Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - How I Stole $50,000 as a Teen and Walked Away Without Guilt or Consequences #79

Episode Date: July 9, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #crime #theft #teenrebellion #nojustice #confession  The narrator recounts stealing $50,000 during their teenage years, revealing how they managed to evade consequences and the complex emotions—or lack thereof—surrounding their actions. It’s a provocative tale about youth, crime, and the unsettling absence of guilt.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, crime, theft, confession, youthcrime, nojustice, moralambiguity, rebellious, thrill, consequences, escape, confessionstory, teencrime, guiltless, criminalmind

Back in the late 90s, right before the world really turned into one giant surveillance machine, I had this job at a big chain store. I won't say which one, trust me, after you hear what went down, you'll understand why. I was a cashier at one of their franchise locations, just a regular minimum wage teenager who worked at a counter with two registers. The kind of setup where you could just slide from one register to the next, and someone could hop onto yours if you ran to the bathroom. Super unprofessional. No real system in place to control theft or keep tabs on the cash flow. So, pretty much right after I got hired, I was handed my

own till. That's the little insert thing that holds the bills, and before each shift, it would be loaded up with a starting amount, about $150 in small bills. I was told to count it before starting work. They left me alone to do this, just out of view from the office. And for reasons I still can't fully explain, I just, took the money. All of it. Slipped it into my pocket. Then I told the manager the till was empty. He grumbled, filled it up with the regular starter cash, and I went about my shift like nothing happened.

I didn't grow up with much. My parents tried, but they had baggage, substance issues, financial failures, a messy divorce. I was a kid born out of wedlock. We always had these junky cars, and vacations were rare and cheap, usually camping trips a couple hours from home. Honestly, I liked those trips, but I couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to stay in a hotel, to have clean sheets someone else made. I used to daydream about having nice things. Like a car without cigarette burns in the seats or duct tape holding the fabric together. Like getting a Super Nintendo when it first dropped, not a decade later when it cost under $100

and the next-gen consoles were already out. Being poor isn't just about what you don't have, it's this constant cold inside you, a hunger that never really leaves. Other kids seemed wrapped in warmth, insecurity, in abundance. I felt like I was out in the cold, watching from the outside. So yeah, I stole that first $150. And for a week afterward, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't sleep. I was convinced I'd be caught, fired, arrested, thrown in jail. My life would be over before it even started. I pictured myself ending up just like my parents, broke, broken, maybe addicted to something awful. The anxiety was suffocating. But at the same time, that money made things easier. I could breathe. I could buy lunch without counting pennies.

That warmth crept in, replacing the icy grip of fear. The next week, I did it again. And then again. And again. Before long, it was a regular thing, two or three times a week. But I wasn't stupid. I knew taking the full amount every time would get noticed eventually, so I started messing with the numbers. I'd add random amounts like $27 or $41 to the till count before handing it in. That way, when they tried to balance the books, the missing money wouldn't be in neat $150 chunks. It added just enough confusion to keep them guessing. The night managers were supposed to fill the tills at the end of the night from another safe.

The day manager, the owner, was a jerk. Classic, My Way or the Highway type. He'd lose his temper instead of actually managing. There didn't seem to be any real oversight for the cash counts. No checks. No double counting. No security measures. I wasn't a great student, but even I could see how ridiculously easy it was to game their system.

I was basically running my own little embezzlement operation, and no one had a clue. This went on for years. No joke, years. And even though the books never added up, nobody seemed to care enough to do anything about it. The boss would yell at the night managers occasionally, but that was it. No policy changes. No investigations. No cameras. Back then, minimum wage was something like $5.25 an hour. That cash I pocketed basically tripled my ear. income. And suddenly, I was living a whole different life. I wasn't rich, but I wasn't struggling either. I could buy decent clothes, go out with friends, pay for gas. I started doing little things for my family, too. I'd bring home takeout and tell my mom I was being smart with my paycheck. I'd sneak an extra hundred into the emergency fund or offer to help with a bill. I wasn't just stealing to have fun, I was helping in my own twisted way. I kept it low-key, though.

I'd seen too many crime movies to know what happens when you get flashy. You start drawing attention, and then you're caught. So I spread it out. I bought friends lunch here and there. Paid for gas. Got someone a CD or a soda. I kept my generosity humble. Just enough to be cool, not enough to raise eyebrows.

And yeah, I know what I did was wrong. I was stealing. I was committing a felony. But I didn't feel bad about it. Not at all. The boss was a prick, flaunting his wealth, driving a fancy car, acting like a king while we were scraping by. Maybe he was in debt, maybe he wasn't. Didn't matter to me.

What mattered was that I'd figured out how to beat the system, and it worked. Over the course of three years, I estimate I stole around $50,000. I was making more than some full-grown adults. I financed parties, road trips, and a lifestyle I never thought I could have. I got a fake ID. Bought booze. Hosted bonfires with DJs, through themed ragers that were legendary at my high school. I hung out with girls way out of my league, all because I had this invisible safety net of stolen

It felt like I was rewriting my life in real time, hatching over years of deprivation with money I didn't earn but sure as hell knew how to use. I was warm for the first time. Confident. Safe. Then came the cameras. Corporate finally forced the franchise owner to install surveillance. Suddenly there were eyes everywhere, especially in the spot where we'd count the tills. My gig was up. I knew it. So I did the smart thing. I quit. That was it.

No dramatic ending. No confrontation. Just a clean exit. I never looked back. I didn't feel guilty. I didn't miss it. I had pulled off a full-blown teenage heist for three years straight and walked away untouched. No one ever suspected a thing.

No one got fired. No one even knew what had happened. I had been a teenage criminal mastermind, well, kind of. It wasn't Oceans 11, but for a kid from a broke home with no prospects, it was a masterpiece. I built a little empire out of $5 bills and carelessness. I didn't get caught. I didn't self-destruct. I didn't ruin anyone else's life.

I just played a flawed system and walked away when the game. got too dangerous. And yeah, I know it sounds crazy now. Maybe even stupid. Maybe you think it wasn't worth the risk. But when I think back to those days, when I remember what it felt like to hand someone a soda and know I could afford it, to pay for gas without checking my balance, to bring home dinner like a hero, man, that feeling was real. That warmth was real. And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like the poor kid anymore. I felt like a king. And the best part.

I got away with it. The end.