Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4)

by Dave Jackson

  He slapped his hands together. “I won!” he shouted.

  A moment later the screen flashed in large print. “Congratulations! Your payout would have been $170.”

  A hundred and seventy bucks? His initial $100 plus $70 more? Wow! That was huge! An astounding 70 percent profit in one minute was more than he’d ever dreamed of earning doing anything.

  Greg pushed back from his computer. Could it be true? Was there really a legal way to earn such a high percentage so quickly? He slowly rolled his chair forward, as if creeping up on his computer, and typed in a Google search for “binary options.” Up came over a million hits. He clicked on the first few top links and discovered dozens of companies offering online binary trading options. Some looked like casinos—similar to the Big Returns site he’d been on—but others were more refined, projecting an image as staid as a Wall Street bank. Unlike the glitzy sites, Greg noticed these more dignified companies carefully referred to their activity as “trading,” not “playing.” Money was called “earnings,” not “winnings.” Participants were “investors,” not “players.” Obviously, they didn’t want the public to think of their enterprise as gambling. Okay, he could see that. He wasn’t a gambler himself and wouldn’t want to be involved in anything suspect.

  But with so many prominent sites, it seemed like the concept had to be legitimate even if a few companies played fast and loose, otherwise the Securities and Exchange Commission or some such federal agency would shut them down. Right?

  He visited site after site, and while the tone was different, the concept and the way one participated was basically the same. A few online articles warned about the risks of losing a lot of money with binary trading, but even these “negative” sites didn’t say it was illegal or necessarily a scam. Participants just had to be wise and not get in over their heads. Which was true of any high-risk venture.

  But then, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Right? And Greg definitely needed to gain a lot right now.

  Should he try it?

  After a couple of hours of research, Greg selected TopOps as the site he felt most comfortable with. It wasn’t as stuffy as a gray granite bank, but it didn’t feel like cheap thrills either. Just a straightforward presentation of the company’s operation and how he could participate. The introductory video for TopOps clearly explained how wins and losses were calculated. When he won on a 60-second trade, he would earn 70 percent on the money he invested. If he lost, he would only lose 85 percent.

  Gulp! That was a lot, but it wasn’t like risking all of his capital. He’d still have 15 percent to move forward. After all, a loss was a loss. He understood that.

  Taking a deep breath, Greg clicked on the link to Open a new account. He’d try it and pull out immediately if anything seemed fishy. But his hands shook as he entered his credit card information. That felt more risky than providing such information when ordering a product online, but of course TopOps needed some way to receive his investment, and a credit card was so much simpler than making a bank transfer. Besides, if anything backfired, his credit card company was supposed to provide some degree of protection. Besides, the card was nearly maxed out anyway, so they couldn’t get too much from him.

  Within ten minutes he was ready to make his first actual investment.

  The house phone rang . . . and rang . . . and rang. “Nicole, can you get that?”

  No answer from the basement. Where was she anyway? He heard the answering machine click on, but rather than leaving a message, the caller hung up. A few moments later, the phone began ringing again.

  “Nicole!”

  This time the caller recorded a message—a male voice, definitely not Lincoln Paddock, so Greg didn’t pay any attention until he heard the words, “. . . have her come home immediately. There’s been a family emergency.”

  What? Who was calling?

  He jumped up and ran into the kitchen, catching the last few words of what he finally recognized as Jared Jasper’s desperate voice asking them to have Tabby come home. He yelled down the stairs to the basement. “Nicole, you down there?”

  “What?”

  “Where have you been? Didn’t you hear the phone ringing?”

  “Sorry. I had earphones on listening to music. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Jared Jasper. There’s been some kind of emergency, and he wants Tabby to come home immediately. Where are the kids?”

  “Tabby took them across the street to play with the Horowitz children.”

  “Well, can you go get her? He sounded urgent.”

  “Uh . . . okay. Just give me a sec.”

  Greg didn’t notice when Nicole left the house or when she and the kids returned, but some time later, they were just there, making noise and running up and down the stairs.

  By then he was too deep into TopOps to ask Nicole why Tabby had to go home early. When he finished reviewing all the steps to making a trade—it was actually rather simple—he invested one hundred dollars on a sixty-second option on the euro/US dollar platform, and clicked Down and then Start. The dollar had been going up so steadily for the last several minutes, so he was sure it was time for a dip. But as he watched with his heart pounding, it wasn’t happening. And then in the last fifteen seconds, the value plummeted, and when the bell rang, his payout was $170, just like the simulation. Only this time, he had actually earned $70.

  He gleefully slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. Even though the introductory videos and articles and simulator had told him it was possible, he’d expected to be disappointed and feel like a fool. But he’d won!

  No, he shouldn’t use that term. He’d earned the money with a shrewd trade. Maybe he had a gift for this kind of thing.

  He immediately made another trade and earned another $70. He did it a third time with success. Then doubled his investment to $200 and was right when he predicted the dollar would rise.

  He looked at his watch. Within five minutes, he’d made $350.

  Wow!

  Greg got up and paced around the room for a few moments, feeling so lightheaded he thought he might pass out. This was not like some sweepstakes where the chance of winning was one in a million. No. He sat back down and thought through the odds. Even if you only flipped a coin, didn’t every bid have a 50/50 chance of being correct—up or down, just two possibilities? But certainly, if you used your head, you could do a little better than flipping a coin. You could make an informed guess . . . no, an informed bid, couldn’t you? He’d just done it four times in a row.

  This was what he was looking for!

  Greg was ecstatic. He wanted to support his family so badly. He was ready to do anything for them, but all his efforts so far had been fruitless since he’d lost his job. Finally—finally!—God was answering his prayer. Had to admit he hadn’t been praying that hard, but God must be showering mercy on him, pouring out that fantastic blessing Pastor Hanson had promised, prosperity beyond all imagination.

  He felt like laughing. All the wealth the SlowBurn people had offered—new car, bigger house, boat, whatever—it was coming through another avenue.

  For the next hour, Greg kept going, bid after bid. His enthusiasm was tempered a little when he lost, three times in a row at one point, and with larger bids on the block. But when the market closed that afternoon, Greg was—as the TopOps site described it, “in the money,” with $120 more than when he started.

  That cooled his jets. He’d made more than that in a day back when he worked for Powersports. But the potential was still there with TopOps, and very alluring. Maybe it wasn’t going to be $350 every five minutes, but big earnings were still possible.

  Even though the market had closed for the day—for the weekend, actually, since it was Friday—Greg wanted to learn more. Trading on international currencies wasn’t the only way to bid on binary options. Stocks, commodities, and various indexes could also be traded. He needed to explore them all.

  When he finally shut down his computer and stood up, the t
ension of the day had so sapped his strength that his knees felt shaky. But he was happy. He should take Nicole and the kids out to dinner to celebrate. So far, he hadn’t even told Nicole about his breakthrough, just dismissed her when she came into the room while he stared, white-knuckled at the progress of his latest bid.

  As soon as he walked into the kitchen, Nate and Becky ran up to him, hands covered with flour. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, we’re baking bread. We’re gonna have hot bread for dinner tonight.”

  “Hot bread?” He looked down at the white handprints on his jeans. “That sounds great.” He leaned down and scooped them up. “I can’t wait.” Maybe this was better than going out. His whole family together, everyone excited, the perfect time to tell them the good news.

  * * * *

  Nicole got up early Saturday to make a special breakfast—eggs in a nest, plus bacon, the kids’ favorite, especially when she sprinkled grated cheese on the eggs. She wasn’t really celebrating Greg’s “breakthrough,” which frankly sounded more like gambling than a solid business plan. But whatever it was, it had sounded too complicated to discuss at the table with the kids present. And then as soon as dinner was over, the kids had begged to go out for ice cream, which Greg agreed to do while she cleaned up the kitchen and went back to work on the last section in Lincoln’s project. He’d even offered to read to the kids and put them to bed.

  By the time she’d staggered up to bed—still not finished—he was already asleep.

  Asleep but happy. Well, that was something. She’d ask him more about this new binary trading today before trying to finish up her work project. She should give Greg a chance. Maybe it would be a good thing.

  She stepped out of the kitchen and peeked into the master bedroom. “Greg, you up? Time to eat.” Then she circled around and called up the stairs. “Time for breakfast! Becky, Nathan, I made eggs in a nest!”

  That got the kids tumbling down the stairs and seated at the table, and Greg showed up a few minutes later. Serving up the last slice of grilled toast with eggs nestled in a hole cut in the middle, she turned off the griddle and started to sit down, when the phone rang. “Let me get that first. Then you can pray for us, Nate.”

  Nicole picked up the receiver. “Hello, Singer residence.” The voice on the other end was speaking so fast, she could barely understand her, but she finally realized it was Tabby Jasper. “Slow down, girl. You say you can’t watch the kids this morning? You have to go where?” She listened more carefully. “What? Both of them?” She clasped her hand to her mouth. “Wait, Tabby, don’t hang up—”

  Then, as if in a trance, Nicole slowly hung up the phone and turned toward the curious faces staring at her from the breakfast nook.

  “Tabby can’t come. She and her mom are heading for the hospital.” She swallowed. “Both Jasper boys were shot yesterday.”

  Chapter 34

  Greg stared at Nicole. Shot? Both boys? How in the world had that happened?

  “We need to pray for them.” Nicole grabbed hands around the table, her voice rising and falling as she prayed protection and healing for Destin and Tabby’s twin brother. Greg’s mind spun as she prayed. Wounded apparently, not killed, thank God. Were they in a gang or something? Hard to believe. The Jaspers seemed like a nice family. Boys seemed like such great kids too.

  He had no idea how seriously the boys had been hurt, but one thing seemed certain—if Destin was in the hospital, he’d be out of commission for a while. Maybe it was because the kid was young and in need of cash, or maybe it was because he’d been someone Greg imagined he could motivate to break into a youthful market, but he realized he’d been counting on Destin to provide the breakthrough he needed to make SlowBurn work.

  Greg stared at the unfinished breakfast on his plate and sighed. At least God had guided him to an alternative in time. What was it Pastor Hanson always said? One door never closes but God opens another. So just keep knocking! Well, that’s what he’d been doing, and it had paid off with TopOps.

  Still, it was really tragic about Destin.

  “You think we should do something?”

  Nicole’s question broke into his reverie. “Uh, yeah, sure, but what? We don’t know how serious it is or even what hospital they’re in.”

  “Yes, but they’re our neighbors, and you hired Destin.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just as concerned as you are, but until we know what’s needed, it’s hard to know how to respond.”

  “Well, I’m gonna check with Estelle Bentley as soon as we’re done with breakfast. She ought to know.”

  Greg nodded. “Sounds good, and I agree. If there’s anything we can do, we should.”

  While supervising the kids as they cleared the table when Nicole ran across the street to see Estelle Bentley, Greg’s phone rang. He stepped into the dining room to take the call away from the squabbling between Becky and Nate. “Hello. This is Greg.”

  “Hey Greg, wasn’t sure I could catch you on a weekend. Is this your personal number? I was afraid all I had was your Powersports number.”

  “Not Powersports.” He should know that voice, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Powersports closed. So what can I do for you?”

  “Well, last time we talked—back in May or early June, I think it was—you were interested in joining Potawatomi’s sales staff . . .” Greg snapped his fingers—it was Roger Wilmington from Potawatomi Watercraft. “But at the time, we couldn’t afford someone at your salary level, and I didn’t want to try to talk you down. Hope you don’t have any hard feelings over that.”

  “I understand, Roger. Business is business.” Though Greg recalled Roger had taken several days to get back to him, and then only by email. That had seemed like a rebuff, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to hold grudges.

  “Right. But now I’m coming back to you. Turns out we lost another man, which leaves us shorthanded. Problem is, business hasn’t picked up that much, so we can’t offer you much more, and I’m not sure what you’re doin’ now, but thought I’d just reach out and see if you were interested.”

  Greg waited a few moments, knowing silence was often the best question, but when Roger didn’t offer more, he finally said, “Well, I’ve started a new business, and that’s kept me pretty busy. But what are we talking about here?”

  “To begin with, there’d be a base salary, same as all our sales staff, and a commission on top of that. We can’t budge on the salary even though I know you’re living down there in the city where it’s more expensive, but I got you a couple of extra percentage points on your commission to sweeten the offer. If things go well for Potawatomi, they’ll go very well for you.”

  “And those numbers would be . . .?”

  “Like I said, the salary’s locked in relative to seniority at forty-two grand to start, but I was able to bump you up to a whopping 38 percent on the commission. And of course, we offer medical and dental on top of that.”

  Greg’s heart sped up a little. Thirty-eight percent? But he needed to stay cool. “And what’s the commission on? Just new boats, or is it on everything—trailers, accessories, storage contracts?”

  “Anything connected with a new boat sale.”

  “Hmm . . .” He’d been making sixty-two thousand plus benefits at Powersports. If sales were decent, he might match that with a job like this, but it wasn’t guaranteed, and it sure wouldn’t be the “prosperity” he’d been anticipating. “I don’t know, Roger. I really appreciate you thinking of me. Could I get back to you early next week with an answer? I need to weigh some issues . . . the commute for one, and like I said, I’ve just started my own business, and it’s got a lot of potential. But I’ll give your offer some serious thought if you can give me a little time.”

  “No problem, man. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. You got my number, don’t you?”

  “Yep, right here in my phone. See ya.”

  Greg walked into the living room and stared out the front window. There’d certainly be some relief in having a ste
ady income again, like a bird in the hand. But he was so close to catching two in the bush . . . no, more like a half-dozen in the bush. And it sounded like Potawatomi was running a little lean. What if the commissions weren’t even enough to match his former salary? Then Nicole would need to go back to work. Humph. She might agree if it was for Lincoln Paddock, but he wasn’t going to stand for that.

  He watched out the window as she returned from across the street. It looked like she’d lost a little weight. The bounce was back in her step and her blonde hair ruffled in the morning breeze like waves in a wheat field. Hmm, nope. Going back to work was out of the question if it would be for Paddock!

  He turned as she came in the front door. “Find out anything?”

  Nicole nodded. “Estelle said Michelle phoned last night to ask for prayer. Said Destin was hit in the leg. Tore it up pretty badly, but the bullet missed the bone. The younger one’s a little more serious. Tabby’s twin was hit in the stomach. But he’s supposed to recover.”

  “Man! How’d all this happen?”

  “Estelle didn’t know. Shooting took place somewhere down near Hamlin Park, she thinks.”

  “Anything we can do?”

  “Estelle said she was going to provide meals, and I said I’d be glad to help, but I don’t know what else.”

  Greg shook his head. How did a nice kid like Destin get caught up in a shooting? Shootings happened all the time in Chicago, but usually they were gang related. Greg hadn’t seen any sign that Destin was involved with a gang, but what did he know? Maybe the kids were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.