"Alright, enough planning for now. Time for dinner," Zane said to the empty room.
He walked to the kitchen. He pulled out food from the refrigerator that he'd bought that morning. After more than a month in the United States, he had eaten enough takeout and fast food. He'd gotten tired of it a long time ago. Tonight, he decided he'd cook for himself. Years of living alone had taught him how to do more than just work with numbers.
Soon, the simple, delicious smell of a cooked steak, roasted asparagus, and garlic potatoes filled the house. It was a good meal, one he felt he'd earned. He sat down at the table, ready to eat, when a sharp knock came from the front door.
Zane opened it to find his neighbor, James Sean, standing on the porch.
"Hey, you're back!" James said, sounding truly relieved. "You disappeared for almost two weeks. I was one day away from calling the cops."
Without waiting for an invitation, James walked right past him. He sat down at the dining table, right across from Zane's plate. They had been neighbors for more than ten years.
"It's fine, James. I just had some business to take care of out of town," Zane said, sounding a little annoyed.
"Right, right. Business," James said with a wave of his hand. "Well, speaking of which, I have something for you. A gift. I hope you like it." He slid a rectangular gift box across the table.
Zane opened it. Inside, carefully folded, was a purple and gold Los Angeles Lakers basketball jersey. A signature in black marker stood out clearly on the fabric. Zane read the note written below it:
May your mother rest in heaven. I hope you find happiness and peace always, Zane. - Earvin "Magic" Johnson
The famous Magic Johnson.
For a basketball fan, this was an amazing gift. While Zane himself wasn't a fan, he knew from his body's memories that the original Zane had loved playing. He even tried out for the NBA draft. The kid had loved the game.
Zane, however, was a practical person. His first thought wasn't about the nice message; it was about the value. How much could this sell for? A thousand dollars, easy. He immediately felt a small bit of guilt for the thought but quickly brushed it aside. Liking money wasn't a bad thing; it was practical.
He narrowed his eyes at his neighbor. "Alright, James, let's just cut to the point. How much are you trying to sell this to me for?"
James leaped to his feet as if he'd been shocked, his face looking very hurt. "Zane! How could you say such a thing? Am I the kind of person who only thinks about money? You're mistaken, my friend. Completely mistaken!"
Zane let out a short, dry laugh. They had been neighbors for over ten years; he knew James's act very well.
"James, please," Zane said, leaning back in his chair. "Let's take a tour of this house, okay? This dining table, that sofa, the TV over there. What about the collection of action figures in my room? Or this juicer," he said, tapping the machine on the kitchen counter. "Doesn't it look familiar?"
Zane stood up and walked toward him. "Which one of these did you not sell to me? You charged my mom $150 for this juicer because it was supposedly 'signed' by Michael Jackson. I think you signed it yourself in the garage. Every time, it starts as a 'gift,' and five minutes later, we're talking about a 'special price just for you'."
The words hung in the air. James, for his part, looked truly crushed.
"Zane... you disappoint me. I thought we were friends, but your words today have stabbed my heart like a dagger. I am bleeding friendship all over your floor!" he declared, clutching his chest like he was in a play.
He then started a long, dramatic speech. Zane could only watch, almost impressed. For thirty minutes, James paced, waved his arms, and talked about their friendship, how pure his heart was, and the incredible, super-human effort it took to get the signed jersey.
"...I fought through a crowd of a million men, battled for three days and three nights, all for this jersey..."
Zane finally held up a hand. He gave up. The man was a force of nature. "Fine. Just tell me the price."
"Price?" James scoffed, his eyes wide as if he was insulted. "You want to put a price on our friendship? On this heartfelt gift? You insult me, sir! You humiliate me!"
"$100," Zane said flatly, cutting him off. "Take it or leave it. The jersey stays, you go. If you don't agree, I'm going to bed."
"Deal!" James chirped without waiting even a fraction of a second. The speed of his answer was amazing.
Zane raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you just saying that talking about money was an insult?"
"Details, my friend, mere details!" James said with a bright, shameless smile. "What are friendly talks if not a performance? To take it seriously would be to damage our friendship, wouldn't it?"
Zane shook his head, a real smile touching his lips for the first time. The man was a shameless hustler who felt no guilt. But he was also very talented. He was convincing, he never gave up, and he had a special way of making you feel good even after he'd just tricked you.
An idea began to form in Zane's mind. This guy is charming, has sales skills, and feels no shame. He'd be a perfect manager for one of the stores...
Zane didn't plan on being tied down to running the day-to-day business of his stores. He needed someone he could trust. And even with James's act, Zane knew from the old memories that James was a good person deep down. He'd saved the original Zane's life once when they were kids and had looked out for him in school. His hustle was a way of life, not a sign of a bad heart.
Three days later, Zane was touring properties with the real estate agent. For the next week, he was a blur of activity. He looked at locations, argued over prices, and set up his new business.
He finally picked seven great spots, all in busy areas near movie theaters and popular shopping centers. He bought the properties for three of the stores and chose to rent the other four.
"Three storefronts just cost me almost two million dollars," Zane muttered to himself as he looked at the final paperwork. The numbers made his head spin. "Add in the deposits for the other four, and my $2.6 million is down to less than $100,000."
The cost was huge, far higher than he had expected. But as he looked at the deeds in his hand, he knew it was worth it. These properties were assets. They were the foundation.
"First thing tomorrow, I take these deeds to the bank and use them to get another loan," he planned. "And then, I'm going to pay a visit to Pixar Animation Studios."
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