The sun was already rising when William stepped out of the apartment with his worn leather bag. The city was waking up: newspaper boys shouting, bus engines coughing, shopkeepers rolling shutters open. He had spent most of the night going over his notes, deciding which pieces to move first. The sneakers, the silver coins, and a handful of trading cards—all of them small but sharp plays.
He knew from memory which pawn shops were reliable, which collectors were hungry, and which traders could be bargained into mistakes. In his old life, he had wasted years on grand but slow ventures. This time, he needed speed.
The first stop was a dusty little shop on Roosevelt Avenue. The owner, a middle-aged man with a permanent scowl, barely looked up when William walked in. The glass cases were cluttered with watches, chains, and old tools.
"I've got something you'll want," William said, laying the sneakers on the counter.
The man lifted one, squinting at the logo. "Used shoes?"
"Limited release," William countered smoothly. "Collectors pay double what you'll give me, but I don't have the time to chase them."
The owner grunted, clearly skeptical, but after a long silence he opened the cash drawer. "Eighty."
William shook his head. "One-fifty. Final."
The man muttered something under his breath but counted out the bills. William slipped them into his bag, hiding the small smile tugging at his lips. He had paid forty. The profit wasn't enormous, but it was proof of concept. Fast money, steady steps.
Back at home, Sarah was kneeling on the floor with Andrew, helping him cut shapes out of colored paper. She looked up as William entered, raising an eyebrow at the cash he placed on the table.
"That's from the shoes?" she asked.
William nodded. "Tripled the money in one day."
Sarah pressed her lips together, as if trying not to look impressed. "Hmmm. Lucky day."
"No," William said gently, kneeling beside her. "Not luck. Memory. I've seen the future of these markets, Sarah. I know what's coming before others do. All we need to do is move smart and fast."
Andrew piped up, waving his scissors. "Daddy's smart! Daddy's faster than Superman!"
Sarah laughed and kissed Andrew's forehead. "Well, let's hope your daddy is careful too."
That night, after Andrew was asleep, Sarah sat by the window brushing her hair. William walked over, watching the soft rhythm of her hands. The lamplight made her skin glow faintly.
"You're beautiful," he murmured.
She turned, cheeks warming. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
"Because it's true," William said, leaning down to kiss her lips softly. "I used to take you for granted. Never again."
Her hand lingered against his chest, her eyes searching his. "Just don't lose yourself chasing money. I don't need a billionaire, Will. I need you."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, promising silently that he would be both.
Two days later, William visited a small coin shop run by an elderly man with thick glasses. The place smelled of polish and paper. William laid out the silver coins he had bought at the flea market.
"Where did you get these?" the shopkeeper asked, examining them carefully.
"Old seller at a market," William answered smoothly.
"They're underpriced," the man muttered. "Silver's been climbing this year."
William nodded. "So what will you give me?"
The man hesitated, then wrote a number on a slip of paper. William's chest tightened. It was more than triple what he had paid. He kept his expression calm, shook the man's hand, and walked out with another neat bundle of cash.
For the first time in years, his pockets felt heavier than his heart.
That evening, William took Sarah and Andrew out to dinner—not a fancy place, just a small restaurant with red-checked tablecloths and warm bread rolls. Andrew chattered nonstop about his drawings and his friends at school, while Sarah smiled across the table at William.
She was wearing a simple cream blouse, but to him, she looked radiant. He reached across, brushing his fingers against hers. "You look amazing tonight."
Sarah rolled her eyes but squeezed his hand back. "And you're glowing because of those coins, aren't you?"
William chuckled. "Maybe. But mostly because of you."
Andrew groaned. "Not again! You two always make faces at each other."
Sarah laughed, leaning over to kiss William lightly in front of their son. "Sorry, Andrew. But that's what happens when people love each other."
The boy wrinkled his nose but grinned anyway.
Later that week, William sorted through the stack of trading cards at the kitchen table. He knew a collector who would be eager, a man who always haunted weekend fairs.
Sarah walked over, placing a mug of tea beside him. "Still working?"
"Always," William said with a tired smile.
She bent down, kissed the top of his head, and whispered, "Don't forget your family while you're saving the world."
William caught her hand, pulled her into his lap, and kissed her lips softly. "I'm saving the world for you."
Her laughter rang through the apartment, light and clear.
But shadows were never far.
One night, as William locked the apartment door, he noticed a folded slip of paper tucked into the frame. His pulse quickened as he unfolded it. Four words, written in sharp letters:
You still owe Rafi.
He stared at it for a long time, fists tightening, then shoved it deep into his pocket. Sarah's voice floated from inside the apartment. "Will? Come to bed."
He straightened, forced a calm breath, and walked back in. Sarah was already under the blanket, her hair loose, her eyes heavy with sleep. He lay beside her, pulling her close.
She murmured, half-dreaming, "You'll take care of us, won't you?"
William kissed her lips softly, fiercely. "Always."
But as her breathing steadied against his chest, his own eyes stayed open, fixed on the ceiling. The coins, the sneakers, the cards—they were only the beginning. He had to move faster, bigger, sharper. Because Rafi was waiting.
And this time, William swore, the story would not end the way it once had.