The first week after Michael's bold investment felt like walking a tightrope with no net.
He still had his share of household chores, still endured Mei's snarky jabs and Anna tired sighs, and still lived in the same cramped apartment. Nothing had changed—except the gnawing awareness that every cent he had in the world now lived on a piece of paper in his pocket.
At breakfast, Mei leaned across the table, waving her spoon at him like a weapon. "So, Mr. Genius Investor, when do we get rich? Hm? Next Tuesday? Should I quit school now or wait until you buy us a mansion?"
Michael calmly buttered his toast. "Patience, Mei. Rome wasn't built in a day."
Mei snorted. "Neither was your imaginary fortune."
Anna, juggling her toddler on one hip, muttered, "He put everything into nerd companies. I can't even pay my light bill, and he's buying stocks."
Michael smiled faintly. "You'll thank me later."
The toddler chose that moment to fling cereal at his face. Everyone laughed. Michael just wiped his cheek, still smiling.
Days blurred together. Michael took odd jobs to keep himself busy and bring home a little cash. He helped unload boxes at a corner grocery, ran errands for an old neighbor, even fixed a television using tricks he half-remembered from his past life. The money wasn't much, but it kept him afloat.
At night, though, he would sit by the radio, waiting for the financial news. His heart would pound as the announcer read the day's market summary.
Most days, there was nothing. AOL wasn't even worth a mention. Microsoft flickered on the ticker—sometimes up a fraction, sometimes down.
It was like watching paint dry.
Still, Michael's eyes would light up at the smallest rise. "See?" he told himself. "It's starting."
The apartment remained a battlefield of personalities.
Mei had developed a running gag where she introduced Michael to her friends as "Wall Street's Secret Weapon."
"This is my brother," she said one afternoon when two classmates stopped by. "He invests in invisible money. We're all going to be billionaires any second now."
The girls giggled. One of them, chewing gum noisily, asked, "So what do you actually do?"
Michael leaned back in his chair with mock gravitas. "I predict the future."
They burst out laughing. Mei smirked. "See what I live with?"
But Michael didn't mind. If anything, their laughter fueled his resolve. They can laugh now. Later, they'll eat their words.
One evening, as Michael flipped through the newspaper, his eyes caught a tiny article buried in the business section.
"AOL Expands User Base, Partners with Universities for Online Access."
His chest tightened. It was nothing dramatic—just a note about the company signing agreements with a few colleges. But he knew this was the snowball's first roll down the hill.
He clipped the article and folded it neatly into his wallet.
That night, while his family watched sitcom reruns, Michael sat by the window and whispered to himself: "This is it. The world doesn't see it yet. But I do."
A week later, he returned to the brokerage to check his account. Ralph, the grizzled broker, spotted him and smirked.
"Well, well. Mr. Fortune Teller. Here to see how your brilliant AOL is doing? Spoiler: you're still broke."
Michael kept his composure. "Just run the numbers."
Ralph shuffled papers, then shrugged. "Microsoft's ticked up a bit. You've made… what? Eight bucks? Congratulations, you can buy yourself lunch."
He chuckled at his own joke.
Michael studied the statement. Eight dollars wasn't much—but it wasn't nothing either. It was proof. The seed had cracked.
"Every forest starts with one tree," Michael said quietly.
Ralph rolled his eyes. "Sure, Confucius. Just don't come crying when AOL tanks."
Back home, Michael tried to keep his composure, but Mei noticed his grin as he entered.
"Oh no. Don't tell me. We're rich now. What should I pack for our trip to Hawaii?"
Michael dropped into a chair, tossing the receipt on the table. "Microsoft went up. A little."
Mei picked up the paper, squinting. "This? You're bragging about eight dollars?"
"Not bragging," Michael said with a shrug. "Celebrating."
Mei groaned, tossing the paper back at him. "You're hopeless."
Lily, ever the quiet observer, spoke up for the first time. "It's small now, but if it keeps going up…"
Mei shot her a look. "Don't encourage him."
But Michael caught the faint spark in Lily's eyes. She believed—just a little. That was enough.
Late that night, he sat awake, scribbling notes in a battered notebook.
Timeline after timeline unfolded in his memory. Companies that would rise. Technologies that would boom. Mistakes he must avoid.
Apple, teetering now, but destined for resurrection. Amazon, a garage experiment that would become a behemoth. Google, not even born yet.
His hand cramped as he wrote, but he didn't stop. Every line was a stepping stone. Every name a future empire.
I can't waste this chance.
He closed the notebook and stared out at the Bronx skyline. The city was still indifferent, still grinding, still hard.
But Michael's path was clear.
The waiting game had begun. And he was ready to play it better than anyone.