hundred.
A soft chime: [Snapshot successfully delivered].
Qilun keyed in a search:
- Receiving Bank = HZBHKHKH
- Transaction Date = Today
- Currency = HKD
The terminal whirred for five seconds, then returned: 0 transactions.
03:06 — Monitoring Desk
He tried again, this time by transaction IDs—
Blank.
Yet the snapshot queue showed all twelve as [Delivered].
Qilun froze, pen hovering over his notebook.
The serial should have rolled up to 1209. Instead, everything was forced into 1208.
On screen: QA-t1208-SJ.
To most eyes, meaningless code.
To Qilun, the repeating suffix cut deep.
