oney was tight. Once, before his parents divorced, angry debt collectors showed up at their small, two-floor brick house in Shepherd’s Bush after Nick, a ponytailed television journalist, fell behind on the utility bills. Hayes told himself that when he grew up, he’d make enough to ensure that the bailiffs never returned. Every day, he counted his money, which he had earned doing odd jobs around the neighborhood. He stacked the coins by denomination. He memorized the quantities. The rituals made him feel safe. He started carting around all his essential belongings in his backpack, as if ready to flee if the need suddenly arrived.