The next morning, the office was buzzing with the usual low-energy dread of the daily meeting.


"What have you been up to these past two days, kid?" Old Jerry asked, eyeing Max suspiciously. "Marco said he tried to rope you into a client expansion event yesterday and you blew him off."


"Ah, just too busy..." Max took a loud, obnoxious slurp from his thermos.


"Busy with what?" Jerry pressed.


"You know, the usual," Max deadpanned. "Busy saving myself, busy saving others, and battling evil forces with hundreds of billions in assets. Just hero stuff." He took another slurp.


Jerry, assuming Max was just running his mouth again, rolled his eyes and peered into Max's open thermos. He recoiled slightly.


"Dried berries, cloves, and... is that citrus zest?" Jerry frowned. "You're trying to make a stomach tonic, aren't you?"


"Ouch, nothing gets past you! You're a pro," Max grinned. "So? How's my mix? pretty solid, right?"


"Solid? It's a disaster," Jerry grunted. "You've just thrown a pile of random ingredients together. Half those medicinal properties cancel each other out. You haven't made coffee; you've brewed a chaotic toxic stew."


"Huh? So what should I be drinking?"


"If you want to save your stomach, stick to aged black tea. Red coffee or barley coffee works, too," Jerry lectured, slipping into mentor mode. "You're young. You've got vitality. Your body recovers on its own; you don't need all this flashy nonsense. Keep it simple."


Jerry tapped the side of his own thermos. "And drinking this stuff is just maintenance. The point is exercise. If you move, you don't rust. Use it or lose it. Strengthening the body strengthens the organs. And quit the junk food. It takes a hundred days to build health and one day to ruin it. Destruction is always easier than construction."


"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Max nodded aggressively, pulling out a small notebook like a straight-A student in an AP History class. He started scribbling furiously.


"So," Max asked, pen hovering, "what's the actual medicinal interaction between saffron and truffles? And how do bio-rhythms factor into holistic balance?"


For the next twenty minutes, the two of them sat in the corner, clutching their thermoses, engaged in a profound diplomatic summit on the topic of "Wellness."


Marco, sitting at the desk behind them, felt his mouth twitch. He watched a fifty-year-old and a twenty-something seriously discuss the feasibility of pairing beer with kale. It was the weirdest thing he'd seen all week.


Max wasn't just humoring the old man, though. He was hanging on every word, treating Jerry's advice on stomach acid and antioxidants like it was the answer key to the SATs. It was a matter of life and death.


Eventually, even Jerry got suspicious.


"Okay, look," Jerry said, narrowing his eyes. "Did you finally have an epiphany? Are you preparing to go home and retire, is that why you're grilling me for the Holy Crusade of health tips?"


"If I could, I really wouldn't mind going home and retiring," Max sighed, his shoulders dropping.


The city was a trap. The urban game is too deep, he thought. I want to go back to the village. The environment here was hostile—prison time hanging over your head, lawsuits that could get you killed, divorce cases that unraveled massive conspiracies... it was exhausting.


"Sounds like you hit a snag," Jerry observed, his expression softening before he chuckled. "But going home to retire? You might fool others with that talk, but you can't fool yourself."


"How do you mean?" Max asked.


"There's a sickness everyone gets when they're young," Jerry said, leaning back. "It's called 'Not Turning Back Until You Hit the Brick Wall.' You have to crash. You have to get bruised, bloody, and hurt to your very core before you're actually willing to turn around."


Jerry stared at him. "Ask yourself, Max. Have you crashed yet?"


Max thought about the twenty years he'd spent in prison in his other life. Does that count? he wondered. Maybe because it was a "simulation," the crash hadn't hurt enough.


"Jerry," Max said slowly. "Are you saying I should wait until I'm beaten black and blue before I go back?"


"I'm asking you," Jerry countered. "If I told you to go back right now, would you?"


Max fell silent. He thought for a long moment, then shook his head. "No. My conscience wouldn't let me."


"Heh." Jerry pointed a finger at him. "Exactly. So, keep crashing."


"Uh... Jerry," Max frowned. "Last time you told me to hurry up and go home. Now you're telling me to slam into a wall? "


"Last time, you weren't crashing into the wall; you were looking for it," Jerry said wisely. "I figured if you couldn't find it, you'd just go home. But today is different. I see it in your eyes. You found your wall. And since you found it, if you don't slam into it before you leave, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."


Max looked at the old man with genuine awe. "Jerry, no wonder my dad said to come to you when I'm in trouble. Every time you talk, it's like listening to the Pope deliver a sermon. Are you sure you didn't descend from Heaven just to save humanity?"


"Hah!" Jerry smirked, taking a sip from his thermos. "Looks like you have made progress. At least your bootlicking skills are finally up to par."


"How can you say that? I'm speaking from the bottom of my heart here!"


"Uh-huh. Sure. Your thick skin is evolving nicely, I see."


Just as the banter was picking up, Vincent Vance marched into the conference room with a face like a thundercloud. The chatter died instantly.


Even Max, who hadn't been in the office much lately, had heard the rumors from Old Jerry: Vincent Vance was on a warpath these last two days.


Nobody wanted to poke the bear right now.


"Regarding the morning meeting..." Vincent Vance started, his voice low and dangerous.


~ It's just that I loved too stupidly, too naively! I mistook your loneliness for a soulmate's plea! ~


The sudden blast of music was deafening in the pin-drop silence of the room. It was an incredibly cheesy, melodramatic heartbreak ballad—the kind that gets stuck in your head for days. A few people stifled giggles, but Vincent Vance's face turned a darker shade of purple.


Every pair of eyes in the room swiveled toward Max.


"Sorry. Client," Max muttered, scrambling to his feet and hitting the answer button.


There was only one exception to the 'no phones' rule during meetings: clients.


"Mr. Mason, great news! Your application for the five-hundred-thousand-dollar investment has been approved. When can you come by to sign?"


Either the guy on the other end had a voice like a foghorn, or Max's volume was maxed out. In the dead silence of the conference room, the voice boomed out clearly.


Five hundred thousand dollars?!


The jaw-dropping number echoed in the air. For most people in that room, half a million was a fortune.


The coworkers looked at Max with new eyes. This guy? Max? The guy who kept his head down and blended into the wallpaper? Was he actually loaded? Was he some kind of trust fund baby disguised as a regular grunt?


Old Jerry stared at Max, completely flabbergasted.


He knew exactly what Max was worth, which was basically zero. Where on earth did he get five hundred grand?


Marco's expression shifted; he seemed to realize something.


Max felt a headache coming on. I really didn't want to be this high-profile.


He hurriedly turned down the volume and gave the room an awkward, apologetic smile. "Heh. Clients. Always so impatient, right?"


Client my ass! Do you think we're deaf? the room seemed to scream silently.


Vincent Vance looked furious, but since Max had invoked the holy name of a "Client," even the boss couldn't block him.


Max stepped out to take the call and decided not to go back in and test his luck with Vincent. He walked straight out of the building and headed for Stellar Capital.


He'd come in today to resign anyway.


He had planned to say goodbye to Jerry before he left, but business came first.


......


"Mr. Mason, that's a total of three million shares in Horizon Energy put options. The premium is five hundred thousand, with an exercise period of one month," said Tony, sliding a pen across the desk with aggressive enthusiasm. "The current stock price is 9.8. You can sell at that price anytime within the month. If everything looks good, please sign here."


"The contract is effective immediately. We'll debit the half-million from your account."


Max signed his name without a second of hesitation. Tony beamed. With a commission like this, he was making a killing today.


"Mr. Mason, I also have some other highly recommended investment products. You seem like a man of—"


"Maybe next time. I'm broke," Max cut him off.


"Heh! You're such a joker, Mr. Mason. With your courage and financial power..."


"If I told you I couldn't even squeeze a penny out of my credit card right now, would you believe me?"


"Uh...."


Max stared at Tony with dead-serious eyes until the broker's smile started to twitch nervously.


......


Max walked out of the brokerage firm, copies of the contract in hand.


It was the biggest gamble of his entire life, yet his heart rate hadn't climbed a single beat.


That was the perk of being a Spoiler Junkie—knowing the future took all the suspense out of it.


He clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head.


"Sigh. Truly a soulless investment."