James sat at his desk, idly spinning a pen between his fingers, staring at the ancient beige computer screen as if it might magically cough up a solution.
For the past few days, he'd buried himself in news articles, tech magazines, even old business journals, scraping together everything he could about the current state of the world. Thanks to his perfect memory, the facts and timelines unraveled before him like a living map.
It was 1995.
Microsoft and Cisco were rising stars — still fresh members of the Nasdaq elite — but they hadn't yet solidified their positions as global titans. The Internet, that wild beast that would one day define humanity, was still little more than an office tool, a strange playground for academics and tech enthusiasts.
Sure, there were whispers of the coming boom. Companies like Yahoo were barely out of infancy. Amazon was nothing more than a business plan scribbled on a napkin. Google? Facebook? Still just dreams in someone's head.
The biggest "Internet" companies now were a web hosting service, an online rental board, and a digital publisher that nobody outside of tech circles even knew existed.
James had caught a glimpse of Netscape on a financial news segment — a Silicon Valley darling rising fast. He knew what was coming. He knew where the gold would be buried.
But knowing wasn't enough.
He leaned back, sighing, rubbing the back of his neck.Capital. That was the problem.
In his last life, he'd spent four years at Stanford, grinding out four undergraduate degrees — Computer Science, Economics, Business, and Political Science. Even with perfect memory, even if he overloaded on classes and tested out of half the requirements, he'd still need at least three years to graduate.
And frankly? He didn't want to waste three years.
He needed to move fast. The world wasn't going to wait.
James checked the battered envelope tucked away in his desk drawer — the savings he'd scraped together from birthday money, summer jobs, and years of careful hoarding.
$1,385.
It might as well have been a single grain of sand in the desert.
Sure, he knew about future blue-chip stocks. He could name the companies that would rule the earth. But without real capital, without leverage, all his knowledge was just... theory.
He tapped the pen against the desk, a steady click click click filling the room.
"Money. I need money to make money. But how do you get the money to get the money?" he muttered, staring at the ceiling like it might offer divine inspiration.
He was still drifting in thought when suddenly —BANG!
BANG!
The door slammed open like a little storm.
"UNCLE JAMES! UNCLE JAMES!" a high-pitched voice shrieked, and before James could blink, a tiny missile launched itself at him—laughing and giggling, a four-year-old boy.
James flinched, surprised, and then laughed as the little boy wrapped his arms around his waist.
"I'm here, Uncle James!" the boy cheered, his little hands gripping James as he looked up, eyes shining.
James laughed, scooping him up without a second thought. "Well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker!" he said, spinning the boy in a quick circle. "Jack, my best nephew! You come to rescue me from my boring thoughts?"
Jack giggled and hugged him even tighter. "I'm gonna be a superhero! And you're gonna be my helper!"
James raised an eyebrow. "Helper? What? Me? I'm older, I should be the superhero!"
Jack shook his head, his little face all scrunched up like he was figuring out something very important. "Nope! Mommy said I'm the boss!"
James chuckled, ruffling Jack's messy hair. "Did she? Sounds like I've been teaching you bad habits."
Jack nodded seriously. "Yep! Mommy said you're smart, so you gotta listen to me!"
James laughed harder, hugging Jack a little longer. "Alright, boss. What's the plan? Save the world?"
Jack's face lit up like he was about to share a big secret. "After cookies!"
James grinned. "Cookies first, saving the world second. Good thinking, buddy." He set Jack down gently, messing up his hair one last time.
"C'mon!" Jack said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stairs. "Mommy and Daddy are downstairs! And Ollie's crawling so fast now!"
James let himself be pulled along, the worries of capital and business plans momentarily forgotten in the face of pure, unfiltered joy.
They made their way downstairs, Jack practically dragging him into the sunlit kitchen.
Charles Calloway, his older brother, stood by the kitchen island — tall, sharp-eyed, dressed casually but with the posture of a man who had spent too many years in courtrooms. San Francisco's District Attorney, respected and feared in equal measure.
At his side was Eleanor Calloway, poised and elegant, the epitome of high-society charm wrapped around a steel spine. She smiled warmly as Jack barreled in with James in tow.
"Uncle James was thinking too hard!" Jack announced proudly.
Charles raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee mug down with a soft clink."That sounds about right."
Eleanor leaned down to kiss Jack's forehead."And you saved him?"
Jack puffed out his chest. "Yup! I'm the superhero!"
"Good work, honey," she said with a soft laugh before turning her gaze to James."You're looking better today."
James shrugged, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth."Trying to stay out of trouble."
Charles gave a short, noncommittal nod, but his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Smart plan," he said. "Especially since you're already set on Stanford... instead of Berkeley."
The disapproval wasn't loud — Charles never needed volume to make his point — but it hung in the air all the same.
The old James would've bristled. Would've argued, tried to explain himself, tried to win.
But this James?
He just smiled faintly, letting the moment pass like water off stone.
"Maybe," James said lightly, meeting his brother's sharp gaze. "Maybe I'll surprise you."
Charles studied him for a moment longer, his prosecutor instincts always at work, but said nothing more.
In the playpen by the breakfast nook, baby Oliver was babbling happily, trying to pull himself upright against the mesh sides.
James grinned, walking over and gently tousling Oliver's soft hair."Hey there, little man. You're gonna be running laps around Jack soon, huh?"
Oliver gurgled and reached up with chubby hands, making James' chest tighten with something he couldn't quite name.
Just as James was lifting Oliver into his arms, the front door swung open, and a familiar voice called out:
"Am I late for the feast, or is everyone just hiding from me?"
James turned, a grin breaking across his face.
There stood Lillian Calloway, their elder sister — sharp as a whip, confident in her crisp navy suit despite it being Sunday. As the San Francisco City Attorney, Lillian was every bit as formidable as Charles, though with a touch more flair and a lot more sarcasm.
"You're just in time, Lil," Charles called from the kitchen. "James was about to start a philosophical debate with Jack about cookies."
Lillian chuckled, tossing her blazer onto the coat rack."Well, thank God Jack has the brains to win that argument."
James smirked."Don't side with him. He's been plotting world domination since breakfast."
Jack, still clinging proudly to James, puffed up his chest."I'm the boss!"
"You keep telling them, kiddo," Lillian said, winking as she ruffled Jack's hair on her way into the kitchen.
Eleanor clapped her hands lightly."Alright, everyone, enough joking around — lunch isn't going to make itself."
The kitchen shifted into warm, organized chaos.
Eleanor started pulling dishes out of the oven, filling the house with the rich scents of roasted chicken, baked potatoes, and buttered vegetables. Charles uncorked a bottle of wine with a practiced hand. Jack "helped" by carrying napkins — mostly dropping them along the way — and Lillian and James began setting the table, exchanging snarky remarks about who had the better folding technique.
Even little Oliver squealed from his high chair, flapping his hands in excitement as the noise and laughter filled the room.
James couldn't help but pause for a second, the tablecloth bunched in his hands, watching his family move around him — teasing, laughing, arguing over whether the salad needed more dressing.
This was what mattered.
This was why he needed to succeed.
Not just for himself — but to build something strong enough to protect moments like this, to carve out a piece of the future that no betrayal, no bad luck, no failure could take away.
He smiled quietly to himself and placed the last fork down.
Tomorrow could wait.
Today was for family.