Maxwell walked through the building's main entrance, drenched in sweat. He was wearing old UIC tracksuit bottoms and a gray T-shirt with a small hole in the left armpit that he always forgot to change out of.
Victor Okafor was in the lobby, wearing a crisp Oxford shirt and wool trousers, coffee in hand, reading the Financial Times as if he'd consulted a calendar and decided Saturday was professional development day.
They looked at each other.
Three seconds passed.
"Dragowski."
"Okafor." Maxwell was still catching his breath. He was aware of the hole.
"Do you run?"
"Five miles." Victor looked at him like someone staring at an engine they can't diagnose correctly. "I was going to use the common room. There's coffee. If you want to freshen up first, you can."
Maxwell looked down at himself. His shirt was see-through in two places. "Eight minutes." He showered at seven, changed, made himself a coffee, and sat down at the large table in the common room opposite Victor. Victor had his copy of the FT open, a leather folder full of printed material, and the pent-up energy of someone who had been doing everything for so long—reading, calculating, being the best on weekends—that the effort no longer seemed necessary. Maxwell immediately recognized the top sheet in the portfolio: Northern Trust's domestic interest rate forecast for this quarter. He had checked the same data on Bloomberg three days earlier.
He said nothing. He took a sip of coffee and waited.
Victor started talking about the European debt crisis because the FT had Greece in the headlines, and he was at the center of attention.
Victor turned the page and said, "The ECB's secondary market purchases haven't shifted the yield curve in any direction that Draghi can take advantage of."
"The next impact of market pricing will be seen in Portugal," Maxwell said. "Not Spain. That's lagging behind. The structure of Spanish regional debt is worse than anything the leading models predict." Victor stopped turning the pages. He looked at Maxwell from the other side of the Financial Times like someone watching their silent neighbor speak fluent Mandarin. "What are you reading?"
"Mostly Bloomberg."
"You have a Bloomberg subscription."
"I got a good deal."
Victor slowly put down the newspaper. His jaw moved slightly, a movement somewhere between suspicion and shock. He opened his mouth, and Maxwell's system beeped.
It wasn't a phone. It was the system. The transparent, translucent panel appeared just as Victor was speaking.
Maxwell kept his gaze fixed on Victor.
He was reading the panel as Victor spoke.
[Hidden Reward Unlocked]
[Condition: 1,826 consecutive days strict daily spending rules (zero days exceeding the self-imposed budget 5 full years)]
[Reward: 300 shares Alphabet Inc. / Google (NASDAQ: GOOGL)]
[Share Price, March 10, 2012 (opening): $629.14]
[Total Value: $188,742.00]
[Deposit: -$4,471 at Fidelity account closing]
"That's why the Bundesbank's position on buying ECB bonds is philosophically sound, but practically useless," Victor concluded. "I completely agree," Maxwell said. "The mandate doesn't work when the alternative is to expand across the entire eurozone." Victor stared at him for three seconds. Then he returned to his Financial Times, as if deliberately rewriting a document he thought was finished. Under the table, Maxwell opened his Fidelity app. $188,742 worth of Google stock. Present and accounted for. He sat in silence, as if they had always been there, waiting for his attention. He placed his phone face down on the table and took a sip of coffee. His net worth had surpassed $280,000 as he discussed European monetary policy on a Saturday morning, and his face reflected the calm and attentiveness of a man listening to a rather interesting news segment. He was about to respond to something Victor had said about Spanish regional banks when the front door opened and Daniel Reeves hurried in. Four foil-wrapped burritos were stacked like sticks in his hands, and a manila envelope the size of a movie poster was tucked under his chin. He was wearing a Chicago Bulls hoodie with a mustard stain near the pocket. He looked as if he were on the most important mission of his life.
He found Maxwell immediately.
"Here you go," Daniel said, crossing the lobby so fast that FT was already out of the picture. He sat down uninvited, dealt burritos on the table like he was playing cards, and settled in as if he'd been there a million times, which wasn't true; he'd never been there. "I texted you. I called you twice. I emailed you..."
"I don't check my email before nine on weekends."
"It's 9:33."
"8:58."
Daniel opened his mouth, closed it, pulled out his phone, and checked it. "Nine on my phone... oh..." He squinted. "Well, 8:59. It's actually 9:00." He slammed the manila envelope on the table. "I read the entire stock document last night. Maxwell. My friend. We have a problem."
He'd been in the room for 45 seconds without looking at Victor.
Victor was sitting 45 centimeters to his left.
Daniel turned. He found Victor. He noticed the pressed Oxford shirt, the FT, the untouched coffee.
"Hello," Daniel said warmly. "I'm Daniel."
Victor looked at the burrito. He looked at Daniel. He looked at Maxwell, with the characteristic expression of a man whose morning had taken an unexpected turn and who was now trying to figure out how much of the responsibility was his. "Victor Okafor."
"Victor, nice to meet you." Daniel was already opening a burrito. He offered one to Maxwell without looking at him, then another to Victor. Victor stared at the burrito in front of him, as if he'd suddenly been given something he didn't know how to handle. "Do you live in the building?" Daniel asked. "Do you know Max?"
"Yes, I live in the building."
"Excellent, excellent." Daniel was already eating. Almost a bite: "Okay, listen, Max: the stock document." He tapped the envelope with his hand. "I understand maybe 40% of it, and that 40% I understand, I don't like."
Victor looked at the envelope, then at Maxwell. Maxwell gave him a sharp look: "I have no control over this." Victor accepted it silently and looked at his burrito like someone who decides to let things take their course.
"Series A?" Victor asked, perhaps unable to contain himself.
Daniel pointed directly at him. "Yes. How did you know?"
"It's a logical consequence of the context of the equity document." "Do you know anything about equity participation in startups?"
"I work in finance."
Daniel looked at Maxwell as if asking where that man was. Then he focused all his attention on Victor, as if he had an instant and unwavering confidence, as if he had just found the expert on the subject he needed, and said, "Okay. Here's the whole situation." And he began.
He talked for eleven minutes straight. Victor listened intently, as if he were receiving information from a source he wouldn't have considered reliable, but which was. Maxwell ate his burrito. The coffee was still hot. Outside, Chicago continued with its Saturday routine.
At the thirty-second minute, Daniel, trying to explain Gradient Digital's failed attempt to target the 25-35 age group, gave an example using the Miami Heat's offensive system: how they had misidentified where their advantages lay between possessions and continued to run the same pre-established plays that had stopped working after the teams made adjustments in December.
He was talking about marketing.
Victor said, "That's a perfect description of poor competitive positioning analysis in the go-to-market phase."
Daniel paused in the middle of his burrito. "Was that a compliment?"
"It was an observation."
Daniel looked slowly at Maxwell. "He does the same thing you do."
Maxwell said nothing.
"Although technically it's not a compliment, it functions as one." Daniel gestured between them. "You're the same person. You're exactly the same person, and I want you both to understand that this is a little unsettling to me."
Victor made a face. He didn't laugh in public.
"Come over for dinner," Victor said. He seemed a little surprised at himself. He composed himself. "In three weeks. I'm hosting a small group meeting: finance, law, and real estate. Informal." A pause. "You should both come."
Daniel's mouth fell open immediately.
"This isn't an avalanche," Victor said. "I have other clothes," Daniel said.
Victor looked at the mustard stain.
"The sweatshirt stays at home," Daniel said.
"The sweatshirt stays at home," Victor said.
�� Author's Note: Power Stones!
Maxwell just received $188,742 worth of Google stock while eating a burrito and explaining monetary policy. And that's just chapter 7. Here's the thing: Every week, when this book reaches 20 Power Stones, I'll add five bonus chapters to the regular daily post. That's five extra chapters of Maxwell accumulating wealth without anyone around him noticing.
Hit the Power Stone button below. It's free. It'll only take a second. And it helps keep Maxwell going.
Let's get those stones!