The subway rattled beneath the city, its flickering lights reflecting off Michael's borrowed suit. The gala's champagne buzz had worn off, replaced by the gritty reality of sweat, metal, and graffiti. He tugged his tie loose and leaned back, mind racing.
Vivian Wu's sharp eyes.
Howard Klein's scowl.
The murmurs of businessmen intrigued by his "predictions."
It had been a victory—but victories didn't pay rent.
By the time he trudged up the stairs to their apartment, the Bronx night air clinging to his skin, the hallway light was buzzing with a faint hum. He slipped his key in quietly, praying everyone was asleep.
The door creaked open.
"Where have you been?"
Three voices chimed in unison.
Michael froze. His sisters were perched like hawks on the couch, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with suspicion.
Anna, the eldest at twenty-eight, had her toddler on her lap. Her sharp eyes, inherited from their late father, could strip paint from a wall. Lily, two years older than Michael, tapped her foot against the floor, impatient as ever. And little Mei, still in high school, leaned forward with a grin that said she lived for drama.
Michael cleared his throat. "Evening, ladies."
"It's midnight," Anna snapped. "You left in a shirt and slacks this morning. Now you're walking in here in a suit you clearly can't afford. Explain."
Mei gasped theatrically. "Oh my God. Did you rob a banker? Please say yes."
Lily rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid. He probably got dragged into some pyramid scheme."
Michael shut the door behind him and loosened his tie fully. "Would you believe me if I said I was networking?"
"No," the three answered in perfect harmony.
He grinned. "Good. Then you'll be pleasantly surprised."
The living room was cramped, wallpaper peeling in places, the couch sagging under years of weight. Their mom, Mrs. Chen, appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. Her tired smile softened the room instantly.
"You're back," she said, relief flickering across her face. "Eat something. You must be hungry."
Anna shot up. "Mom, don't just let him off! He comes home like some Wall Street wannabe and thinks he can brush it off."
Michael dropped into the armchair, sighing like a man carrying the weight of two lives. "Anna, relax. I wasn't drinking away our rent money. I was—" He paused for effect. "—at a gala."
The room erupted.
Mei nearly fell off the couch laughing. "A gala? Did you crash someone's wedding?"
Lily arched a brow. "A gala? With who, exactly?"
Michael smirked. "With the kind of people who are going to run the future. Investors. Entrepreneurs. Even…" He hesitated, then added smoothly, "Vivian Wu."
That silenced them.
Anna blinked. "Vivian Wu? As in the Wu family? The shipping magnates?"
Michael shrugged. "The very same."
Mei's jaw dropped. "Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling us you were just rubbing elbows with rich people in tuxedos, sipping champagne like James Bond?"
Michael spread his hands. "Essentially, yes."
Lily folded her arms. "And they just let you in?"
A sly grin curved his lips. "Let's say I have… talents."
Mei cackled. "Oh my God, you totally snuck in. Didn't you?"
Michael winked but said nothing.
Anna groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Michael, this isn't funny. We're barely scraping by, and you're playing dress-up with the rich?"
The weight in her voice sobered the room. Their dad had been gone three years, and since then every penny mattered.
Michael leaned forward, voice steady. "I know things are hard. I know you were all hoping I'd be the one to pull us out of this hole. And I will. But you need to trust me."
Anna's eyes searched his face, skeptical but shaken by his seriousness. Lillian looked away, biting her lip. Mei grin faltered.
Mrs. Chen set down a bowl of soup in front of him. Her voice was quiet but firm. "We do trust you. Just don't lose yourself chasing something that isn't real."
Michael met her gaze, heart tightening. "I won't, Mom. I promise."
Later that night, after the apartment fell quiet, Michael sat at the rickety dining table with the family's old computer humming beside him. The screen's green glow painted his face as he opened a spreadsheet.
In his last life, he had watched people make fortunes on the back of companies no one believed in at first. AOL. Microsoft. Apple. Stocks that had been pocket change in the nineties turned into goldmines.
He pulled open his wallet.
Three hundred and fifty dollars. His savings, the scraps left after failed job hunts.
Not much. But enough for a seed.
He scribbled notes furiously, calculating returns, cross-checking timelines. If he put everything into AOL now… by 1999, when the dot-com bubble swelled, he'd be sitting on tens of thousands. Enough to leverage into something bigger.
He grinned. "One step at a time."
The thrill buzzed in his veins. This wasn't just about money. This was about rewriting fate.
But as he clicked through the stock listings, a thought nagged at him.
Vivian Wu's voice, playful yet sharp: What if you're wrong?
He clenched his fist. He couldn't be wrong. Not this time.
The next morning, the Chen apartment smelled of fried eggs and toast. Mei sat at the table sketching while Anna packed her toddler's bag. Lily skimmed the classifieds, circling jobs with a red pen.
Michael strode out of his room, determination in his step. "I'm heading downtown."
Lily didn't even glance up. "Job interview?"
"Investment," he said casually.
Mei nearly spit out her juice. "You're what?"
Anna glared. "Michael, if you gamble away our rent—"
"It's not a gamble," he interrupted firmly. "It's a certainty."
Mei snorted. "You sound like those late-night TV guys selling miracle juicers."
Michael grabbed his coat. "Just wait. In a few years, you'll thank me."
Mrs. Chen appeared from the kitchen, her expression tired but tender. "Be careful."
He softened, kissing her cheek. "Always."
As he stepped into the brisk morning, the city stretched before him—a jungle of ambition and hunger.
This was his arena now.
And he was ready to play.