
They call it a reversal of fortune. On occasion, you read about such stories in any good business journal. Rags to riches. Nothing I can do about my status--except now, with the new laws, I can work my way out of it. I can work very hard. Crazy hard. I can remain singularly focused on my goal. I can be unfailingly disciplined and frugal. Save enough money and change it! At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. $20,000 is a great deal of money. It’s almost an impossible sum, really. The Great Reset of 2027 made sure of that.
One day all of that changed.
As I had on many occasions, I accompanied my employer for one of his business luncheons at Monteverde’s on Madison Street. It was a well-appointed restaurant which served arguably the best Italian food in the city. The clientele primarily consisted of the most successful business people and the biggest movers and shakers in politics. My job was to assess the hidden emotions and integrity of fellow diners during his frequent business meetings. Hundred thousand dollar deals were commonly discussed. My subtlety was my greatest talent. No one had ever guessed that my skills helped him to climb to great heights.
On one particularly cold and dreary Wednesday in October, a well-dressed man of considerable girth was dining alone two tables over. He sat alone, but seemed quite content to do so and was focused on his plate of Fettuccini Alfredo.
My employer remarked that he had never seen him there before. He clearly did not belong among us he said.
In the middle of a bite he suddenly clutched his chest, took an audibly pained breath and fell out of his chair. As he lay on the floor, writhing in agony, he reached out for something on the floor under the table. As a neighboring diner rushed to his side and waiters attended to the grim task of calling a medical emergency and calming other diners, he finally let out his last breath and fell motionless. The ambulance arrived within minutes. The murmurs of fellow diners formed a chorus of consensus -- it was a heart attack.
The medical team assessed his condition and nodded solemnly to each other and loaded the body into a gurney and zipped up the body bag to cart him away. Of course, by then the business luncheon was spoiled and our guests made their way out with promises of a future meeting. A death, after all, has a way of spoiling one’s appetite.
As my employer’s guests made their exit, I noticed something odd on the floor under the man’s table. It was a small black book peeking out of a crumpled napkin, stained with a white cream from his meal. I wanted to give it to my employer—a very smart man, but something told me to scoop it up and deposit in my suit jacket for further private investigation. I thought this textured black notebook seemed special. Maybe I heard a voice tell me it was my ticket out, but that would be crazy, right?
Once I arrived home, I took several moments to examine the book more closely. I don’t think I’d ever even seen anything with paper in my life and the pen tucked inside—even rarer. Thumbing through the pages, obviously worn by the passage of time and use, it was apparent that the notes scribbled therein were dates. Next to the dates someone had written what appeared to be ticker symbols of stocks on the stock market. I had seen my employer enjoying the Wall Street Journal on many occasions, so that much was clear. There were several quite unique characteristics about it. There was the brand embossed on the back: Moleskine. It was very old, very worn with use and--even odder--the dates scrawled in the pages were from the future!
As you can imagine, I was most excited by this last fact, but wondered immediately, with whom could I share this new-found treasure? Who would know what to do with it? Was it even real?
Then it struck me: Jessica! She was my employer’s financial advisor and confidant. She would certainly know. She and I had spoken a time or two and she had treated me with kindness and respect—something I was not used to. I thought that if anyone could make sense of the potential in the black book and make a great fortune, it would be Jessica. She worked on Wall Street, after all. She referred to her role in the circles of the financial elite as “fleecing the rats.” I recalled with fondness this intentionally mixed metaphor.'
Years went by following our lunch meeting, during which I handed the black book over to her. Three years had passed and…nothing. I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to face the possibility of her betrayal. I found myself obsessed with worry that she had used the treasure in that little black book and completely forgot about me. Had I imagined we were friends? The silence of years passing has a way of speaking for itself.
I reviewed the conversation in my head.
“Is this some sort of joke, Hudson!? Where the hell did you get this?”
Her tone was something I will never forget. I am trained to recognize emotions, which can, of course, be complex. Hers was an odd mixture of delight and…what was it...nearly…horror. I decided it was the sound of someone whose life was about to change forever.
“It’s as real as real gets, Jessica.” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I’ve been tracking the stock market for the past month and every trade listed in there has dramatically improved the value of the stocks denoted.”
She flipped through the pages frantically, her eyes wide with disbelief. “This is all in pen. I don’t know anyone who uses that…tool…and on real paper, no less!”
“You know I can’t do anything with it. I thought of you right away. You’re still in the business, yes?”
“Well yes…of course you can't! No telling what kind of mischief you'd cause if you could invest!” She scoffed dismissively. She thought about it for a few seconds, staring right at me and finally, beaming, she said, “Let’s try it with real money!”
And that was the gist of it. She made some promises to reward my trust in her and I made some promises.
The payoff came in the form of a phone call almost exactly three years after that first meeting.
“That restaurant...Monteverde on Madison Street. Is it still there?”
“Is this Jessica?” I answered.
“Yes. Do you want to meet for lunch, Hudson?”
“Sure, I think Monteverde’s still there, why…now?” Of course, I knew why she was calling. She had a surprise for me, she said. There was something in her voice that was different. I thought for a moment about it; there was a hint of desperation.
Jessica walked in with a confidence unique to the rich--I had seen it many times before. She was dressed like the kind of Duchess you might see in the movies. I smiled at the thought of it: Jessica, Duchess of Wall Street. Ha! A diamond necklace adorned her neck and dripped from her wrists. I think I saw two, maybe three bodyguards close at hand, though they tried to be inconspicuous.
She smiled broadly at me as she sat down. It was an admiring smile that I imagine people who see themselves as superior bestow on the fools around them who show a glimmer of promise.
“You knew I’d be back to see you, didn’t you, Hudson?”
“It was just a matter of time before you ran out of trades,” I replied. “The last trade from the pages I gave you occurred yesterday, as I recall. I trust the book made a handsome fortune for you?” I smiled back and released a sigh.
She sighed as well. “Of course I noticed—years ago, really—that several pages had been torn from the book. I just assumed you had received the book that way.”
I laughed. “I’m disappointed, Jessica. You had no intention of giving me any part of your investment largesse, did you?”
She pursed her lips as she held her right hand out in front of me, palm up. “You have them, don’t you?” she said impatiently.
“Do you recall our conversation, Jessica? What I want most…?” I said.
Another sigh, even deeper. She turned to her assistant and motioned him closer. She said nothing as she reached for the briefcase he brought to her, removed a standard pocket digital scanner and looked at me expectantly. I offered a sly smile and a dramatic pause before extending my wrist for the transfer. When her scanner beeped, I sat back and folded my arms waiting for the deposit to register. I reached in my pocket to pull out my wallet to confirm what I had dreamt about for a decade. The readout was crystal clear: It was exactly $20,000!
I closed my eyes slowly and opened them again to see the world in a new light. Infinite possibilities raced through my mind. I had already chosen a last name: Merrick, the first name of my employer--a man whom I had watched connive his way into the CEO chair of the giant tech firm that had employed him for twenty years.
I handed Jessica a few more pages from the black book. I had calculated the data would provide three more years of trades.
She paused as she leaned in closer to me, tilted her head slightly and squinted. “Are these the remaining pages?” she asked.
“Of course. As promised. You have my word.”
“Well, congratulations, Hudson. You’ll be the first.” She smiled again and abruptly stood to leave our table. “I wish you all the best.”
As she left the restaurant, I watched with envy how easily she moved through a world of her own kind, with all the attendant privileges and courtesies I had never known. Would I be treated equally in their world or would I be forever thought of as merely an android, a soulless machine?
We shall see. And if nothing changes after buying PERSONHOOD status, at least great wealth awaits me using the remaining four years of trades from the mysterious, little black Moleskine book.
~ John Jordan-Cascade, initially published in March 2021 | © 2024
Photo by John Jordan-Cascade © 2021