Max sat in silence for a moment. Maybe it was a coincidence. Just a really, really weird coincidence. He hesitated, then decided to test the waters.


"And may I ask... what is your profession?"


"Oh!"


"I'm a Senior Investment Advisor at Stellar Capital. I work right over there at Stellar Tower. Here's my card."


Tony handed Max a fancy business card with gold foil lettering. He was really trying to sell the 'corporate elite' vibe.


Max read the card: Benson Bullard (Tony): Senior Investment Advisor, Stellar Capital...


Was this guy for real? Max looked at the card, then back at him, his expression getting weirder by the second.


"You know..." Max started, playing along. "What you said earlier makes a lot of sense. I've actually been looking into the stock market recently. Do you have any advice, Tony?"


Tony's eyes lit up. He had a fish on the line, but he knew the rules: never yank the hook too hard, or you'll lose the catch.


He pretended to hesitate for a moment before sitting back down next to Max.


"Kid, I like you. I feel a connection. So, I'll break it down for you. Have you seen the financial news? The market index has been dead water for two years, but suddenly—bam!—it's up hundreds of points in three days. Especially tech and energy. Dozens of stocks have skyrocketed. You know why?"


Max thought about the vision of A Tragic Life he'd seen yesterday. He looked at Tony with feigned uncertainty. "Because... a bunch of suckers bought in?"


Tony froze. That wasn't in the script.


"Haha, very funny," Tony forced a laugh. "But no sucker has that kind of buying power. We're talking whales, kid! Domestic giants and foreign banks sweeping the floor and buying the dip!"


"Oh..." Max nodded slowly, looking like he kinda-sorta got it. "And then?"


Seeing Max look so clueless, Tony's confidence surged back.


"Keeping money in the bank? You lose to inflation. Buying a house? Too much government regulation. The economy is tough. So where does the money go? The market. Trust me, I've got twenty years in this game. This is the golden hour. If your luck isn't terrible, doubling your money every year is easy."


Tony sighed dramatically, staring into the distance.


"Life only gives you a few chances to change your fate. SATs, marriage, buying a house... and for the next decade? It's the stock market! If you don't grab this chance now, you're going to be a wage slave for the rest of your life."


Honestly, Max didn't know the first thing about stocks. Mostly because stocks required money, and Max was broke. But if he didn't have that ominous premonition hanging over his head, Tony's passionate, logical-sounding speech might have actually worked. Who doesn't want to get rich doing nothing?


But right now, Max couldn't focus. The words A Tragic Life seemed to be flashing in his vision again. Tony's sales pitch felt like nails on a chalkboard, and Max's guard went straight to ten.


"Wow," Max nodded earnestly. "Listening to you speak... is exactly like listening to someone speaking."


Tony didn't catch the sarcasm.


"So," Max pivoted, "is it possible the market will crash this year?"


Tony choked on his own spit. "Crash? Ahahaha!" He laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world.


"Kid, look. We hit rock bottom in '15. It's '18 now. We just started climbing. Crashes happen on ten-year cycles. We are at the 'can't fall any lower' stage. This is the perfect time to buy! Do you think the big institutions are stupid? Listen to your old pal Tony. Wanting to invest is good, but you need to educate yourself. You can't navigate the market by reading a few garbage newsletters."


Tony looked at Max with a mixture of pity and condescension. "You remind me of myself when I was young. Ambitious, but naive. Tell you what, find some time later, and I can teach you how this game is really played."


"Is there... anything specific?" Max pressed, acting eager. "Like a stock you recommend?"


"Sigh! You young people are so impatient!" Tony shook his head, then leaned in close. "But I get it."


He paused for dramatic effect.


"I've been tracking this one stock for years. It's a core energy stock, federal-backed. It took a dip, but we just saw a massive volume green candle, followed by three rising soldiers and a doji. The technicals are screaming 'buy'..."


He threw out a flurry of jargon to stun the kid, and once he saw Max looked sufficiently dizzy, Tony looked around suspiciously and lowered his voice to a whisper.


"The important thing is, my college roommate is a senior exec there... that's all I can say."


Max faked a gasp, his breathing getting heavy. "What's the stock?"


"It's... Horizon Oil!


Horizon Oil?!


When those two words actually left the other guy's mouth, Max felt his heart do a gymnastics routine in his chest. His eyelid started twitching like it was tapping out Morse code.


Once could be a coincidence. Twice? Maybe. But three times?


Max's brain was a cocktail of shock, surprise, and the kind of adrenaline usually reserved for skydiving. His thoughts were racing like a herd of wild horses.


Tony, however, misread Max's twisted, frantic expression completely. He saw the look of a man who'd just struck gold.


Tony pushed his glasses up his nose, looking a little confused. Did I really just bamboozle him that hard?


He wondered when his usual sales pitch—a mix of vague "technical analysis" and bogus "insider info"—had become a weapon of mass destruction. People usually just nodded along. This kid looked like he'd just won the Powerball.


They say if you're single too long, you start naming your future kids after one glance at a crush, Tony thought. Maybe this guy just has a really overactive imagination?


Whatever it was, Tony had clearly landed a critical hit. The skill damage was overflowing.


Well, Tony figured, looks like my monthly quota is in the bag.


He checked his "Rolex"—a knockoff he wore to hint at his "money is no object" elite persona.


"Oh, wow, look at the time. I've got a board meeting this morning, gotta fly. But hey, little brother, if you need anything, just give me a ring."


Tony patted Max on the shoulder and walked off with a swagger. The bait was in the water. It was only a matter of time before the fish bit. Tony was confident this lost little lamb would be calling him back before lunch.


Max didn't hear a word of the exit speech. He was too busy drowning in the shock of the journal's "magical prophecy."


It knew him. It knew everything. And it had predicted the future with terrifying accuracy.


Tony. Horizon Energy.


Events that had just unfolded today were written in black and white in a book he'd received yesterday.


If that wasn't a prophecy, what was?


Chill, Max. Chill! he told himself. Don't jump to conclusions. Sherlock Holmes said when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. But this truth was seriously untrustworthy...


Doubt started to creep back in.


Wait. Is this a prank show?


He remembered reading about a guy who recorded a fake lottery drawing to trick his girlfriend into thinking he'd time-traveled and won the jackpot. It worked, right up until she dumped him for being a jerk.


But the lesson stuck: seeing isn't always believing.


Did someone mail him the book and then hire a bunch of extras to "direct" a fake future just to mess with him?


Max immediately slapped on his best poker face. If there were cameras, he wasn't going to look like an idiot.


He scanned the diner. No hidden lenses in the flower pots. No boom mics in the ceiling fans. The other customers were aggressively attacking their pancakes, and the people on the street were rushing to work. Nobody looked like an extra waiting for a cue.


Max abandoned his breakfast. He marched up to the counter, wallet in hand.


"Hey, boss. Quick question."


"What's up, kid?" The diner owner was a regular fixture, wiping down the counter with a rag that had seen better days.


"That guy sitting next to me. Briefcase, glasses, cheap suit. You know him?"


"Oh, him? Yeah, sure. Comes in for breakfast all the time. Real chatty guy. Acts like everybody's best friend. Tried to talk my ear off about stocks once, but I told him I don't know a bull market from a bull patty."


So, he's a regular. A serial scammer casting a wide net. That made it unlikely he was an actor hired just for today.


Max looked at the owner. The guy was as honest as a hash brown. If this was a prank, the production value was insane. They would have had to plant an Oscar-winning actor as a diner owner for years just for this one moment.


This wasn't The Truman Show.


"Got it. Thanks," Max said.


He walked out of the diner. The morning sun was climbing higher, and a grin slowly stretched across his face until he looked a little unhinged.


"Heh... hehehe..."


"Mommy, look! That man is broken!"


"Keep walking, sweetie! Don't make eye contact."


...


Whew~ Whew-whew~


Max strolled into his office building, whistling a happy tune. But the moment the elevator doors slid open, his cheerful C-minor melody died in his throat.


There is nothing more awkward than being late and running into your boss in the elevator.


Except, perhaps, finding your boss alone in the elevator.


"Manager Vance! Good morning!" Max forced a smile and stepped into the metal box of doom.


"Max. Do you have any idea what time it is? Did you forget we have a morning meeting?" Vincent Vance stood there, hair slicked back with enough gel to withstand a hurricane, face set in a permanent scowl.


"Oh, I was... meeting a client. Just rushed back."


The one perk of being a sales rep: the "meeting a client" excuse was basically bulletproof.


"Is that so?" Vance sneered. "Meeting clients this early? I guess you won't be at the bottom of the sales leaderboard this month then, hmm?"


Max stared at the back of Vance's head. The guy usually treated him like gum on a shoe, but this was aggressive even for him. Where was the fake corporate smile?


Geez, Max thought. Did he skip his cornflakes this morning and eat a bowl of gunpowder instead?


That little elevator showdown didn't ruin Max's mood in the slightest. If anything, it brightened his morning.


"Mmh! Early bird gets the worm, right? Just trying to follow Manager Vance's shiny example."


Rules for thee, but not for me, Max thought. The glorious leader can stroll in late, but I get the third degree? Yeah, right.


"You..." Vincent Vance sputtered. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. He clearly hadn't expected his subordinate to talk back.


Max just turned away, ignoring him.


Please. You think you can bully me? If you paid me ten grand a month, sure, you're the Emperor. Everything you say is golden wisdom. For a few grand? I'll listen, but I won't like it.


But for two grand a month? Buddy, at this pay grade, I'm the Daddy. You better watch your tone with me.