The next day I woke early, charged like the freaking Energizer Bunny. After pouring a rich dark roast from the French press into my State U. Bucks mug, I started the finance class at long-last, clicking along, notebook out, and taking notes.

There was a lot of math: probability distributions, minimax problems, etc, crap that I hadn't seen since my upper-division finance classes. And while I'd never shied from math, it wasn't my forte, so I spent half the time googling the maths I'd forgotten, and the maths that slipped my mind were legion.

No shock there, though. I'm no "quant," the insider's nickname for the math and finance nerds who performed Wall Street Voodoo, the brainiacs who kept Sterling, Whitehead & Phillips's clients rolling in the Benjamins. And I had zero desire to work as a quant.

I preferred to sell, to market, to grow business. And I doubted quants, bright as they were, could sell. So where they had an unconscious facility with Mat-Lab, SQL, and S, I had the gift of the gab.

Regardless, I loved just understanding the complex hedges, the tearing apart and deciphering balance sheets, and income statements to value a company. That knowledge would DEFINITELY help me sell. Because understanding brings with it power.

And I wanted power, to sit in that boardroom, to become a full partner like Aziz and Trey.

Around ten, my phone buzzed, and I paused the class. Tibor. Puzzled, I picked up. "What up, G?"

"Just checking in. You surviving the exposure?"

I sighed, my chest collapsing inward. I'd forgotten. But the reckoning was out there, waiting. Work, friends, extended family, anyone who remained ignorant of my situation would soon learn. Sure, last night I'd waved the Magic Wand, and it had relaxed me, but....

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Tibor asked, "You okay?"

I tensed. "Haven't been giving it much thought. I was studying, training for work."

His voice softened but remained firm as always. "Listen, bud, I've been a journalist for decades. This ain't going away. Especially when them slimy web tabloids get involved."

I suppressed a groan, cursing Tibor for being a buzz-kill. "Guess I was just trying for something... normal after two weeks of weirdness. Reality bites."

Tibor grunted his assent. "Back-to-back weeks from hell. Wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy."

He went silent, and I sensed something unspoken, so I asked, "You want to ask me something?"

The chair Tibor was sitting on squeaked. "You still want to expose the bastards at the Gawker with me?"

I perked. "Hells yeah."

"Good. Anyhow, I was speaking with my editor. She suggested working on a book together. Joint billing, tied to releases on the Western Reserve Press website and Cleveland.com. You know, cash for the paper, more exposure for us, which should increase our book sales. She and her boss want us working together, but me, I'd be okay ghostwriting it."

I thought about it. It was a classic win-win. Seemed that Tibor was an ace investigator, asking questions and finding crap that escaped the Capitol City Police on his own, in one percent of the time. Imagine what he could do with a book advance, clickbait articles, and time on his side. If there's anyone who could sort this out, connect IRL faces to Alpha Shlong and his merry band of Incels, well... I cleared my throat, nodding. "Hell, yeah, let's do it together."

He grunted, and I heard a smile in his voice. "Excellent. Now, the Press has a new marketing guru corporate just sent us. My boss would like us to meet with you to coordinate our response. He's a good kid, about your age, and into social media. And he's impressed by the buzz you and I have generated, with zero intent." With a resigned sigh, the smile that had been in his voice turned melancholy. "He wants to sharpen your message, expand your reach. And monetize your case, sad to say. Freaking corporate douchebags, always about money with them."

I chortled. "What's wrong with that? Remember that movie, Jerry Maguire? 'Show me the money,' and all that shit? I mean, this is America. We're capitalists, entrepreneurs, and explorers, not Marxists."

Tibor grunted his assent. And I scheduled lunch with him and their social media guru. Content, I hung up, a predator's glint in my eye.

"We're coming for you, Daily Gawker and Alpha Shlong. Duck and cover, bitches."