When James fired his weapon in the air, two of the irate New Orleans Zephyr fans tackled him, trying unsuccessfully to pry the gun from his hands. As the three of them rolled around on the concrete, security arrived a few beats too late to restore order.

The bag of money flew into the air, showering everyone with cash. The gun fired, lodging a bullet into the the Coca-Cola tap, spraying highly pressurized carbonated soda all over the place. Reasonably well-mannered people began wrestling for all the Franklins, Grants, Jacksons, Hamiltons, Lincolns, Jeffersons and Washingtons at their feet.

What happened next was a mystery to everyone. The author of the chaos, somehow in the midst of the melee, managed to slip away undetected with the gun. Beaten down and bruised, he made his way upstairs to pay his former employer a little visit.

The door was closed. Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” Mr. Banks said.

“Famous last words,” James said, moments before unloading the rest of the clip on his former employer.