Tony sat at the bank counter, filling out the form with care. The account officer, a middle-aged guy with a tired smile, glanced over it. "Sir, why don't you head to our premium lounge? They'll get your account set up faster there."
"Sounds good," Tony said, grabbing his stuff and heading toward the lounge.
He knew the $120,000 deposit he'd listed was his ticket in. The premium lounge was all sleek furniture and hushed voices, a world away from the regular banking floor. A young woman, maybe 25, greeted him with a professional smile.
"Welcome, sir. Please have a seat. I'll handle your account opening. Just hand me the form," she said.
Tony slid the form across the table. She scanned it quickly. "Mr. Stark, everything looks good. We'll have your account ready in about 15 minutes. Can you provide the initial deposit you mentioned?"
"Yeah, here you go," Tony said, placing the cash on the table. "Can I also get a debit card and a checkbook?"
"Of course," she replied, passing the form and money to an assistant. "It'll take about an hour. In the meantime, would you like me to go over the perks of our gold-tier membership?"
"Sure, why not," Tony said, leaning back. The assistant slipped out, and the woman, whose name tag read Mary, launched into a spiel about exclusive benefits—higher interest rates, priority service, the works.
Forty minutes later, the assistant returned with a passbook, checkbook, and a shiny new debit card. Tony thanked them and headed out, the weight of his new start settling in.
He drove the Mustang home, parked it with precision, and went straight to his room. Sitting on his bed, he started thinking about the $173,000 he had left. Then it hit him—a memory from his past life. A guy had spent five years cracking the lottery's code, nailing the winning numbers three times in a year before the lottery board caught on and changed the formula. Tony had tested it himself back then, using it over sixty times. It worked.
He didn't remember the exact numbers, but the formula? That was burned into his brain. Grabbing a pen and paper, he got to work.
August was the eighth month. Square of 8 is 64. Reverse it, you get 46. The nearest perfect square root to 46 is 7, and 54 (the highest number you could pick) minus 7 is 47. Then 47 minus 8 is 39. Finally, 7 minus 8 gives 1. So, the numbers were 08-46-07-47-39-01.
Tony snatched his keys and sped to the nearest lottery store. He bought a ticket with those numbers, then grabbed 242 more tickets for a guaranteed $35,700 payout each. The jackpot was a juicy $18 million—nobody had won for the past three times. The whole process took two hours, and the results would drop the day after tomorrow.
With that done, Tony swung by a travel agency and booked a flight from LaGuardia to Austin, Texas. The ticket cost $400—steep, but August was peak travel season with summer vacations in full swing. He'd always wanted to produce a film, and he knew a director in Austin who could make it happen.
Back home, Tony found Emilia in the living room, jotting down the café's daily numbers. He took a deep breath, knowing this next part might sound wild. "Grandma, I gotta go to Texas tomorrow morning. I'm planning to produce a film. Found a solid director."
Emilia paused, pen hovering over her notebook. The silence stretched for a minute, feeling like forever. Then she looked up, her eyes soft. "Tony, I trust you. Whatever you're doing, I've got your back. Just be careful, okay?"
"Thanks, Grandma," Tony said, relief washing over him. "I'm excited for you to see this film."
He headed upstairs, packed two outfits for the trip, and came back down for dinner. The table was loaded with all his favorites—Emilia had gone all out for his birthday. They ate and chatted, her telling stories from the café, him sharing how smooth the bank visit went.
"Grandma, I've got an idea for the café," Tony said, hesitating. "Promise you won't get mad?"
She laughed, waving a hand. "It's your birthday, kiddo. Why would I get mad? Spill it."
"Why don't we turn the café into a chain? We could start by building new locations on the land we own in Times Square and Wall Street," Tony said, remembering how people mocked Emilia for buying those lots years ago. Now, they were goldmines for foot traffic.
Emilia's face softened, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "I thought about that last year, but there's so much competition. We'd need something special to stand out."
"Don't worry, Grandma. I've got a plan," Tony said with a reassuring grin. "I'll lay it all out when I'm back from Texas. Plus, we've got a huge edge—we own that land outright. Nobody else does. You saw the potential way before anyone else."
His confidence melted her doubts, and she smiled, piling more food onto his plate. After dinner, Tony headed to bed while Emilia tackled the dishes.