The bank vault was empty. A note on the linoleum floor said, in tiny text, that all funds had been transferred to a blockchain, strings of numbers under the message. Police sirens outside. A bald man in a tan suit was pushed into the vault by the stock of a trembling goon’s rifle. Rubbing his temples so hard it deepened his headache, the leader of the crew asked what blockchains were. The banker gulped and stuttered— he didn’t really get it, either. The goon butted the banker’s dentures in, both collapsing in tears. Helicopter blades above. The leader ran out of the vault, waving his rifle at gagged hostages, demanding to know how to make withdrawals from blockchains. The gagged people gaped. The son of a teller was phoned— he couldn’t give them a straight answer. That’s not how it works, the son yelled, music thumping in the background. The leader chucked the phone and stomped it until it cracked. The call went on, permissioned data and the utopia of the immutable ledger, as a cop busted through a window and the leader’s rifle jammed.