Chapter 42: The Bitcoin Breakthrough
The notification pings at 4:47 PM.
Bitcoin Price Alert: $1.00 USD
I stare at my phone screen. Refresh. Number doesn't change.
One dollar per coin.
My 15,000 coins—purchased between five and fifty cents each over eighteen months—are now worth fifteen thousand dollars.
1000% return.
From fifteen hundred dollars of "imaginary money" the gang's been mocking since October 2007.
I'm alone in the Burbank shop, doing end-of-day counts. Jake left at four. The register shows $3,200 for the day. Good numbers. Consistent.
But Bitcoin just made me ten times that in eighteen months of doing absolutely nothing.
My hands shake updating the portfolio spreadsheet:
Bitcoin: $15,000 (15,000 coins @ $1.00) Apple: $62,000 (730 shares @ $85) Other positions: $8,000 Total: $85,000
Eighteen months ago, I had nothing.
Now I'm sitting on almost six figures in investments alone.
The tingle's quiet. No warnings, no affirmations. Just acknowledgment that the timeline's proceeding exactly as remembered.
By 2013, Bitcoin hits $1,000 per coin. My position will be worth $15 million.
By 2017, $20,000 per coin. $300 million.
By 2021, $64,000 per coin. Nearly a billion dollars.
From fifteen hundred dollars and impossible knowledge.
I close the spreadsheet before the numbers make me sick.
Pizza night at my penthouse.
The gang arrives at seven—Leonard with a six-pack, Sheldon with his spot cushion, Howard and Raj arguing about something involving Star Wars canon.
"Stuart!" Raj bellows. "Tell Howard that Jar Jar Binks serves a narrative purpose!"
"He doesn't."
"Thank you!"
"But I'm not getting involved in this. You two fight it out."
They settle onto my couch—actual couch now, not the futon. Bought real furniture last month. Penthouse looks like an adult lives here.
Leonard opens beers while Sheldon examines my new bookshelf, cataloging the organization system.
"Alphabetical by author within genre categories. Acceptable."
"High praise."
"It's merely adequate."
Pizza arrives. Supreme, pepperoni, and Sheldon's custom order with exact topping specifications the pizza place now has on file.
We eat. Talk about the shops—Burbank's first week exceeded projections. Discuss Big Bang Theory—second season filming starts next month. Debate whether Watchmen movie will be good.
Normal friend stuff.
Then Raj asks: "How's your imaginary money doing?"
The question hangs.
I've been waiting for this. Knew it was coming since the price alert.
"Actually, pretty well."
"Still imaginary?" Howard grins.
"Hit a dollar per coin today."
Silence.
Forks stop midway to mouths. Beers pause at lips.
"A dollar?" Leonard sets down his pizza. "Your Bitcoin hit a dollar?"
"Yeah."
"How many coins do you have?"
Here's the moment. Reveal or deflect?
I've already revealed too much. Sheldon's documenting patterns. Leonard's suspicious. Adding more data just makes the anomaly more obvious.
But they're asking directly.
"Fifteen thousand, give or take."
Howard chokes on his beer. Raj drops his pizza. Sheldon pulls out his phone calculator.
Leonard just stares.
"Fifteen thousand coins at one dollar each," Sheldon calculates aloud, "equals fifteen thousand dollars. What was your initial investment?"
"About fifteen hundred. Bought at different price points."
"That's a 900% return. In eighteen months."
"Math checks out."
"Stuart." Leonard's voice is carefully controlled. "Show us."
"Show you what?"
"Your wallet. Your account. Something. Because that's—that's impossible."
The tingle flares. Warning.
Too much revelation. They're questioning now. Need to deflect without lying.
I pull out my phone, open the Bitcoin wallet app. Show them the balance: 15,247 BTC.
And the current value: $15,247.00.
"Holy shit," Howard whispers.
Raj starts praying again. In Hindi, then English: "The universe has blessed you. The cosmic forces—"
"It's just cryptocurrency, Raj."
"JUST? You turned fifteen hundred into fifteen thousand!"
Leonard's still staring at the phone screen. "How did you know? How did you possibly know to buy this when it was pennies?"
Because I died and absorbed temporal knowledge in the void between dimensions.
"Research. Tech forums. Whitepapers on decentralized currency. Gambled that it would catch on." I lock my phone, put it away. "Got lucky."
"That's not luck," Sheldon states flatly. "Your investment success rate exceeds—"
"Sheldon, please."
"—normal probability distributions. I've been documenting every prediction you've made. Comics that spike, stocks that surge, now cryptocurrency. The pattern is statistically anomalous."
"Or I do research and make educated guesses."
"Fifteen thousand dollar guesses?"
"Sometimes you guess right."
Leonard's still quiet. Thinking. Calculating.
Finally: "What else?"
"What?"
"What else are you invested in? Apple?"
Might as well. They'll find out eventually.
"Apple's up to sixty-two thousand."
Dead silence.
"Sixty-two—" Howard can't finish the sentence.
"Started with five thousand in January 2008. Stock's quadrupled. Basic math."
Raj is actively crying now. "You're a millionaire."
"Not quite. Close though."
"How close?" Leonard demands.
"Eighty-five thousand total portfolio. Not counting shop profits or consulting income."
"You're twenty-seven years old."
"Twenty-seven and three months."
"Stuart." Leonard sets down his beer, leans forward. "How is this possible? How are you this successful at everything?"
The question hangs like an accusation.
Sheldon's watching me with narrow focus. Howard looks stunned. Raj is openly weeping with joy or cosmic overwhelm or something.
And Leonard—Leonard looks scared. Like he's watching a friend become something he doesn't understand.
Tell them the truth.
The thought surfaces unbidden. Just explain. Powers, void, reincarnation. Let them know.
Never.
The tingle screams warning.
"I got lucky," I say again. "Early adoption on new tech. Some research, some gambling, some right-place-right-time. That's it."
"That's not—"
"That's it," I repeat firmly. "Now can we please finish this pizza and watch the game? I didn't invite you over to interrogate my finances."
The mood shifts. Uncomfortable. But they back off.
We finish eating. Put on some basketball game nobody's really watching.
But the questions linger in the silence.
They leave around eleven.
Leonard hangs back at the door.
"I'm happy for you. Really. The success, the money, all of it."
"But?"
"But I'm also worried. Because something doesn't add up, and you won't tell me what it is."
"Leonard—"
"I'm not asking you to explain tonight. Just—" He meets my eyes. "—be careful. Whatever edge you have, however you're doing this, it can't last forever. And when it ends—"
"It won't end."
"Everything ends, Stuart."
He leaves.
I lock the door, stand in my penthouse looking at the city lights.
Eighty-five thousand in investments. Two profitable shops. Consulting income. Friends who care enough to worry.
And secrets that keep growing heavier.
Leonard's right. Eventually this becomes unsustainable. Eventually someone demands answers I can't give.
But tonight—tonight I'm just going to appreciate the victory.
Bitcoin hit a dollar.
My imaginary money became real.
And the future wealth is actually happening.
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