The Tragedy Script

At eight-ten in the morning, the mission began.

Freshly showered, Max selected his gear carefully: a long trench coat with a concealed inner pocket.

He slid The Hustle into a protective leather sleeve, tucked it deep inside the coat, did up the buttons, and knotted the belt. He gave the hidden lump a reassuring pat. Secure.

He’d debated leaving it behind, but paranoia won out. It was safer on his person.

Unfortunately, despite a full night of waiting, the book hadn’t changed. Not even a pixel.

Max marched to the bus stop. After ten minutes of toe-tapping, the number 301 finally wheezed into view.

Sutton might run at a slower pace than the major metros like New York or London, but during rush hour, the public transit system was basically a combat zone.

Max barely managed to squeeze on last. The doors hadn’t even hissed shut when a wheezing sound approached rapidly from behind him.

“Hold it! Hold it!”

Before Max could brace himself, a new passenger plowed into his back. He tried to squish forward to make room, but the woman in front of him—a heavyset lady with the physical presence of a tank—immediately whipped her head around.

“Hey! Watch it! Why are you shoving?” She barked, unleashing a wave of garlic breath powerful enough to peel paint.

Max nearly choked. “Sorry! My bad!”

He twisted his body sideways, keeping his right hand jammed in his pocket, guarding the book like a secret agent.

“Move back, folks! Make room!” the driver yelled from the front, a request everyone ignored with practiced ease.

Hissss. The doors shut, effectively pressurizing the sardine can.

The latecomer, a woman, was now plastered against Max’s back.

Suddenly, a scent of vanilla drifted into Max’s nose, battling the garlic fumes and giving him a moment of sensory relief.

Pressed against his chest was a young woman in a sharp black business suit, sporting black-rimmed glasses and clutching a briefcase.

Max couldn't see her face, but they were intimately close. Too close. He tried to inch backward.

But for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The tank-lady behind him executed a simple hip check, bouncing Max—who was definitely in a lighter weight class—right back where he came from.

Feeling the pressure return, the business girl in front let out an annoyed huff. Max froze. He was trapped in a delicate equilibrium of forces.

Then, the bus driver decided to gun it through a yellow light. The bus accelerated and banked hard to the left.

Wham!

Physics took the wheel. The woman behind Max, proving that greater mass equals greater inertia, slammed forward. It was a beautiful assist.

Max was shoved helplessly into the business girl, pinning her face against the glass door. He watched in horror as her features smushed and distorted against the reinforced window pane.

When the bus finally straightened out, the pressure eased. Max scrambled back a few inches.

On the glass, a distinct, tragic smear of lipstick remained.

The girl whipped her head around, eyes blazing.

Max blinked, speechless.

How is this my fault? he thought. Haven't you ever heard of a Newton's Cradle?

To be fair, she was stunning—natural, no heavy makeup needed. Even in his panic, Max took a second to appreciate that.

Then the bus hooked a sharp right. The girl lost her footing and fell against him.

Luckily, Max had the tank-lady behind him acting as a structural support beam. He didn't budge.

However, his lips accidentally made a very awkward, very intimate landing on the back of the girl’s head.

Vanilla scent filled his nostrils again.

She regained her balance and spun around, glaring daggers at a bewildered Max.

He gave her his best look of innocence. Please, his eyes pleaded, look at the linebacker behind me. I am a victim of circumstance.

But misunderstandings are usually one person failing to explain and the other person imagining the worst.

“Um...” Max started.

The bus screeched to a halt. The doors popped open. The girl bolted like the bus was on fire, but not before shooting Max one last death stare.

Before Max could even attempt an apologetic shrug, a new wave of commuters surged aboard, blocking his view.

Hissss. Doors closed. The bus lurched forward—crowded, shaking, miserable.

Max sighed.

In an age where everyone gets misunderstood, he thought, I’m the only one actually suffering for it.

Stellar Securities

“Kid! We meet again. Good to see you, good to see you.”

Tony pumped Max’s hand with the enthusiasm of a game show host.

“Heh! I know you’re a rookie, kid. Tell you what, I’ll walk you through the basics of the stock market first, maybe teach you some fundamental operations...”

“Skip it, Tony,” Max cut him off. “I’m a believer in letting pros do what pros do best. I trust your professionalism.”

Max adjusted his coat. “I’m here to open an account. And while I’m at it, I want to make a play on ‘Horizon Energy’.”

Tony paused, blinking.

He’d thought this sale was in the bag, but he hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Usually, you had to dangle a carrot, maybe promise the moon to hook a client.

Are kids these days just this efficient?

Did he see Horizon Energy skyrocketing yesterday and get FOMO?

Well, if it saved Tony the trouble of a sales pitch, who was he to complain? His grin widened.

“Oh... is that right? Fantastic! So, kid, how much capital were you thinking of bringing in to... test the waters?”

“Hmm...” Max considered. “Five hundred grand. To start.”

Tony froze. “...”

Five hundred grand? To start?!

“Did... did you say five hundred thousand?” Tony wondered if he’d hallucinated an extra zero.

“Yep.” Max nodded.

Tony inhaled sharply, his heart suddenly blooming with joy.

You never can tell, Tony thought. The kid dresses like he shops at a thrift store, but he’s a secret tycoon? Jackpot!

Anyone who drops 500k just to "test the waters" has to have a net worth that’s off the charts.

He couldn't believe it. A random encounter at a coffee stand had hooked him a Golden Goose!

If he treated this VIP right, maybe the kid would introduce his rich friends, his wealthy family, his entire entourage. Tony could harvest the whole pod.

Top Salesman of the Year award, here I come!

“Right this way! I’ll get the paperwork started immediately,” Tony said, his voice dripping with hospitality. “You’ve clearly done your homework. Horizon Energy has been hitting new highs every week. It’s an absolute bull monster, perfect for a long-term hold!”

“Heh.” Max gave a noncommittal smile. “Actually, I have a question about that stock.”

He leaned in slightly. “If I wanted to short it... and use maximum leverage... how would I go about doing that?”

“Uh...” The smile plastered on Tony’s face turned into a statue.

Short it? With leverage?!

What happened to “I trust your professionalism”?