The Boy with the Master Plan
Later in the day, Alex sat alone in the living room. Fred and Francine had dozed off in their recliner chairs—exactly as Alex had hoped. He'd gently urged them to rest when he noticed their eyelids drooping, assuring them he'd be just fine on his own.
They hadn't made it to their bedrooms, but that didn't matter. The soft rhythm of their synchronized snoring filled the room, a familiar kind of quiet.
Ignoring it, Alex slipped into the kitchen and pulled a notebook and pencil from his backpack. He returned to the table, flipped open to a blank page, and sat still for a moment—just thinking.
He began to reflect on the knowledge sitting in his mind like organized archives: the film industry, the music business, the state of gaming. The deeper he focused on a subject, the more information surfaced—detailed, structured, interconnected. It wasn't just recalling facts. His mind sharpened with each second of concentration, like a camera lens locking into clarity.
Still, Alex had to reassess quickly.
Film? He saw two realistic entry points: become a child actor or a screenwriter.
The first was easy to access, but unappealing. He had no interest in being in front of the camera, no desire to be someone else's puppet. Acting came with its own set of hazards—exposure, burnout, manipulation. Not worth it.
Screenwriting? Now that had potential. He had the knowledge. The instincts. But he was now only nine. No one would take a child seriously, no matter how brilliant the script. It would take several extra steps—likely a ghostwriter or proxy adult—but it wasn't impossible.
The problem? Hollywood's brutal hierarchy. Get on the wrong side of a producer, a director, even a grip—and your career could vanish before it began. Recovering from failure in that world required luck, timing, or an iron spine.
Or with someone who had profound knowledge and insight about the in and out of the industry, wouldn't pose much of an issue as long as he stayed vigilante.
Music? A slightly more open path. If you had the talent, and could break in. Write a hit, and you're in the spotlight. But staying there? That was a minefield. Contracts were traps. Royalties one could receive could be miniscule, if one was unware of how the industry. Entire catalogs stolen out from under artists.
And trapped in an ironclad contract that would suck, very value an talent artist had even after their death.
And unlike acting, music demanded constant reinvention. Fame was fleeting unless you were a marketing genius—or backed by one.
Sure, successful musicians often made double what actors did. But their were a lot of pitfalls one had to dodge first.
Alex shelved both for the time being, he still wanted to enjoy his childhood in relative peace.
Then his thoughts drifted to the one industry still in its infancy.
Video games.
Right now, it was in shambles. Just two years ago, cheap, low-effort titles and hardware oversaturated the market. The 1983 crash gutted the industry. Revenues plummeted from over $3 billion to just $100 million. Western developers were still licking their wounds.
But change was coming.
In ten months, Nintendo would enter the U.S. market with the Nintendo Entertainment System. That single console would redefine everything. NES would resurrect the gaming world with polished hardware, tight quality control, and groundbreaking titles one after another.
Alex already knew titles.
Super Mario Bros.
Metroid.
Donkey Kong.
The Legend of Zelda.
Castlevania.
Each one a juggernaut.
Nintendo wasn't just going to revive a battered industry in the west—it was going to build a legacy. It would become the Disney of gaming, focused on families, fun, and iconography of first party titles. Soon after, SEGA would rise to challenge them, battling for dominance through the 3rd to 6th generations. Then Sony would enter and flip the script entirely.
But all that was years away.
Right now? The market was quiet. Empty. Full of doubt here in the western market.
A blank canvas.
A sleeping giant.
And Alex had the blueprint. The knowledge. The insight to build something before the world realized the game was about to re-emerge.
He could see the path clearly. Unlike music or film, there were no towering gatekeepers yet. The audience was out there. Hungry for quality. For innovation. For worlds to escape into.
And more importantly, the video game industry would one day surpass the combined value of both film and music.
The only two things standing in his way:
1. Finding the right people to help those with a hungrier, individuals he could rely on, and willing to take a leap.
2. Acquiring enough capital to start something real.
The second would soon be resolved, hence Alex began considering his first hurled.
Alex took a breath and pressed pencil to paper.
Why was Alex writing his thoughts down? Because putting his thoughts on the page helped him focus. Kept his mind from drifting too far. With everything swirling inside his head, writing brought clarity. Order.
He began jotting down titles. Concepts. Names of potential collaborators. Outlines of studio ideas.
This was no longer a dream.
It was a plan.
As the minutes passed, the sound of pencil scratching against paper filled the room, broken only by the occasional creak of Fred's recliner as he shifted in his sleep.
Alex leaned forward, brow furrowed in concentration. Page after page in his notebook filled with scribbles—diagrams, level sketches, gameplay loops, pacing mechanics. He wrote with a rare kind of conviction, the kind only someone who'd already seen the finished product could muster.
The Legend of Zelda.
The title sat boldly at the top of the page, underlined twice. Not just a game—a mythology. A world built on courage, wisdom, and power. A young hero. A sprawling overworld. Dungeons, puzzles, secrets. Freedom.
It wasn't just fantasy—it was structure. Challenge. Discovery. Wonder.
And, more importantly, it was unlike anything the market had seen before.
Top-down perspective.
Open-world exploration.
Non-linear progression.
Item-based unlocking systems.
Epic musical themes.
He could already hear it—the sweeping chiptune overture. The kind of music kids would hum in arcades long after they'd gone home.
The more he wrote, the clearer it became: this would be his first offering. His way into the world. A game that would plant his flag in the medium and show what kind of experiences he could create.
But he couldn't do it alone.
His eyes lifted from the page as a new thought struck him.
Mark and Michael.
They were his best shot. Both sharp. Inquisitive. From what Alex had observed, they were already curious about technology and programming. They had the hunger—just not the experience.
That was fine. Passion could be shaped. And Alex had just the project to teach them everything.
But he'd need to test their interest first. Gauge how open they'd be to the idea of making a game—his game. And more importantly, he needed to know if they could trust him, and if he could trust them with what came next.
He tapped the pencil against the table.
Trust. That was still fragile. He'd only just woken from a six-month coma, and now he was acting... completely different. Smarter. Calmer. More focused. It wouldn't go unnoticed.
Even with his old memories intact, the "him" now was a far cry from the boy they used to know.
He'd have to be careful. Strategic.
No talk of the future. No mention of cognitive amplifiers. No hints that he knew The Legend of Zelda would one day sell millions.
This had to come from the heart. Grounded. Real.
He'd present it as a spark of inspiration—something that came to him while recovering. A cool idea for a game. Let the idea speak for itself.
Flipping to a new page, he began drafting the pitch:
Game Title: The Legend of Zelda
Genre: Action-Adventure / Fantasy
Perspective: Top-down
Platform: Home console (or PC with NES-style controller)
Core Gameplay Loop:
Explore overworld
Discover dungeons
Solve puzzles
Defeat bosses
Earn key items (boomerang, bow, bombs, hookshot)
Unlock new areas using acquired items
Face the final boss and save Princess Zelda
Visual Style: Pixel art—earthy tones, simple but iconic silhouettes
Sound: Orchestral-inspired chiptune melodies; looping dungeon and overworld themes
Tone: Mysterious, adventurous, slightly melancholic
Alex stared at the page and smiled.
Sure, he'd have to polish the gameplay mechanics and scale them down for the hardware limits of the time. But the bones were solid. It was all there.
He could already picture it: a kid playing the game late at night, eyes wide as they uncovered a secret cave behind a waterfall. Solving a tricky puzzle. Feeling the rush of picking up the Master Sword for the first time.
This was it.
He tore the page from the notebook and folded it neatly. Then he flipped to a clean sheet—crafted a tighter, more digestible summary. And finally, a third: the opening of a Game Design Document, just enough to spark Mark's curiosity about dungeon layout and overworld logic.
He closed the notebook and stood quietly. Fred and Francine were still asleep, Fred snoring lightly with a thread of drool on his chin. Francine lay dozing peacefully beside him.
Tomorrow. He'd ask Mark and Michael to meet up—just the three of them. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere they could talk.
This wasn't just a game. It was the beginning of something bigger.
A vision. A future. A foundation.
And it all started with a boy, a sword, and a kingdom in need of saving.
Later in the Day
"Hey, well... at the very least, we can relax knowing Alex is finally home," Ashley said, her voice light but tinged with lingering concern as she climbed the stairwell alongside her siblings.
The soft thud of footsteps echoed off the old walls of the apartment building as the three carried shopping bags and school satchels. Duke led the way, casually tossing a bag over his shoulder, while Ashley walked beside Jennifer, who kept her eyes ahead, silent and contemplative.
Ashley glanced at her sister, smiling faintly. Their relationship had been tense in recent months—strained by stress, grief, and guilt—but with Alex back and doing better, things between them had begun to thaw. Small signs. Softer words.
"But we still need to stay cautious," Duke said suddenly, breaking the quiet rhythm. "We can't be sure if Alex's condition is permanent. We have to monitor him, like Dr. Green advised."
His voice wasn't cold, just firm—logical. But it struck a nerve.
"Ugh, why do you always have to be so negative?" Ashley groaned, her pace slowing as she shot him an irritated look. "Do you really have to bring that up right now?"
Duke blinked, caught off guard. "I'm just repeating what the doctor said. It's not like I want something to be wrong with him."
Ashley crossed her arms, clearly annoyed, and turned to Jennifer, hoping for backup. But Jennifer wasn't on anyone's side today. Her brows were drawn tightly together, a silent storm behind her eyes. She looked down at the floor, saying nothing—but her expression spoke volumes. Dissatisfaction, unease, maybe even guilt.
Duke noticed, frowning slightly. He wasn't trying to be the villain here. He was just being realistic. Someone had to be.
They reached the apartment door, a quiet pause falling over the group.
Duke exhaled and raised his hand to knock.
A few seconds later, a muffled voice called from behind the door—soft and familiar.
"Who is it?"
"It's Duke, Miss Esposito. I'm here to pick up Alex," he replied, leaning in slightly so his voice would carry through the old wood.
Ashley adjusted the bags in her hands while Jennifer shifted her weight from one foot to the other, lost in thought.
Behind the door, they could hear slow footsteps approaching—then the soft click of a lock turning.
Moments later, the door creaked open.
Revealing Francine wearing blue flowered apron, a she showed a gentle smile.
" Oh, you're all back early," she commented, as the three teenagers stood in the hallway. " Well come on in I was finishing making launch come joy us. "
Francine said, gesturing the three to come inside.
The three teens glancing back each other nodded and entered.
----------
Capital
The Esposito apartment smelled of simmering tomato sauce and freshly baked bread. The rich aroma filled the cozy kitchen as Fred cheerfully stirred a bubbling pot while humming an old jazz tune. Francine moved with practiced ease, placing bowls of salad and platters of garlic bread onto the dining table.
Alex sat at the table with a content look on his face, flanked by Duke, Ashley, and Jennifer. Though there had been awkward moments earlier, the warm atmosphere made it easier to talk and laugh again.
Fred, ever the host, was in high spirits. "Now this is what I call a proper family lunch," he declared, waving a wooden spoon dramatically. "You kids eat up! You've got to grow strong bones and sharper brains if you wanna survive high school."
Ashley giggled while Jennifer rolled her eyes—but the fondness in her expression betrayed her amusement. Duke dutifully began setting the table while Alex helped Francine carry the final tray of roasted vegetables from the counter.
After lunch, the four of them stayed to help tidy up the place. Ashley dried the dishes while Duke washed, Jennifer began sweeping the floor, and Alex helped Francine organize the spice cabinet—though he spent half the time quizzing her on old recipes. Fred, of course, "supervised" from his recliner with his eyes half-closed, muttering occasional jokes between soft snores.
Elsewhere in the city, Martha stepped out of the school building just as the late afternoon sun dipped behind the rooftops. The faculty meeting had dragged on longer than expected, leaving her both mentally drained and slightly anxious.
Hailing a taxi, she climbed in with a sigh. "Maple Avenue, please," she told the driver, running a hand through her curly dark hair as she leaned back.
By the time she reached their apartment building, her nerves were beginning to fray. The halls were quiet as she unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
"Kids I'm home?" she called out, setting her bag down and looking around. As she removed her scuff that hid her ross neck tattoo whenever she went out.
Silence.
A frown tugged at her lips. The apartment was still and undisturbed, but the absence of voices—or Duke's usually music playing softly in the background—sent a ripple of worry through her.
Martha searched around the apartment finding no one inside.
She grabbed her coat again and walked down the hall, knocking gently at the Espositos' door.
It opened moments later, and she was greeted by a delightful sight: her four children chatting and cleaning, laughter echoing off the walls while Francine and Fred offered them gentle instructions. Relief poured into her chest like warm sunlight.
"Everything alright?" Francine asked kindly.
Martha nodded, smiling. "More than alright. I was just... worried when I came home to an empty apartment."
"You've raised good kids," Fred said with a wink. "They even volunteered to spark up the place. Sorry if we worried you by keeping them this long? "
" Not, at all. I'm happy as long to no their not giving you an trouble. " Martha said, waving the matter of, since Alex accident she become more anxious about her children safety.
Wanting to know exactly where they were at all times for her peace of mind.
Martha shared a warm laugh with them, catching up briefly over tea with the old couple before excusing herself to let the kids finish up. Back in her apartment, she stepped into the bathroom, letting the stress of the day melt away under a hot shower. Later, wrapped in her robe, she curled up on the couch with a jar of cookies, flipping on the TV to finally—finally—enjoy a moment of peace.
Elsewhere
Across town, Oliver stood at the edge of a busy construction site, clipboard in hand. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the half-framed structure behind him. Workers moved about with practiced efficiency as he noted down measurements, inspected materials, and checked off budget allocations from a sheet clipped to his clipboard.
A foreman now, Oliver's role had shifted from physical labor to coordination—though he still liked getting his hands dirty once in awhile.
Years of grueling hard work hand made his body ech if he went to long without being physically active. It had turned into a habit which Oliver didn't complain about having.
By 5:00 PM, the worksite began to wind down. Oliver climbed into his pickup truck, tossing the clipboard onto the passenger seat.
As he reached for his keys, the glovebox door slipped open slightly—just enough for a folded piece of paper to slide out and land in his lap.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Unfolding the sheet, he saw five rows of numbers written neatly in Alex's handwriting. Next to it, still stuffed in the side compartment, were the loose bills his son had given him that morning.
The memory came back clearly now—Alex pulling him aside, whispering, "Buy these numbers. No questions asked."
Oliver frowned, running a hand over his face. What am I supposed to do with this?
The boy had just come out of a six-month coma. Before that, he'd struggled with focus and communication. Now, overnight, he was sharp—too sharp. Articulate. Thoughtful.
It was like talking to a completely different child.
And that scared Oliver more than he wanted to admit. Though the change brought him immense joy as this gave Alex the chance to live a normal life.
Still… how was he going to talk to Alex about this type of things.
He let out a slow breath, started the engine, and made a detour. At the corner convenience store, he walked inside and quietly purchased five lottery tickets, each with the numbers Alex had written.
Deciding it would be best to directly show Alex the harsh reality in this type gambling. Than advice the boy at length and hope the disappointment of losing his own savings in this sort of gambling, can persuade further activities in this area.
As he stepped back into his truck, he shook his head and chuckled softly to himself. "This better not become a habit, kid."
Back at the apartment, the door swung open as Duke, Ashley, Jennifer, and Alex stepped inside, all a bit tired but carrying the joy of a good afternoon. Ashley and Jennifer each held containers packed with food made by Fred and Francine.
They found their mother lounging on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mug of tea in her hands and the soft glow of the TV flickering across her relaxed face.
"Hey, Mom," Duke called out.
Martha turned to them with a bright smile. "There you are. I was starting to think the Espositos adopted you."
"We considered it," Ashley joked, setting the food down. "Francine's a great cook."
Jennifer smiled faintly and added, "They needed help cleaning. We stayed a little longer."
Alex walked over to Martha, leaning in to give her a quick hug before plopping down beside her. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his hair.
"I'm glad you had a good day," she said, her voice warm.
Alex smiled. "It was perfect."
Evening – Williams Apartment
The front door clicked open with a quiet creak, and a familiar voice called out, "I'm home."
Oliver stepped inside, the scent of garlic and roasted vegetables still lingering in the air. His thick work boots made soft thuds against the apartment floor as he set them aside. His rough, calloused hands were still stained with dust and concrete, but the tired smile on his face was genuine.
Martha looked up from the couch, setting her tea down as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. Her hand gently cupped his jaw.
"Hey, beautiful," he murmured.
She chuckled softly. "Welcome back. How was work?"
"Busy. Loud. Dirty. The usual," Oliver replied, pulling off his jacket and glancing around the room.
"Everyone doing alright?" he asked, looking around at his kids as he unbuttoned the top of his work shirt.
"Pretty good," Duke said casually, while Ashley and Jennifer exchanged amused looks from the kitchen. Alex raised a hand in a lazy thumbs-up from the couch.
"We survived," Martha said with a smile as the kids murmured varying degrees of agreement.
"Good," Oliver nodded. "I'm gonna rinse off real quick. Be right back."
A few minutes later, freshly showered and changed into sweatpants and a clean white tee, Oliver returned to the living room. His hair was still damp, and the scent of soap clung faintly to him as he dropped onto the couch beside Martha.
"Pass the remote?"
Martha handed it over without question, though her brow rose slightly. Oliver flipped through the channels until he landed on a local station, a soft jingle playing as the screen displayed Tonight's Jackpot Draw: Live in 30 seconds.
"Alex," Oliver called. "Come over here."
Perking up immediately, Alex bolted over from where he'd been reorganizing the bookshelves and squeezed himself between his parents on the couch, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Hearing his name, Alex dashed over eagerly, squeezing himself between his parents on the couch like it was his designated spot. Martha blinked as her tea sloshed slightly from the impact.
"Alex," she scolded gently, reaching over to pinch his cheek. "You can't just dive in like that."
He squirmed with an exaggerated pout. "A little warning next time?"
Alex wiggled free, laughing. "You two need to get a room."
Martha shot him a sharp look, but the amusement was clear on her face.
Oliver chuckled while Alex made a face, clearly thinking, Geez, these two need to get a room.
Across the room, his siblings were having the exact same thought.
Ashley nudged Jennifer with her elbow and whispered, "Do you see Mom's hand under Dad's shirt?"
Jennifer nodded, face blank. "They do remember we're still in the room, right?"
Duke groaned under his breath. "They really don't."
They were old enough to know exactly what that meant, they collectively shuddered.
"Ew," Jennifer muttered under her breath.
Oliver finally settled on the channel. The host—a sharply dressed man with a toothy grin—stood beside a glamorous woman in a red dress, both beaming at the camera as the opening theme faded.
As the theme played, Martha's gaze narrowed. She leaned back slightly and gave her husband a sideways look.
"What are we watching this for?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.
Oliver didn't answer right away. Instead, reaching into his pocket and pulling out five crisp lottery tickets. He turned and handed them to Alex.
Martha's brows shot up in confusion. Her eyes flicked from the tickets to her husband, then to Alex, then back again. "Oliver?" she asked, more sternly this time.
Across the room, Ashley, Duke, and Jennifer came over, suddenly more invested than they expected to be. Their confused expressions mirrored their mother's, though theirs carried more curiosity than concern.
Oliver held up a calming hand and said quietly, "I'll explain everything later."
Martha's mouth opened—then closed again. Her gaze dropped to the tickets now clutched in Alex's hands. The boy wore a confident expression, his legs swinging slightly off the edge of the couch.
"You bought lottery tickets?" Martha asked, as angry began to bubble.
Jennifer looked curious. Ashley blinked. Duke's jaw slackened slightly.
Alex, for his part, was beaming. His fingers curled around the tickets confidently, as if he already knew the outcome. The living room's attention now revolved entirely around him.
The host's voice boomed from the TV, cheerful and dramatic. "Alright folks, it's that time again! Tonight's jackpot total stands at a life-changing five million dollars. With second and third place winners of 1.2 million dollars and 250 thousand dollars. Time to find out who's tonight's lucky winners!"
The glamorous assistant stepped forward, spinning the numbered drum.
Alex sat upright, eyes laser-focused on the screen. Martha, arms crossed now, watched Oliver intently.
The numbers began to roll.
One by one, the balls dropped. The announcer's voice rang out for the third place ticket holder.
"First number... 08!"
Alex's eyes scanned the tickets quickly, finding one that matched. He gave a little nod to himself.
"Next up... 19!"
Another match.
"No" Martha blinked. Glancing over at the numbers on the ticket Alex was holding.
"Number three... 37!"
"Are you kidding me?" Duke said aloud, leaning closer as he stared down at the ticket in Alex's hand.
Oliver leaned forward, his expression rigid, heart thudding in his chest.
As the fourth and fifth numbers rolled in—41... 26—Oliver's face drained of color. He glanced down at the tickets. Two of them now had four matching numbers.
Then came the final number for one of the games.
"Final number... 52!"
Oliver stared.
One of the tickets matched all six numbers.
The host's voice picked up with cheerful excitement. "If you're holding ticket #08-19-37-41-26-52... congratulations! You're our second-prize winner of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!"
A stunned silence followed. Martha's jaw dropped. Duke's eyes widened. Ashley and Jennifer's mouths hung open.
Oliver stared at the slip like it might combust. His expression froze—somewhere between disbelief and awe.
"That's... no way," he muttered, reaching for the ticket. "Let me see that again."
He double-checked the numbers. Then again. Then again.
It was real.
One ticket—worth $250,000.
The second place didn't cause much fanfare within them as they still realed in shocked at their winning, as the announcer's voice rang out.
Then came the third draw for the grand prize.
"Third draw begins now. First number... 14!"
Again, one of the tickets matched.
Number by number, the sequence rolled in. 14... 03... 46... 27... 11... 05.
As the final number echoed through the speakers, Oliver slowly turned the second winning ticket in his hands. It matched. Every. Single. One.
The host clapped his hands. "And if you have these numbers—14-03-46-27-11-05—you just won five million dollars!"
Dead silence.
Alex beamed.
Oliver ran a hand down his face, muttering something inaudible under his breath. His chest rose and fell with disbelief. His mouth opened—but no words came out. He turned and stared at the two tickets in stunned silence. His breath caught in his throat.
Martha, now blinking rapidly, turned her head in slow motion toward her husband. "Did you just…"
Alex held up the tickets like a magician revealing his final trick. "I told Dad to buy them."
"You what?" Jennifer said, nearly dropping the container she was holding.
Oliver didn't even look up. His voice came out low, disbelieving. " 5 million. That's 2.6 million dollars after taxes."
Duke stared at Alex like he was an alien. "Are you psychic now? Is that a thing?"
Alex, still smiling, shrugged. "Just lucky I guess. "
The rest of the kids sat in stunned silence.
A quarter million dollars.
Then five million.
And none of them—not even Oliver—knew what stunned them more:
The fact that the numbers had hit…
Or the fact that Alex didn't seem surprised at all.
Moments Later.
The living room was frozen in stunned silence, broken only by the soft, cheery outro music of the lottery broadcast.
Five. Million. Dollars.
And another two hundred and fifty thousand on a second ticket.
Oliver still hadn't moved. The two winning tickets sat between his fingers, crinkled slightly from his grip. His broad chest rose and fell, slow and heavy.
Martha finally spoke, eyes wide and voice hushed. "This isn't... some prank, right? Tell me this isn't one of those fake late-night giveaway shows."
"Nope," Oliver said, still staring ahead. "I bought those tickets. Today. With the numbers Alex gave me."
Ashley sank into the nearest chair like her legs gave out. "That's… that's almost six million dollars."
Jennifer was pacing now, gripping the back of the couch. "That's not possible. That can't be possible. I mean—what are the odds of that happening?"
"About one in fourteen million," Alex said calmly, as if quoting a textbook.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Duke narrowed his eyes. "Okay, no offense, but who are you right now?"
Alex shrugged, still grinning. "Just me. Same old Alex."
"No," Jennifer shot back. "Old Alex couldn't even spell 'probability' without help, and now you're casually quoting statistical odds like you're a math teacher."
"Actually, probability is quite fascinating. Did you know—"
"Alex," Martha interrupted, her voice sharp but shaking. "Honey. You need to be honest with us. Where did you get those numbers?"
"I told you," Alex said, expression still unreadable. "I just guessed."
Alex flash the three other tickets in his hands, which he had bought for this reason of throwing his parents off. Making it seem as he had just got lucky this time around.
"No one guesses like that," Duke muttered. Contemplating the odds of someone guessing two winning tickets at random.
Oliver exhaled slowly and finally set the tickets down on the coffee table as if afraid they might explode.
"Okay," he said, his voice calm but deliberate. "First thing we do is not talk about this outside this apartment. Got it?"
Everyone nodded quickly—even Alex, who now seemed content to just observe their reactions.
"Second," Oliver continued, "we need to verify the win tomorrow. Quietly. Carefully. No crazy spending. No announcements. Just... get it confirmed."
Ashley raised her hand like she was in school. "And then what? Just pretend we didn't win?"
"No," Martha said, rubbing her temples. "We accept it, we plan. But this kind of money can change things. It will change things. And not always in a good way."
Jennifer sat down slowly, her voice suddenly small. "So we can't even tell Uncle David or Uncle Daniel? What about school? Taxes? What do we even do with that much money?"
Oliver looked to his wife.
Martha exhaled. "First we breathe. Then we talk to a lawyer and a financial advisor, David can help us with that."
For a few moments, the family just sat there—reeling in the realization that life, as they knew it, had changed.
Ashley glanced at Alex. "And you, little genius, better be ready to explain more later."
Alex smiled sheepishly and leaned into his mother. "Can we still have cookies?"
That broke the tension. Martha let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. "You just made us millionaires and you're asking for cookies?"
"I'm still nine."
Duke snorted. Jennifer giggled. Even Oliver chuckled under his breath.
Martha ruffled Alex's hair. "Fine. But I'm baking them fresh tomorrow. Tonight, you're going to bed early."
"Wait—so I win us millions, and I still have a bedtime?"
"Absolutely," Oliver said with a grin. "Rich or not, you're still our kid. And don't think you're going to see a single penny of it until you're eighteen. "
Alex rolled his eyes at this buy the time he was eight they'd most definitely be billions by then, this was just chump change to him. Just enough to get him started and not worry about the day to day.
Alex trusted his parents to handle this sum of cush without any issues.
Alex groaned theatrically. "Tyrant. I live under tyranny."
Later That Night
The apartment had quieted. Ashley and Jennifer were curled up in their shared room, whispering about everything from shoes to security. Duke lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling, replaying Alex's calm expression again and again.
In the master bedroom, Martha and Oliver sat in bed, the winning tickets resting in an envelope on the nightstand like sacred relics.
Martha pulled the blanket tighter, as she layed on top of Oliver chest. "You think he really just guessed those numbers?"
Oliver rubbed his chin, staring at the ceiling. "No. If it was just one ticket then yes, but two what's the likelihood of that. But I don't think he's lying either. I think... something changed during his coma."
Martha nodded slowly. "Yeah. I've been thinking that too."
"Do we worry?"
She asked hesitantly, worry aching her face.
"I already am." Oliver responded solemnly.
They fell into silence again.
Finally, Martha whispered, "What if this is just the beginning?"
Oliver didn't answer right away. He reached over, turned off the bedside lamp, and stared into the dark.
"Then we hold on tight. And protect our boy. No matter what."