Chapter 40: The Future Plans
The shop's closed sign faces the street.
Inside, the gang's scattered across the expanded space—Leonard manning the makeshift bar, Sheldon arranging chairs into "optimal social geometry," Howard and Raj arguing about the best New Year's countdown location.
"Times Square is traditional but overcrowded," Sheldon states.
"It's on TV, Sheldon. We're watching it on TV."
"Nevertheless, the principle stands."
I'm behind the counter doing year-end bookkeeping. Numbers that shouldn't be real:
Pasadena Shop Annual Revenue: $216,000 Net Profit: $132,000 Investment Portfolio: $87,000 (Bitcoin $52k, Apple $27k, other $8k) Consulting Income: $18,000 Total 2008 Earnings: $150,000
Fourteen months ago, I had nothing.
Now I'm closing out the year with six figures in earnings.
The door rattles. Penny enters with three bottles of champagne.
"Heard there was a New Year's party for nerds."
"How'd you—we closed the shop."
"Leonard texted me. Also, I live in your building. I can see the lights on." She sets the champagne on the counter. "So we're doing this or what?"
Melissa arrives ten minutes later.
This is her last New Year's in LA. She's leaving in two weeks. We've been keeping things normal, but everyone knows. The gang treats her extra nicely. Penny hugs her longer than necessary.
"Seattle's great," Penny offers. "Visited once. Lots of coffee."
"That's the selling point? Coffee?"
"And rain. Don't forget the rain."
Melissa laughs, but it's thin.
At 10 PM, I gather everyone.
"Quick update on 2009 plans."
"Oh good, a presentation," Howard mutters. "Very festive."
"Shut up. Burbank shop opens March first. I'll need help with buildout."
Groans all around.
"Not again," Leonard protests. "Last time Howard hit his thumb twice."
"I'm wearing gloves this time."
"You'll hit your thumb through the gloves."
"Screw you, Leonard."
"Boys," Bernadette warns. Her voice drops into that terrifying register. They both shut up.
I continue: "Hiring two employees for Pasadena—manager and sales associate. Lets me focus on expansion and consulting."
"Speaking of consulting," Leonard asks, "how many shows now?"
"Three confirmed. Big Bang Theory got picked up for full season. Two other pilots want me on retainer."
"That's—Stuart, that's a lot."
"It's manageable."
Sheldon consults his phone. "Your Bitcoin investment is now worth approximately—"
"Still imaginary," Howard interrupts.
"Fifteen thousand dollars," Sheldon finishes. "That's a 900% return in fourteen months."
Dead silence.
"You're up fifteen thousand dollars on internet money," Leonard says slowly.
"Yes."
"That's—how is that—"
"Lucky timing. Early adoption. Explaining it is complicated."
"Try."
The tingle flares. Warning.
Don't explain. Can never explain.
"Cryptocurrency is speculative," I deflect. "High risk, high reward. I got in early, bought cheap, held through volatility. That's it."
"That's not it," Sheldon counters. "Your success rate across multiple domains—investments, business, consulting, even romantic relationships until recently—exceeds statistical probability. I've been documenting—"
"Sheldon." Leonard's voice carries warning. "Not tonight."
"But the data—"
"Not. Tonight."
Sheldon subsides, but his expression promises future interrogation.
We toast at midnight with Penny's champagne.
"To Stuart!" Raj shouts, already tipsy.
"To Stuart's continued inexplicable success," Leonard amends.
"To the gang," I counter. "For making success actually mean something."
We drink. Cheap champagne, warm from sitting on the counter. Tastes perfect.
Melissa appears beside me after the toast, pulls me to the back room.
"Two weeks," she says.
"Two weeks."
"This is—tonight's my last New Year's with you."
"Yeah."
"I wanted to say—" She stops. Starts again. "Thank you. For these six months. For showing me what healthy relationships look like. For being—just, thank you."
"Thank you for choosing me. For helping me become someone worth dating."
We kiss. Soft, familiar, tinged with ending.
When we return to the party, nobody comments. They know.
Penny hands me a beer. "You good?"
"Getting there."
"She's leaving for good reasons."
"I know."
"And you're staying for good reasons."
"I know that too."
"Then you're handling this right." She clinks her bottle against mine. "Growth looks good on you, Stuart."
At 2 AM, everyone's finally leaving.
Sheldon triple-checks that all candles are extinguished. Howard and Bernadette argue about who's driving. Raj needs help to his car.
Leonard hangs back.
"Serious question."
"Okay?"
"Are you dealing drugs?"
"What? No!"
"Insider trading?"
"Leonard—"
"Because your success rate is insane. I'm a scientist. I understand probability. This—" He gestures at the shop, at me. "—this isn't probability. This is something else."
The tingle's screaming now.
"I work hard. Make educated guesses. Some pan out. That's it."
"Bullshit."
"Leonard—"
"I'm not accusing you of anything bad. I'm just—I'm worried. About what happens when your luck runs out."
"It's not luck."
"Then what is it?"
Supernatural powers from absorbing temporal energy in the void between dimensions.
"It's preparation meeting opportunity. Working my ass off and occasionally guessing right. Same as anyone else."
He doesn't believe me. But he nods anyway.
"Okay. Just—be careful. Whatever you're doing, whatever edge you have—don't get cocky. Pride comes before the fall and all that."
"Noted."
He leaves.
I lock the shop alone, standing in the space that started everything.
Fourteen months ago, this was a desperate last chance.
Now it's the foundation of an empire.
And Leonard's right to worry.
The success is accelerating. Too fast. Too perfect. Eventually, someone's going to figure out it's not natural.
Sheldon's already documenting patterns.
Leonard's asking pointed questions.
The gang's noticed the impossibility.
I'm running out of time before the secret becomes unsustainable.
But tonight—tonight I'm just going to enjoy the victory.
2008 is done.
2009 begins with a second shop, more consulting, and investments that keep compounding.
The adventure's only beginning.
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