Jack_A Cryptocurrency Billionaire Romance

by Sara Forbes

  “Blaise Pascale. ‘All of man’s difficulties are caused by his inability to sit quietly in a room by himself,’” she reads.

  “Sounds like someone led a boring life.”

  “Just like me,” she mutters. “I haven’t got laid in eight months. So, where’s Jack tonight?”

  “Sitting quietly in a room by himself?”

  Annie’s eyes screw up. “Uh-oh, what happened?”

  There’s no escape. I tell her. Everything. She listens non-judgmentally because she’s Annie, just widening her eyes at the right parts, because she’s Annie.

  “You know what? I don’t care. I have a meeting with Cara tomorrow. The universe is telling me I need to start thinking about the rest of my life a bit more seriously than I have done up to this point.”

  She pushes her glasses farther up her nose. “You’ve been meeting Cara quite a lot.”

  “Yeah, she’s cool. She’s been super helpful in explaining the industry to me—the movers, the shakers.”

  “As in the who-you-know, not the what-you-know?”

  I nod. “She’s even looking for suitable roles for me because she’s at a loose end what with Scarlett and her falling out. She really believes in me.” My gaze roams over her textbooks,, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Jack thinks I should just focus on getting back to school though.”

  “He might have a point, Mia. Maybe you are better off trying for a place in a drama college than rocking the audition-waitressing cycle.”

  I rub my forehead. “The thought of four years in an institution though...it kills me”

  She shrugs. “I intend spending the rest of my life in academia.”

  I grin at her. “How are we even friends?”

  “I know, we’re the perfect odd couple. There are all manner of subconscious psychological undercurrents maintaining our friendship.”

  We sigh fondly at each other.

  “Mia, this might not be the best time to tell you this but…I, well, I’m moving out.”

  The poppadum falls away from my mouth. “What?”

  “I, uh, got a room in college.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “I applied four weeks ago. After that first incident with Al. I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d get it. But now that I have…I need to take it. If I’m to keep up with the coursework, I need to be closer to college.”

  The sharp edge of betrayal cuts into my heart. I nod but don’t trust my voice.

  “I’m so sorry, Mia.”

  I gaze around the dingy walls, avoiding eye contact. This is where we spent an intense time of our lives together, strengthening our friendship, creating a bond for life. I know I’ll look back wistfully at these days and romanticize the crappy décor, the musty smells, the disgusting insect life thriving in the walls.

  “It’s great you’re going to get a room in college,” I say, swallowing back a lump in my throat. “This dump is no good for a life of earnest contemplation and study.”

  “Look, I’ll make sure you get a good roommate. And you may well be moving out soon yourself to live full time with Hollywood’s hottest producer.”

  “Not so fast.”

  “What? Is everything all right?”

  “Uh, yeah. I think so. I don’t know. If I could have Island Jack back, sure. But Palmer Productions Jack? He’s a different creature, too intense about his business. About money. It’s all he seems to care about.”

  24

  JACK

  THE DOORBELL RINGS. When I get to the camera, I let out a joyful whoop because it’s Mia. She’s thawed.

  As she steps in, her face is drawn and pale. I lean in to embrace her, but she holds up her arms, fending me off.

  “Are you still sore with me?”

  “I talked to Cara.” She narrows her eyes. “She’s not who she said she is.”

  “Huh, well, that doesn’t exactly surprise me—”

  “And,” her gaze is drilling into me, cold and determined, “you’re not who you say either.”

  “Mia, uh, what?” I usher her into the living room, but she doesn’t sit down, just stands, arms folded stiffly.

  “Cara told me. She’s investigating you. Why did you really contact that guy in Venezuela, Jack? Why did you hide the fact that you’re sitting on millions, maybe billions? I didn’t want to believe her, but you’re not denying it, are you? What kind of cabal are you involved with?” She pauses to catch her breath. “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

  “Wait. Let’s take a step back here. The truth is…OK, let’s take the guy, Carlos Monero, in Venezuela, I don’t know what Cara thinks he’s involved in, and I don’t want to know. I needed a location agent and he helped me out. He seemed legit. I paid him what we’d agreed. End of story. That’s the truth, Mia. We had no further dealings. Cara can shove her conspiracy theories wherever she likes.”

  She wriggles out of my clutch. “No, Jack.”

  “Don’t you believe me? You’d rather believe some made up crap from Cara?”

  “What about the money?

  “I never lied about the money,” I growl. “I spent three million setting up my business. And now it’s gone. I’m not the Bitcoin billionaire she thinks I am.”

  “Well, I looked it up. Eight hundred dollars of Bitcoin in 2008—which you told me about— is now worth half a billion dollars.”

  I massage my forehead. “Yes, maybe, but that’s what it was worth when Paul sold. You do realize how volatile that market is? Which is why I’m glad to be well clear of it.

  “But even if I had the money, I refuse to produce a movie that’s doomed to fail commercially. It doesn’t look good for business.”

  “But it was our movie. I thought you loved it.”

  I tear my gaze away from her tear-filled eyes. “It’s not enough. Look, don’t blame me if I can’t get you on your fast track to fame. Maybe instead take a hard look at all the choices you’ve made in your life up to this point.”

  “Is that what you think?” Mia spits out the words. “You think I’m angry just because I lost my chance to get a leg up into a good movie? Is that it?”

  I fold my arms. “It’s a factor. Come on, admit it.”

  “Ugh,” she grunts. “No, it’s just what you’d like to believe. I’m more concerned with the way pretended to love the movie but then caved in the minute you thought it wouldn’t be profitable and make you look good.”

  “I won’t produce a movie that’s doomed to be unprofitable.” I’d tell her why. I’d tell her about my obligations to the staff, to her, to my brother. But her ego isn’t going to let her listen.

  “My first impression was right! The Jack I knew on the island doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” I spread my arms. “This is who I am. I’m not going to pretend to be whatever fantasy character you’ve built me up to be. If you can’t accept that, ask yourself why you’re even here.”

  Her eyes widen. “Believe me, that’s exactly what I’m asking myself.” She yanks up her purse and trots toward the door.

  I make no move to intercept her. I’m all out of apologies today.

  25

  MIA

  TEARS TRICKLING DOWN my face, I drag my feet down the street toward the bus stop. I probably messed that up and I’m not even sure why.

  Right now, I need Annie and about a gallon of wine.

  When I get back to the apartment, Annie drops everything like I knew she would. We talk long into the night, and I cry and then she cries in sympathy, and I talk and talk and talk. I become incoherent as the hours go by, misery making a jumble of my thoughts and of time itself. I even contemplate calling my mother in Colorado, but I don’t want to worry her. I want at least one person in this world to still believe I’m somebody who’s got her shit together.

  The next morning, I don’t know whether I’ve slept one hour or ten; I’m still drained. Worse, my dream was filled of happy days with Jack, so the contrast with reality is gut-wrenching.


  Annie’s got a full day of lectures at college, so I wander around the apartment, fidgeting. Her moving boxes take up most of the floor space. The empty shelves in her bedroom look forlorn without their books. I begin to tidy up but give up halfway through as it all seems so pointless and stupid. Misery has made my brain pea-sized. Listless, I browse online, looking at shiny things I can’t afford to buy, and let the hours pass with nothing to show for them.

  By the third day of this madness, Annie reminds me gently that she needs to attend her college meet-ups and debating society so as not to seem antisocial there. I get that; she has a life. I need to respect that.

  On the fourth day she comes to check on me, I’ve managed to get out of my pajamas. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Thinking about why I was so upset with Jack, apart from the obvious facts of his deception, which still cut deep. It was that dumb ego of mine, leading me to entertain the ludicrous notion promoted by Cara that I was in the same league as Scarlett, and that I deserved fame.

  And the thought that I had something that attracted Jack—maybe that was the greatest fallacy of them all. What would a successful CEO want with a deadbeat out-of-work actress? No wonder he didn’t come clean with me. It was never meant to be long term.

  “I have a plan,” I tell her.

  “Shoot.”

  “I’m going to enroll in a drama school and get a qualification on paper, even if I look like a freaking hag by the time I qualify.”

  She pats my arm. “You won’t be a hag. You’ll only be twenty-five.”

  “You never know but I don’t care anymore.”

  “Working a job alongside will be tough. I presume you’ll be doing that?”

  “Yup.” I beckon her to the desk to show her the financial calculations I’ve jotted down on one of her old note blocks. There’s the skeleton of a one-year plan that doesn’t involve getting into debt or selling my body. Nope, it’s all austerity and discipline. Then I show her the website of the school I’m preparing an application to.

  She whistles. “You’ve really thought this through, didn’t you?”

  “Probably for the first time in my life.”

  “You should show this to your aunt.”

  “I don’t need her help.”

  “I know.” She shrugs. “But maybe just do it anyway?”

  And because I trust Annie’s instincts, I do meet Aunt Rita the following week on the morning before she flies off to New York and share with her my vision for my immediate future. It’s easier now to present it to her with confidence because it’s more concrete. I’ve already applied for a position in the Michelle Danner Acting school, plus I’ve completed my first three shifts as a waitress in a restaurant that’s much nearer the richer side of the city because I no longer have to choose somewhere near Annie’s college. Here, the clientele is normal and they tip decently.

  “I like this,” Aunt Rita says with an approving nod. “And when you get closer to final exams, I’ll come walking into your restaurant. But not before. Take it as you will, but I don’t think you should join any big productions until you qualify.”

  I dip my gaze. I deserve this, I suppose. It doesn’t mean I have to follow her advice though. If something good comes my way, I’m still grabbing it with both paws.

  “Granted that was weird business, with Scarlett and Cara,” she mutters, “and you’re not likely to get entangled with something like that ever again.”

  “No,” I say. “I just wish they could have had their fight after the movie was made.”

  “Well, that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Scarlett refused to be Cara’s spy anymore because she felt Jack was innocent and didn’t deserve the scrutiny. She also said you didn’t deserve to be Cara’s unwitting mole. Didn’t Jack explain this to you?”

  “No,” I say sorrowfully. “We didn’t…talk about it.”

  “Oh. So, you’re not—”

  “No.”

  “OK. Well, seems he’s left the limelight and no one knows where he is.” She eyes me speculatively.

  “I don’t know either,” I tell her.

  I’ve been scouring all the news for any mentions of Jack, but he’s gone underground. Cara called me once. It was a strange conversation over a crackly phone line. She said her “group” had made some mistake about any connection between Jack and shady Venezuelans. I could have told her that. Then she said they still had their eye on the Bitcoin billionaire group that he is part of, just in case. She didn’t offer any apology for turning the movie upside down or recruiting me as an unwitting spy. Otherwise, there’s not a peep about Jack, not in the press and not on my phone.

  I walked by his studio and there was a For Sale sign up on the premises. Inside, all the furniture was gone. A part of my soul died when I saw that. I guess he’s moved on to better things—or given up.

  26

  JACK

  WATCHING FELIX JOKING and smiling on the sofa this evening, you’d think he didn’t have a care in the world. But after I finally paid off his gambling debt with the Oklahomans yesterday, he’s more receptive to the notion that a life of card playing is not sustainable in the long run.

  “Felix, how much do you think Egan and Paul are worth?”

  “God knows. Why?”

  “Well, just something Mia said. I looked up the Bitcoin price, and if I’d kept my eight hundred bucks in, I’d be worth half a billion dollars now.”

  Felix laughs. “You’ll go crazy if you think of it like that. Only a tiny, tiny minority of people held that long.”

  “True, but they might have. They really believed in it, like a religion. I’d imagine they invested a whole lot more. Why else would they have people like Cara investigating them?”

  “Yeah, she’s either a legislator worried about market manipulation or he works for rival investors. You need megabucks to get on their radars.”

  “It is weird that Paul never let us see the actual wallets or the transactions into fiat currency.”

  “You didn’t want to know, Jack. You were too busy planning your conquest of Hollywood, and all the women in it.”

  Don’t remind me. But I’d like to know now.

  “Call them.”

  “Nah.” I turn back to my script where I’m re-working the twist I added to the end of scene two.

  “Jack.” Felix is pointing to his own laptop. “Check this out.”

  I groan. “What? I’m working.”

  “See what someone just posted.”

  I leave my desk and lean my elbows on the back of the sofa. “What am I looking at?”

  “Here’s why Hollywood doesn’t want to work with Jack Palmer anymore.”

  He lets the YouTube video run. It’s full of irritating shots of my life with that irritating rights-free music playing in the background. Felix is watching my reaction as each photo pops up. Of course, it’s all the famous women I’ve slept with, all the directors and actors who say I’m a real tightass.

  “What’s new?” I say, turning back to my desk. Failure always invites bad press, that’s just the rule. I don’t let it bother me. Sure, I could have kept it all going by borrowing from the bank, pretending my company was solvent when it wasn’t.

  I’m happy with how I handled it. My staff were distraught, but they all got snapped up straight away by rival companies before their salaries ran out. I wasn’t going to get any big movies this year anyway, as I told them in our final staff meeting. I’ve had the “loser” label slapped onto me so often in the past few weeks in subtle and not-so- subtle ways that I don’t care who thinks what as long as I’m being true to myself. New invitations to ceremony events and parties have all but dried up, and I canceled any outstanding ones, as I don’t have the heart for them. I wonder how I ever did.

  At least the press haven’t dug their claws into Mia. They never managed to discover our affair, or if they did, they didn’t deem it newsworthy enough to publicize because she’s not famous enough. Yet.

  I asked Rita what he
r niece was up to, and she told me the bare bones of how Mia is working and attending drama school. It’s a good school. I’ve worked with some of the graduates. I’ve been keeping an eye out for auditions that she may be tempted to try her hand at. I’ll put in a good word. But I haven’t seen any evidence of her going for any roles. I hope she’s not giving up her dream. It will be on me if her experience with Aliens in Distress crushes her will to act.

  But she’s stronger than that.

  I’ve been keeping busy living the artist’s life, crafting the script for a re-make of Aliens. My own remake. I own the rights, and the original scriptwriter is only too happy to let me do anything as long as he gets some credit. I’m taking this slow, doing it right. Because what the hell, for the first time in my life, I have time. I’m going to make a new movie the way it should always have been made—with love.

  27

  MIA

  IT'S BEEN A LONG but fulfilling day at school, our second- to-last week of term, and I’m on the last leg of the night shift at Petra’s Bistro. The dinner rush is over, and I’m polishing tables, dreaming of what I’m going to spend tonight’s tips on. Maybe some mojitos at the Uni bar with Annie, seeing as it’s Friday. We can compare the amount of homework reading we have to get through between now and Monday. I have the Pedagogy of Acting manual and a play by Chekov. She probably has the existentialists or something.

  “Mia?” I feel a shake on my shoulder. It’s my co-worker, June.

  “Some guy over there, looking for coffee, but he wants it from you.” Her eyebrows are raised to full height, somewhat accusatorily. We both hate complications on Friday evenings.

  I pull a face. “Where?”

  She jerks her thumb back toward the tables in the corner obscured by the fat Corinthian pillars.

  I crane my neck to see around the nearest pillar ,and my jaw slackens. This isn’t some random guy. This is the one and only guy.