The coffee invitation again. Direct. Friendly. Risky. Her curiosity was persistent. Her tech background was relevant. But the potential for exposure… Internal Assessment: Prospect expressing continued interest and proposing informal, in-person meeting. Potential benefits: rapport building, further assessment of skills/personality. Potential risks: probing questions leading to exposure, deviation from operational security protocols. Recommendation: Defer meeting, maintain limited digital contact. He composed his reply carefully:
Theo: Hey Sarah, ceramic bearings can be good but debated! Depends on use case. Crazy busy wrapping up a big project phase right now, coffee's tough to schedule. Maybe sometime down the line though. Will let you know. Keep crushing those climbs!
He put the phone down, the interaction leaving a complex aftertaste. Sarah was smart, driven, and clearly impressed by his work, even if she didn't know its true nature. Keeping her at arm's length felt necessary, but also, strangely, like closing a potentially valuable door. Not yet, he decided. Focus on building the foundation first.
Finding Bike 4 late in Week 7 was another frustrating slog. More calls, another long drive across town chasing a listing that sounded too good to be true (it was), more time sunk into logistics before finally securing the $1100 Specialized Tarmac. The profit margins were still excellent, but the time investment felt increasingly unsustainable as a primary strategy. He performed the enhancement ritual Saturday night, the ten familiar pings echoing in his quiet apartment, each accompanied now by the faint warmth he'd learned to perceive spreading momentarily through the component under his touch. Frame. Ping. Wheels. Ping. Ping...
That Sunday evening, after selling Bike 4 relatively smoothly via the cycling forum for $4100, Theo felt a restless energy that research alone couldn't quell. His bank account was healthy, hitting the five-figure mark for the first time since he got sacked, yet the path forward remained murky. He needed air, movement. Pulling on his worn running shoes, he headed out as dusk began to bleed purple and orange across the suburban sky.
He ran, pushing himself, the rhythmic slap of his shoes on the pavement a counterpoint to the buzz in his head. He ran through his neighbourhood, past the corner stores with their flickering neon signs, the identical rows of tired-looking apartment buildings, then pushed out towards the brighter lights of the downtown core visible in the distance. The air grew cooler, carrying the sounds of distant traffic. Muffled sirens, the growl of engines, the indistinct murmur of a city winding down. His breathing grew ragged, lungs burning with the exertion, but the physical effort felt good, clearing the mental clutter.
Then, as he ran up a small rise on the pedestrian overpass crossing the highway, he saw it, unavoidable, dominating the emerging city skyline, the Bank of America North Quadrant Tower, its familiar sleek, dark glass facade reflecting the last vestiges of daylight, seeming to pierce the darkening heavens. His old prison. His old life.
He slowed to a walk, catching his breath, hands on his knees, staring up at the imposing structure. Years. He'd poured years of his youth, his ambition, his very soul into climbing the slippery, treacherous ladder inside that tower. The brutal eighty-hour weeks that bled seamlessly into weekends, the endless spreadsheets that made his eyes ache, the sycophantic networking events fuelled by cheap wine and forced smiles, the constant, soul-crushing political games, the calculated betrayals he'd both witnessed and participated in... all culminating in that final, silent, humiliating march to the exit, security at his elbows, the weight of his termination like lead in his gut. A familiar wave of cold, impotent resentment washed over him. All that effort. All that sacrifice. For what? To be discarded like faulty software the moment it became politically expedient?
Had it all been a waste? Mostly, the cynic snapped back. But not entirely. He'd learned hard truths in that pressure cooker. He'd learned that corporate loyalty was a costly illusion. He'd learned that appearances were often valued more than substance. He'd learned to read the subtle currents of power, to anticipate threats, to compartmentalize ruthlessly, to strike first when necessary. Trust no one fully. Assume everyone has an angle. Leverage is everything. Protect yourself at all costs. Ugly lessons, maybe, learned in the trenches of soul-crushing middle management, but undeniably useful in the world as it was, both inside and outside those glass walls. He felt a brief, unexpected flicker thinking of a couple of the truly bright junior analysts, their enthusiasm not yet completely extinguished by the corporate machine. He hoped they got out, or at least learned the game before it broke them. Did he miss any of it? The structure? The illusion of status? The bi-weekly direct deposit that didn't really reflect the workload? Not the crushing weight of it, no. But maybe… maybe the clarity of the climb, however rigged the game was? It was hard to admit. But the ceiling there had always felt low, predetermined. His current path, powered by his impossible secret, felt terrifyingly uncertain but limitlessly high. Getting fired had been brutal, but liberating. It had unlocked something extraordinary.
Revenge? He looked at the distant tower, imagining Davies and Chen in their comfortable offices, likely having already forgotten his name, moving on to their next target. The thought of retribution was a cold, satisfying ember deep inside. Maybe someday, he thought, a humourless smile touching his lips. When I have enough power, enough 'F** You' money, to make their downfall a footnote, a rounding error on my quarterly report. But that was a goal for a distant horizon.
He turned away from the tower, back towards his own neighbourhood, picking up his pace again, the rhythmic pounding of his feet matching the renewed focus in his mind. The reflection had clarified things. The past was prologue, fuel for the fire. His focus had to be forward. Bikes were working capital, reliable but inefficient. Computer components were the leading R&D initiative, promising but unproven at scale. The perfect business model was still out there, waiting to be discovered or engineered. The marathon continued, mile by painstaking mile, the billion-dollar finish line still impossibly distant, hidden somewhere in the haze.
Back in his apartment, the familiar clutter felt less oppressive tonight, buoyed by the tangible success of the past two weeks and the sharp focus returning. He updated his ledger, the numbers a concrete representation of progress, fuel for the next stage.
Theodore Sterling - Financial Ledger (End of Week 7)
Starting Balance (Beginning Week 6): $7365.62 (Carried over from End of Week 5)
Income (Weeks 6 & 7):
Sale of Bike 3 (Gary): +$3900.00 (Week 6)
Sale of Bike 4 (Forum Buyer): +$4100.00 (Week 7)
Total Income: +$8000.00
Expenses (Weeks 6 & 7):
Rent Paid (Week 6): -$450.00
Living Expenses (Wk 6 @ New Rate): -$500.00
Rent Paid (Week 7): -$450.00
Living Expenses (Wk 7 @ New Rate): -$500.00
Coffee (Cafe): -$5.00 (Estimated)
Bike 3 Purchase: -$950.00
Bike 3 Sourcing Travel (Est.): -$40.00
Bike 4 Purchase: -$1100.00
Bike 4 Sourcing Travel (Est.): -$60.00
Research/Experiment Materials (Est. coffee, wine, components): -$50.00
Total Expenses: -$4105.00
Net Change (Weeks 6 & 7): +$8000.00 (Income) - $4105.00 (Expenses) = +$3895.00
Ending Balance (End of Sunday, Week 7): $11260.62
Status: Very Stable. Consistent positive cashflow from side hustle maintained (>11k capital). Increased living standards slightly. Primary focus remains identifying a scalable core business. Bike model recognized as limited due to sourcing difficulties. Research identified computer components as leading candidate, but no definitive decision made. Continue current operations while intensifying research & development.