Chapter 18: The Walking Dead Payoff
The customer walks in like he's entering a shrine.
Middle-aged guy, expensive jacket, the kind of comic collector who treats first issues like archaeological artifacts. He's been in twice before, always browsing, never buying. Today he makes a beeline for the counter.
"You're Stuart, right? The owner?"
"That's me."
"I heard you have Walking Dead #1. Original print run."
Here we go.
The expansion's halfway done—drywall's up, painting starts next week. The shop's operating at about 70% capacity while construction continues. But business hasn't slowed. If anything, it's accelerated.
Because five months ago, I bet heavily on a zombie comic nobody cared about.
Now everybody cares.
"I have a few copies," I say carefully. "They're not for sale."
"I'll give you a hundred dollars per copy."
Behind him, Sheldon looks up sharply from the new releases rack. Leonard, helping me organize back issues, freezes mid-alphabet.
"They're not for sale," I repeat.
"Hundred and fifty."
"Still no."
He pulls out his wallet, starts counting bills onto the counter. "Two hundred. Cash. Right now."
The Walking Dead #1 cost me maybe three dollars wholesale. I ordered fifty copies when nobody knew what it was. Sold maybe fifteen to early customers at cover price. Kept the rest.
Now issue #47 just dropped. Kirkman's on Fresh Air. Entertainment Weekly called it "The Next Big Thing in Comics." The property's generating movie buzz. And first issues are shooting up in value like Bitcoin on steroids.
My thirty-five remaining copies are suddenly worth a fortune.
"I appreciate the offer," I say. "But no."
"You're making a mistake. The bubble's gonna burst. Sell now while they're hot."
The bubble won't burst. I know exactly where this is going. Walking Dead will run for 193 issues. Become a cultural phenomenon. These first prints will be worth thousands.
"I'll take my chances."
He leaves frustrated. Before the door closes, another collector enters. This one's younger, more aggressive.
"Heard you have Walking Dead #1. Name your price."
"They're not—"
"Five hundred dollars. Three copies."
Sheldon abandons all pretense of browsing, walks directly to the counter. "Stuart, that's a 16,566% return on investment. Assuming three-dollar cover price and wholesale discount of approximately forty percent—"
"Sheldon."
"—you paid roughly one dollar eighty per unit. At five hundred dollars per unit, your profit margin—"
"Sheldon, I know the math."
"Then why are you refusing?"
Because in my memory—the future knowledge that tingles through my skull like electricity—these comics will be worth five thousand dollars each by 2012. Ten thousand by 2020. The first print run of Walking Dead #1 becomes one of the most valuable modern comics in existence.
But I can't say that.
"Long-term investment," I tell him. "The series just hit mainstream. Values will keep climbing."
"Your predictive confidence is statistically anomalous," Sheldon says. "Unless you're operating from privileged information about future market trajectories."
Nailed it in one, buddy.
"Just a hunch."
"Hunches don't account for your success rate. Walking Dead, the Bitcoin investment Leonard mentioned, your Apple stock purchase timing. The pattern suggests—"
"A lucky streak," Leonard interrupts, probably trying to save me from Sheldon's interrogation. "Stuart's on a hot streak. It happens."
"Statistically, sustained 'hot streaks' are—"
The door opens again. Third collector of the morning. This one I actually recognize—she's been to two of my tournaments, knows the community.
"Stuart, please tell me you'll sell me one Walking Dead #1. I'll give you two hundred and fifty. My son's birthday—"
"Tell you what." I pull one copy from my personal stack—not the investment copies, one I'd set aside for exactly this scenario. "Eighty bucks. For your son."
Her face lights up. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. But that's the only one I'm selling today."
After she leaves, clutching the comic like winning lottery ticket, Sheldon stares at me.
"You just refused five hundred dollars per copy, then sold one for eighty."
"She's a regular. Her kid actually reads comics."
"You're making business decisions based on sentiment."
"Sometimes that's the right call."
By the afternoon, word's spread. My phone won't stop ringing. Comic shop owners from across LA, wanting advice on what to stock. A blogger from Comic Book Resources emails asking for interview. Someone from IGN wants my predictions for next year's breakout titles.
The Magnetism power is working overtime.
Howard shows up during the chaos, witnessing me field three calls in ten minutes.
"You're like a celebrity now. Comic shop celebrity, but still."
"It's ridiculous."
"It's your Walking Dead call. Everyone wants to know what you're picking next."
"That's the thing—I don't want to be some guru. I just want to run a good shop."
"Too late. You're the guy who called Walking Dead before anyone cared. That's a reputation."
He's right. In the past week alone, I've gotten consulting requests from two other shop owners, invitation to some industry podcast, and three separate offers to "partner" on inventory speculation.
The Magnetism power is supposed to attract industry connections when I discuss comics with professional intent. But it's accelerating faster than expected. Every correct prediction amplifies the effect, creating this feedback loop of credibility and opportunity.
Sheldon returns from examining the expansion construction, carrying a clipboard.
"Your drywall installation is adequate but suboptimal. I've prepared notes."
"Of course you have."
"Also, regarding your Walking Dead investment strategy. I've calculated the optimal sell point based on current market trends, media coverage trajectory, and historical comic speculation patterns."
He hands me the clipboard. There's actually a graph. Multiple graphs. With equations.
"According to my analysis, peak value occurs in approximately eighteen months, followed by gradual decline as speculators flood the market. You should sell at—" he points to a specific spot on the timeline, "—this exact point."
He's wrong. The show will premiere in 2010, sending values stratospheric. Then the long-term cultural impact, the series' legendary 193-issue run, the fact that it becomes the defining zombie story of a generation...
But I can't explain that without revealing impossible knowledge.
"I'll keep it in mind," I say instead.
"Your dismissal of mathematical analysis is troubling."
"I trust my gut."
"Guts don't have predictive capability."
"Mine does."
He studies me for a long moment. "You're hiding something. The probability that someone demonstrates this level of predictive accuracy without proprietary information or analytical framework is approaching zero."
My stomach drops. Sheldon's too smart. He's piecing together a pattern—the Walking Dead call, the Bitcoin investment, the Apple stock timing, my consistent "lucky guesses" about industry trends.
"Some people are just good at reading trends," Leonard offers, having returned from the expansion area. "Stuart pays attention. Does research."
"Research doesn't account for—"
"Sheldon." Leonard's voice goes firm. "Let it go."
They lock eyes. Some unspoken communication passes between them. Finally, Sheldon nods.
"Very well. However, I'm maintaining my documentation of statistically improbable events."
After he leaves, Leonard turns to me.
"He's not wrong, you know. Your track record is... unusual."
"Are you interrogating me too?"
"No. I'm saying be careful. Sheldon collects data. If he starts seriously analyzing your 'predictions,' he'll build a pattern. And once Sheldon finds a pattern, he doesn't stop until he understands it."
"There's nothing to understand. I'm just—"
"Lucky. I know. You keep saying that." Leonard picks up a box of Walking Dead trade paperbacks—I ordered three cases yesterday, they're already selling fast. "But eventually, luck runs out. Or people stop believing it's luck."
He's right. The more successful predictions I make, the more scrutiny I attract. The Magnetism power helps build my reputation, but that reputation creates vulnerability. People start asking questions. Looking for explanations.
And the truth—that I died and woke up with supernatural knowledge of the next twelve years—isn't an option.
"I'll be careful," I promise.
After Leonard leaves, I stand in my half-expanded shop, looking at the framed Walking Dead #1 on the wall behind the register. Issue #1, signed by Robert Kirkman from a convention signing I orchestrated last month. Not for sale at any price.
Five months ago I gambled on this comic based on a tingle in my brain. Now it's worth fifty times what I paid. Eventually, thousands of times.
Everyone thinks I got lucky.
Only I know I'm cheating.
And it feels amazing.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0