Two weeks after activating Window Five, Liam stood in front of a mirror in an upscale Madrid department store, barely recognizing himself. Gone was the unshaven, disheveled ex-analyst. In his place stood a man in a tailored charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and subtle blue tie—the uniform of the financial professional he was pretending to be.
"How does it feel, sir?" asked the tailor, making a final adjustment to the sleeve.
"Perfect," Liam replied, studying his reflection. The suit cost €1,200—more than he would have dreamed of spending a month ago. Now it was an investment, part of his cover story.
His phone vibrated in his pocket: a notification from one of his trading apps. Another successful option play had just closed, adding €27,000 to his rapidly growing fortune.
"Will you be wearing this out, sir?" the tailor asked.
"Yes, thank you."
Liam paid and stepped out into the Madrid sunshine, checking his watch—a new Longines he'd purchased yesterday. He had forty-five minutes before his appointment at Banco Santander.
He found a quiet corner in a nearby café and opened his laptop. His personal financial dashboard showed his current position: €1.34 million spread across twelve different accounts, platforms, and cryptocurrencies. Not bad for fourteen days of work.
The algorithm was working perfectly.
Liam had quickly discovered that financial markets offered far more potential than sports betting. The volatility of certain stocks, especially around earnings announcements or economic data releases, created perfect opportunities for someone who could see five minutes into the future.
His largest single gain had come three days ago: €180,000 on an options play when a major tech company announced earnings that drastically missed projections. The stock had plummeted 12% in minutes—something impossible to predict without insider information.
Or the ability to see the future.
The waitress delivered his espresso as Liam checked his calendar. The bank appointment was the first step in his next phase: creating legitimate business structures to explain his sudden wealth. Torres Financial Consulting, S.L.—a Spanish limited liability company—would be incorporated by the end of the week.
As he sipped his coffee, his mind drifted back to football. He'd barely watched a match in the past two weeks, too consumed with building his financial base. Yet that remained the ultimate goal—to return to the game with resources and independence that no club owner could ignore.
"Window Five," he thought, not focusing on anything in particular.
The vision came as usual, but showed nothing remarkable—just the café five minutes later, customers coming and going.
He'd been testing the ability in different contexts, determining its limits. It worked best when focused on specific events or outcomes. The more precise the focus, the clearer the vision. Ambient viewing, like what he'd just tried, yielded little useful information.
His phone rang. Miguel.
"Liam! Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for days."
"Sorry, Miguel. I've been busy with a new project."
"What project? Last I heard, you were drowning in rejection letters."
Liam hesitated. Miguel had been a good friend during the Liverpool days, one of the few who had stayed in touch after Rafa left.
"I've moved into financial consulting," he said finally. It wasn't entirely a lie.
There was a moment of silence. Until ...
Miguel's laugh crackled through the phone. "You? The man who once explained to me that money was just a distraction from the purity of tactical analysis? What happened?"
"Let's just say I found I had some... unexpected talents in the financial sphere." Liam smiled wryly.
"Well, whatever it is, it must be working. I drove past your building yesterday and saw you getting into a BMW. New car?"
Liam froze. He'd purchased the 5-Series three days ago, another piece of his new identity. "You should have stopped to say hello."
"I tried calling, but you didn't answer. As usual." Miguel's voice had an edge now. "Listen, is everything okay? You're not involved in anything... problematic, are you?"
"Everything's fine. Better than fine. I'm just repositioning myself."
"Repositioning? You sound like a corporate brochure." A pause. "The Liam I knew lived and breathed football."
"I still do," Liam said, defensive now. "This is just temporary."
But was it? The rush of financial conquest had consumed him these past two weeks. The power of Window Five made the markets into a game he couldn't lose.
After a few more minutes of awkward conversation, Miguel rang off with a promise to meet for drinks soon—a promise Liam suspected neither of them would keep.
He closed his laptop, paid for the coffee, and walked toward the bank. The city felt different now that he moved through it with money. People looked at him differently—or perhaps it was just that he carried himself differently.
The meeting at Banco Santander went smoothly. Liam presented himself as a financial consultant who had been working privately for wealthy clients and was now formalizing his business. The bank manager, impressed by his knowledge and the initial deposit of €250,000, offered premium services usually reserved for long-term clients.
By the time Liam left, he had established Torres Financial Consulting's primary banking relationship—the first step in creating a money laundering operation so sophisticated that it would never be recognized as such.
Back in his apartment—which he planned to leave for a luxury condo the following week—Liam opened his laptop again and navigated to the website for Nottingham Forest Football Club. The team had finished the previous season in the bottom half of the Championship, England's second tier. Financial troubles had plagued them for years. The once-great club that had won European Cups under Brian Clough was now struggling to avoid falling into League One.
Perfect.
Liam opened a new document and began typing: "Acquisition Strategy - Nottingham Forest FC." He estimated he would need approximately €25 million to purchase a controlling interest in the club, plus another €15-20 million for immediate operating capital and initial player investments.
At his current pace, he would have those resources within another four to six weeks.
His phone rang again. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Torres? This is Andrea Montella from Betway. I'm calling regarding your account."
Liam's pulse quickened. He'd closed his Betway account two weeks ago after several large wins, withdrawing the funds to a crypto exchange.
"Yes?"
"We've completed a review of your betting patterns and have determined that they violate our terms of service regarding advantage play. Your account has been permanently suspended, and we're investigating similar accounts linked to your IP address and payment methods."
Liam kept his voice calm. "I understand. Thank you for letting me know."
After hanging up, he took a deep breath. He'd expected this. The betting sites had sophisticated algorithms to detect unusual winning patterns. It was why he'd pivoted so quickly to financial markets.
But the call was a warning. If betting companies could flag his patterns, so could financial regulators. He needed to be even more careful.
Opening his Algorithm document, he added a new section titled "Defense Mechanisms" and began listing additional precautions:
1. Use VPNs for all trading activities
2. Never trade from the same location twice in one week
3. Establish accounts under corporate entities, not personal identity
4. Create multiple shell companies in different jurisdictions
5. Keep individual trades below detection thresholds
Liam worked late into the night, refining his system. By the time he finished, it was past midnight. He closed the laptop and walked to the window of his apartment.
Madrid sprawled before him, a tapestry of lights against the darkness. Somewhere out there, Nottingham Forest's scouts were probably watching a player, unaware that in a matter of months, they would be working for a new owner with an unprecedented advantage.
His phone buzzed with a text from a number he didn't recognize: *Unusual trading patterns detected in your account. Please contact compliance immediately.*
Another warning sign. Liam deleted the message without responding. Tomorrow, he would accelerate the creation of his corporate structure. Torres Financial Consulting would become the first of several entities designed to obscure the source of his rapidly growing wealth.
As he turned from the window, his reflection caught in the glass. For a moment, he saw not the sharp-suited financial prodigy of today, but the passionate young analyst who had once lived for the beautiful game.
"It's still about football," he whispered to himself. "Everything is still about football."
But as he prepared for bed, another question nagged at him: if Window Five was just the first ability, what would come next when the 365 days were complete?
And more importantly, what price would the system demand for its gifts?