The day I found £250,000 in my bank account
Leo Benedictus woke up rich after an erroneous bank transfer - but could it last?
Leo Benedictus
guardian.co.uk, Monday 9 January 2012 20.29 GMT
You may struggle to believe this. Even while it was happening to me, I struggled too. One morning before Christmas, I checked my online bank account and noticed – although that seems too mild a word for it – that someone had just given me a quarter of a million pounds.
A woman with an unfamiliar name (which it feels unfair to mention) had, without warning, paid £250,000 into my current account. It was an exciting moment. This is not the kind of figure that a writer for the Guardian gets blasé about.
I assumed there was a glitch in the website; but when I logged off and on again, the money was still there. An hour later: still there. It had been deposited the day before, but there was no sign of anybody looking for it. I Googled the woman, and found several people with her name, but decided that I couldn't contact them. This was very private business that I wouldn't want to spread around. (Nor can you assume you'll get an honest answer to the question: "Excuse me, is this gigantic sum of money yours?")
Besides, maybe it was my money now? If £10 notes are the property of the bearer, would the same apply to all those zeroes? Should I put it into a high-interest account until the matter was resolved? (There didn't seem to be quite enough to run away with. Nowhere near enough if I took my wife and children, which ideally I would.) Maybe there would be a reward, ahem, for giving it back? Or might this all be some ingenious scam? It would have to be very ingenious indeed, because I couldn't work out how anyone might profit by giving me a quarter of a million pounds.
Of course there was the slim chance that this money had been given to me on purpose. I focused on that. In March I'd published a novel, so I took to wondering if some shy patron of the arts had loved it and gone frankly rather overboard. (Her shyness would be so pronounced, of course, that she'd prefer to ferret out my bank details rather than post me a cheque.) Maybe the eccentric companion of a deceased forgotten aunt was giving me my legacy? I tried strenuously to believe so as I typed an email to my bank explaining things.
Later, I rang the UK Payments Council, which oversees the payments system, in search of answers. It turned out that it is familiar with "erroneous transfers", which occur when somebody mistypes an account number or a sort code. "If that combination happens to belong to someone else, then that payment will go through to a third party," a spokewoman confirmed. "Although if they use that money, essentially they are committing theft," she warned. "No matter how much you need it or how much you want it, that money doesn't belong to you." Not even the interest? "No."
This was a blow. It was softened, however, by the news that my case was the largest that she had heard of. "I've seen it happen with £10,000 or £20,000, but you're the first in my time with a quarter of a million," she said
Days passed, and still the money didn't move. I checked continually. There was something hypnotic about the sight of my usual domestic debits splashing on the surface of that enormous balance. Between checks, I kept forgetting that the money was there, and then – perhaps when an Aston Martin drove past – remembering.
Another thought occurred to me. What if I just borrowed the money for a few hours, and gambled with it? I would return the full amount afterwards, providing I won. A friend suggested that I would be in breach of trust law, but I found it hard to believe that anyone would prosecute me if they got their money back. All I'd need would be an online betting account, an odds-on certainty and a stiff drink. I'd get £50,000 richer in five minutes if a 1-5 shot came home. If it didn't, admittedly, I'd get prison.
At last, just over a week after the money had arrived, my bank called. It was as I'd feared: I'd have to give everything back – although they needed my approval to transfer the money. (The results of saying no were not explained.) In the process of typing a sort code, the bank explained, this mysterious woman had pressed "6" when she meant "8", and lost a fortune.
I've tried to trace her since, without success. I'd like to tell her about the interesting week I had with her money. I'd also like to find out what her week had been like. Rather fraught, I'm guessing. Finally, I'd thank her for ensuring that I'll never make that same mistake – mainly because I no longer have a quarter of a million pounds.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/money/2012/ja ... 0000-error