Matt was still in a bad way when he woke the next morning, but he was getting better. To keep our spirits up we had an all-you-can-eat breakfast at a restaurant along the highway to the ocean.

I said we shouldn't talk about what happened yesterday and instead make the most of right now... even though it seemed our business was finished. At least we had enough cash to cover our investments, with some surplus. And in the back of my mind, I knew better than to jump to conclusions.

We drove all day towards the flat horizon of the west, losing ourselves in little towns, the radio murmuring in the background. An imminent economic apocalypse seemed unreal in those places, where grocers rationed their produce, and where you could only pay in cash.

The stars were appearing in the sky as we glimpsed our first strip of sand, touched by the backwash of a high tide. The last sunrays pierced the ocean. I was in the cargo box with the girl, who, with her head thrown back, was endlessly counting the pulsating dots of the night. Did she see them as primes lost in an infinite darkness of huge numbers?

I knocked on the back window and asked Matt to pull over. The sun plunged into the water, diluting its orange radiance. We walked along the shore, the girl following us, swinging her arms and stumbling in the sand.

A thought occurred to me: I'd leave them both here and go away with the car and the cash.

Matt would cry, hate me, then go whining to the Brit, who'd give him a well-paid job in his crypto-something service, where a guy named Turing (who is apparently an idol to every math egghead) used to work. And he'd be very happy.

The girl would go back to the institution, or end up under the care of the Brit, who'd lock her up but no doubt see that she was treated well. Or maybe he would eliminate her, because she posed a threat; that would be a bit shitty. But whatever – once they'd got her, they'd no longer be out to get me.

A choice between myself and a friend – even a loved one – was easy.

But what about me? I'd have good times with the cash... but it wouldn't last forever. Eventually I'd go back to my old job, back to square one. I'd return to my old clients, which meant I'd end up working for MegaPrimes again. Because life is a pile of bullshit like that. In five years I'd be sat around the table with MegaPrimes, Matt, and even that British asshole, and the money would pass from one hand to another, and we'd open our beer bottles and laugh about the day they poured gasoline over me and tried to burn me alive.

But in five years we'd approach the abyss... MegaPrimes would have one foot in the grave. I'd need to drain my bank account, buy something like... gold bricks, and a good safe. I'd need to prepare myself–

Shit! I had an idea!