Chapter 35: The Burbank Lease
The realtor's pen clicks in the quiet office.
"Sign here, here, and initial here."
Leonard's beside me, reading over my shoulder like a nervous parent. Which, honestly, helps. My hands want to shake.
The lease is forty-seven pages. Standard commercial terms, security deposit, insurance requirements, maintenance responsibilities. All the bureaucratic framework that turns "good idea" into "legal obligation."
I sign the first page: STUART BLOOM
The signature looks confident. Doesn't match how I feel.
"And here."
Leonard leans in. "The buildout allowance is standard. You're not getting screwed."
"You sure?"
"I had Sheldon review it. He found three grammatical errors but no legal issues."
The realtor smiles professionally. "Your friend's thorough."
"You have no idea."
I sign page after page. Each stroke of the pen feels heavier. This isn't like the first shop—that was desperation, last-ditch survival. This is deliberate expansion. Empire building.
"Final signature here."
I pause before the last line.
Stuart Bloom signed a lease one year ago terrified and alone, betting everything on a failing business model.
I'm signing this lease with sixty-two thousand dollars in investments, twenty thousand in business reserves, and a track record of success.
Different person. Different circumstances.
But still scared.
I finish the signature.
"Congratulations." The realtor slides me the keys. "You're now leasing two thousand square feet of premium Burbank retail space."
Leonard shakes my hand. "Empire builder."
"Idiot with ambition."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
The space is empty when we arrive. Two thousand square feet of raw potential and dust.
Our footsteps echo. No fixtures, no shelving, no product. Just blank walls and possibilities.
"You're really doing this," Leonard says.
"Apparently."
"Thirty-five hundred monthly rent plus buildout costs. Probably fifty grand total to open." He's calculating, physicist-brain running numbers. "You've got the capital. But that's most of your investment buffer."
"I know."
"And if it fails—"
"Leonard."
He stops. "Sorry. Just—this is real money. Real risk."
"A year ago I ran a successful shop from nothing. With an Iron Fist ordering disaster that should've sunk me." I walk to where the counter will go. "I can do this."
"You can." He follows. "You're actually good at business. It's weird."
"Thanks?"
"No, I mean—you were this depressed artist guy. Now you're opening a second location, consulting for TV shows, making investment calls that keep working out." He leans against the wall. "It's like you became a different person."
The tingle flares. Warning.
"People change," I say carefully. "Success builds confidence. Confidence enables more success."
"That's circular logic."
"Welcome to business psychology."
He accepts this. Doesn't push. But I file the moment away: Leonard's noticing the transformation. Attributing it to natural growth, but questioning the speed.
Need to be more careful.
I pull out my notebook, start sketching layout.
"Counter here. New releases there. Back issues along this wall. Gaming space in the corner—four tables, tournament setup."
The vision crystallizes as I draw. The memory provides context—where Warner Bros employees grab lunch, what studio people want from comic shops, how to position this as THE industry hangout.
But the layout itself is mine. The Magnetism draws people, but I have to build what they want.
"What about employees?" Leonard asks.
"Need at least two. Manager and sales associate. Manager handles daily ops, I oversee both locations."
"You calculated labor costs?"
"Three times. Sheldon checked my math twice."
"And you're sure about the March opening?"
"Four months to buildout. Two for inventory setup. One buffer for disasters." I look around the empty space. "Yeah. March."
Leonard's quiet for a moment. Then: "You know what I think?"
"Tell me."
"I think you're terrified right now. Trying not to show it. But this is huge, and you're worried about failing."
He's not wrong.
"Also think you're going to succeed anyway. Because you're actually good at this. Not lucky—good." He pushes off the wall. "So I'm investing."
"What?"
"Five thousand dollars. For five percent equity." He pulls out his phone. "Sheldon and I discussed it. He's in for another five. Howard wants in for three. Raj for two."
"You guys—that's fifteen thousand dollars."
"You helped me. Blog posts, consulting gigs, just—being a good friend." He meets my eyes. "Let us help back."
The tingle's gone quiet. No warnings, no affirmations. Just... silence.
This decision is mine alone.
"Equity means legal paperwork. Profit sharing. Actual partnership."
"We know."
"And if I fuck this up, you lose money."
"Stuart. We trust you." Leonard grins. "Also, Sheldon calculated ROI projections. He thinks you'll triple the investment in two years."
"Sheldon said that?"
"Actually, he said 'statistically probable return exceeds acceptable risk parameters.' I translated."
I look around the empty space again. Not alone anymore. The gang's backing me financially, emotionally, practically.
The powers gave advantages.
But these friendships? I earned those.
"Okay. Partnership deal. I'll draft terms, have everyone review before signing."
Leonard extends his hand. "To Bloom's Comics: Burbank Edition."
We shake. His grip is firm, trusting.
"You're going to be great at this," he says.
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. You've been great at everything else."
Driving home, keys to the second location in my pocket, I think about the difference between the first shop and this one.
First shop: survival. Desperation. Last chance.
Second shop: ambition. Strategy. Growth.
First shop: alone.
Second shop: partnership.
The city passes outside my windows. Warner Bros Studios to the left—future customers. Universal City to the right—potential third location someday.
The powers showed me the future. But I'm building it with friends.
That's the difference.
That's what makes it real.
My phone buzzes at a red light.
Melissa: How'd it go?
Me: Signed the lease. Official.
Melissa: Proud of you. You're doing amazing things.
The light turns green.
I drive toward the Pasadena shop—my first success, my foundation.
In four months, I'll have two.
In a year, maybe three.
The empire's expanding.
And for the first time since waking up in this impossible life, I'm not just exploiting advantages.
I'm earning success.
One lease at a time.
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