Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  She resumed crying as if she flipped on a switch.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s going to happen. I’ve accepted it. I’ve taken all the pictures of you and your brother, and your father. I wrote on the back of every single one who is in the picture and who they are in relation to me. I don’t want to forget, but as you said, I don’t have a say in the matter. I love you, Marty, and I’m proud of you. I knew one day you’d be able to get your life back on track after Izzy, and it looks like that’s starting to happen.”

  She shot a quick wink to Sonya that made her blush.

  “I love you, too,” Martin said. “Now let’s get out of here. We need to get ready to move.”

  57

  Chapter 2

  The gray clouds disappeared the next morning, and the sun shone into Martin’s apartment for the first time since he arrived back in 2018. The heavens knew the gloom was necessary, and with Izzy now properly buried, the world returned to normal.

  It was Friday, and Martin refused to wait until Monday to learn what waited in his investment account. Waking up in his apartment without a hangover was a new sensation, but having Sonya cuddled up next to him was something he wouldn’t trade for all the alcohol in the world.

  His feet hit the ground at six o’clock and he wasted no time making a quick breakfast. He had slept like a log the night before and felt ready to tackle the day ahead. Butterflies flapped wildly in his stomach as he pondered the prospect of becoming rich in the next few hours.

  He didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, but Martin already felt at peace with Izzy’s burial. After so many years, it was only natural for the brain to accept her death, no matter how hard the heart refused to believe it. The news of his mother’s Alzheimer’s also helped overshadow some of the emotion, as did the pending excitement of what would soon happen at the investment center. The past few days had been an abstract painting of emotions.

  Sonya joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later, her hair a frazzled mess, but still beautiful with its subtle streaks of silver mixed in with gold.

  “Good morning,” Martin greeted her as he flipped an egg in the skillet.

  “You seem awfully chipper today,” she replied with a wide smile.

  “I’m hoping today’s a great day. Do you care to join me downtown this morning? You can explore since it’s changed so much since you’ve last seen it, then we can grab lunch when I’m done with the investment people.”

  “I’d love to. I’ve always enjoyed downtown—can’t wait to see what it’s like now.”

  “Perfect, I’m planning on leaving here at eight to head down.”

  “Works for me,” she said, crossing the room with her silk nightgown flowing behind. She had visited the local department stores to rebuild her wardrobe while Martin spent hours at the police station to conclude Izzy’s decades-old case.

  She wrapped her arms around Martin’s waist from behind and rested her head on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re doing okay? This whole week has been absolutely crazy. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  Martin nodded, keeping his concentration on the stovetop. “I’m doing okay. I’m sure this will be a process. Some days will be good, and others will be bad. Yesterday was extremely difficult, but I hope to leave it in the past. All I can do is look forward and control what I can.”

  Sonya kissed his back before setting the table. “I’m glad to hear the positive outlook. I’m here for you on the good days and bad, don’t forget it.”

  They sat down for breakfast, laughter and life filling the apartment for possibly the first time ever.

  * * *

  Martin debated wearing a suit, but settled for slacks and a polo. There was no dress code to enter the investment center, but he needed to look the part of a wealthy man stopping by to pick up his funds.

  During the drive downtown, they found themselves on the same stretch of highway they had driven during their mission to Columbine High School in 1996. That memory felt like it really had happened two decades ago, and Sonya never acknowledged it after seeing the entire school in flames on the nightly news.

  Within thirty minutes they parked in a garage underground from the Sixteenth Street Mall, an outdoor mall spanning a mile long through the heart of downtown Denver.

  Businessmen and women filled the sidewalks on their way to work in one of the many skyscrapers. Sonya gawked at the city that had nearly doubled in size from what she remembered in 1996.

  “When did Denver become so big?” she asked, more to herself.

  “Don’t get lost this morning,” Martin said as he led them toward the investment firm.

  They crossed one block before reaching the sparkling golden sign that read: THOMAS AND LEONARD INVESTMENTS.

  “Well, this is it. I have no idea how long this will take, maybe an hour. Go grab some coffee and walk the mall, I’m sure everything has changed since you’ve last been here.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” she replied, admiring the buildings that reached to the clouds.

  “Meet me here in, say, one hour. If I’m not here, just come back every half hour. We really need to get you a cell phone. That will make this all easier. If you find a phone store, maybe take a look. Tell the sales people you’re just browsing, otherwise they’ll harass you into a $1,000 phone.”

  “A thousand dollars for a phone?” she gasped.

  “Yeah, you’d be surprised. Does that all sound like a plan?”

  “Yes. I’ll even find a spot for lunch.”

  Martin pecked her on the lips and entered the building.

  He had chosen to invest with this firm simply because he knew it still existed in 2018. Many firms had gone under during the recession in 2008, but he remembered the massive golden sign on the mall, inviting those with the deepest pockets to enter its doors.

  Their offices were on the lower level of an eight-story building, and the gold theme continued all the way inside with golden walls, chandeliers, and a fish tank in the lobby’s floor.

  This place is obnoxious.

  “How may I help you, sir?” a young African-American man asked from behind the front desk.

  “I was hoping to withdraw some funds from my account today. Is there someone available to help?”

  “Certainly,” the man replied, typing on his keyboard and splitting his stare between the screen and Martin. “Give me one moment to track someone down for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Martin took a seat in one of the heavily cushioned lounge chairs in the lobby. A door— with a golden handle, of course—was the only other thing visible aside from expensive artwork hanging on the walls.

  The door opened and another man appeared, much older than the enthusiastic kid behind the front desk. He locked eyes with Martin and started toward him with a hand extended, his perfectly tailored suit moving precisely with each step.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said in a most formal voice. “I understand you’re looking to draw funds today?”

  “Yes, sir,” Martin replied, shaking the man’s firm hand.

  “Perfect, I can assist. What is your name?”

  “Martin Briar.”

  “Oh,” the man said abruptly, and scrunched his brow. “Please come this way, Mr. Briar.”

  Martin met the man’s puzzled face and his heart drummed a bit faster. Do they know something about me? Why would he look at me like that?

  “My name is Edward Clarence. Let’s get situated in my office and we can discuss your account.”

  “Okay.” Martin’s nerves throbbed in his fingertips as his palms started to moisten.

  He followed the man, whose pointy features reminded him of a weasel, through the door and into the silent office space where finance professionals moved millions of dollars every day for their clients. Behind the door was a long hallway that branched into other hallways. Offices lined the hall, each with a name painstakingly etched on the glass doors. The work spac
es resembled the prestigious lobby with polished oak desks, golden nameplates, and more abstract art on the walls.

  They walked three doors down, and to the left entered the office of Edward Clarence.

  “Please have a seat, Mr. Briar. I’ll be right back.”

  Martin situated himself in the chair, less comfortable than the loungers in the lobby.

  Edward returned a couple minutes later with a stern-faced woman in a pantsuit.

  “Mr. Briar, this is our vice president, Karen Grabble.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Briar, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Karen said as she sat behind Edward’s desk and logged into the computer

  “Likewise.”

  Karen had bright red lipstick and curly black hair tucked behind her ears. Martin imagined she had been attractive in her twenties, but life in the finance world had clearly taken its toll on her in the way of wrinkles and bags under her brown eyes.

  “Mr. Briar, I’m here because we have some questions,” she said, crossing her hands on the desk as she stared at him. Edward had closed the door and stood awkwardly in the corner of the room.

  “Is there a problem?” Martin asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.

  “Not a problem, just some curiosity. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past few years with no success.”

  “What exactly were you trying to get in touch with me about?” He tried to play it off cool and felt like he was succeeding.

  “Well, sir, you made some investments in 1996 and haven’t touched your account one single time since. As your balance grew, this caught our attention and we wanted to reach out to make sure you were okay. We even searched through death records to make sure we hadn’t missed something.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Martin said in a forced voice of gratitude. “I’ve been out of the country for the last few years. I honestly forgot about this account until recently, and that’s why I’m here today.”

  Karen stared into his eyes, clearly trying to fight back the urge to say something.

  “Very well,” she said. “How much were you hoping to withdraw today?”

  “I don’t even know what my balance is. Could you tell me that?”

  “Of course.”

  She turned to the computer and drummed on the keyboard.

  Martin had invested $30,000 in 1996 into various technology and health companies that he knew still existed in 2018.

  Please be a million. A million would be so perfect.

  Karen continued on the keyboard, and Martin wondered if she was dragging out the process for whatever reason. She seemed like the kind of lady who got hers kicks from pissing off people.

  “I show your current balance as $12,750,000.”

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  “Excuse me?” Martin asked, his heart going from a rabid, caged animal to a frozen snowman in the matter of one second.

  “Twelve point seven five million, sir.”

  How the hell did this happen? I’m not rich. I’m filthy rich.

  The tension in his body had reached its peak and Martin wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry all the way to the bank. He could buy his new house and car and never have to work a day again.

  “That’s a lot more than I was expecting,” he said with the slightest waver in his voice.

  Karen stared at him, unimpressed.

  “Can I withdraw all of it?” he asked.

  The vice president scrunched her eyes at the screen, as if looking for some loophole that would not allow this random bum off the streets to take home $12 million. She pursed her lips tighter with each scroll down the screen.

  “Yes, you can. Please know that we take a 1% cut from all withdrawals.”

  “Not a problem. I appreciate you taking the time to track me down.”

  Martin knew they were hoping he would turn up deceased at some point. There were no beneficiaries listed on the account and all of that money would have become their own.

  “Please give us a few minutes to cut you a check. Is there anything else we can do for you today?”

  “No, just the withdrawal will do. Thank you, you’ve been a great help.” He hoped she could sense the sarcasm in his voice, but her poker face left him clueless.

  She offered a quick grin that likely hurt her face before standing and leaving the office.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Edward said as he returned to his rightful spot behind his desk, and they both let out relieved laughter.

  Edward made small talk with their famous client while they waited for the check to be delivered.

  Twelve million dollars, Martin thought. I’m gonna marry Sonya.

  58

  Chapter 3

  Martin stepped outside to find Sonya pacing circles outside the investment firm. She stopped when she saw him and jogged over.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “We need to get to a bank right now,” he said. He had folded the check and slid it into his pocket, not removing his hand from the pocket in the process.

  “What happened?”

  Martin looked over his shoulders in both directions and whispered. “Twelve million dollars.”

  Sonya’s eyes bulged. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I’m not, let’s go right now, my bank has a branch on the mall.”

  He walked as she followed along his side.

  “Martin, what on earth are you going to do with all of that?”

  He walked faster.

  “I have no idea. Apparently I’m buying a house for all of us to live in. Maybe I can buy us each a house on the same block.” He chuckled. “I’m still shaking from when they handed me the check.”

  “We need to sit down and budget this money. I don’t want you blowing through it all before Christmas—that can happen.”

  “That’s not gonna happen. I’m gonna put it in savings while I figure out what I’m gonna do. I really do want to buy a house. My apartment is miserable and harbors lots of bad memories. That’s all I really want. I suppose we can travel the world.”

  “Travel the world or travel through time?”

  “I told you to not bring that up yet.”

  “We could do both. Travel through time and see the world. Imagine the Renaissance Era. We could live like royalty.”

  Martin had hidden his canteen of the Juice in the back of his liquor cabinet. He explained to Sonya the terror he felt wielding so much power, and the guilt of knowing he had caused his mother’s Alzheimer’s due to his selfish decision. He could have taken the original offer and lived the rest of his life like an emotionless zombie. Instead he would spend every night crying as his mother forgot the face of her own son.

  How’s that for a fair trade?

  The bottle was stored away in hopes of being forgotten. As soon as Martin had arrived home with it he immediately regretted his decision, overwhelmed to know he could go to any time. He could visit the triceratops that used to roam Denver, or go to the year 3000 and get struck by a flying car, assuming the world still existed.

  Having a history buff for a girlfriend didn’t help, either. She wanted to live out her life’s work: witness the construction of the pyramids, be a fly on the wall during the Civil War, and a whole list of things he’d never have a desire to do.

  All he wanted was to get the check deposited, and if it didn’t bounce, know that this wasn’t a dream.

  Still, the Juice pulsed in his mind like the heart beat from Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart. It tugged at him with a mystical force, begging him to drink it and go on a new adventure.

  Who do you want to go try to save today? it asked. Fall into my trap where you are most vulnerable. Remember Columbine? Do you want to try to stop 9/11 next? Maybe the Oklahoma City bombing? We can have a grand time.

  They reached the bank, deposited the check—in which the teller did a double take at the figure—and were back on the mall within five minutes in what ended up a non-climactic encounter. He’d obviously never deposited millio
ns of dollars, and didn’t know what to expect, soon learning it was treated like any other transaction.

  “Let’s go eat lunch,” he said as the first wave of relief took over. “I need a drink.”

  * * *

  “Our life is going to change forever,” Martin said as he took his first sip from the Jack and Coke delivered to their table. Sonya had decided on the first restaurant she spotted with an outdoor patio, a concept rare to find in 1996, but standard in 2018.

  “Outdoor patios and rooftop decks are all over the city now,” he explained to her.

  The restaurant was deserted as the lunch rush was still an hour away at noon.

  “I want to make one thing clear, Martin: all of this money is yours. I don’t expect a penny of it. If I need to get a job to help contribute, then I’m happy to see what the teaching world has to offer here.”

  Martin threw his head back and bellowed laughter.

  “Sonya, I just deposited a check for an amount I can’t even wrap my mind around. I’m not working another day in my life, and neither are you. All we need to figure is out how we can stretch this to last for the activities we want to do.”

  Sonya stirred the straw in her soda and smiled. “Marty, you really don’t need to be so generous.”

  “How can I justify wiping my ass with hundred dollar bills while you go work some job for twelve dollars an hour?”

  She giggled, and Martin used the moment to soak in her beauty as the sunlight glowed on her face and lit up her blue eyes.

  “Well, thank you. I’ll help you with whatever you need, even taking care of your mom.”

  The topic was still sensitive, and Martin winced at her words.

  “So how does this magic juice work?” she asked, knowing she needed to change the topic immediately.

  Martin chuckled. “Magic juice? I guess we can call it that. Apparently it works just like the pills, only I have a lot more of it than one pill for each trip. Chris said all I have to do is think about where I want to go—er, when I want to go—and drink the Juice. Then I fall asleep and wake up where I want to be.”