The first thing Bruce did after racing back to the hotel was log into his Swiss bank account online.
Just as he had hoped, the balance, which had been sitting at a little over a hundred thousand dollars, had now surged past ten million. And more transfers were still coming in.
"Perfect."
He pumped a fist in the air again, unable to hide his excitement.
To spread out the risk, he had divided the eighty million dollars across more than twenty betting websites, with additional wagers placed through physical bookmakers. Even after accounting for gambling taxes on the U.K. portion, he was still going to make an absolute killing.
As for the danger of bookmakers manipulating the outcome or refusing to pay, he wasn't overly worried.
Compared to his eighty million, the total amount swirling around the Champions League Final, Europe's hottest annual club match, was enormous. Between regulated betting shops and the far bigger gray-market gambling scene, the money in play was well over forty billion dollars. And the total size of Europe's annual gambling market was vastly larger still. Against numbers like that, Bruce's eighty million barely qualified as a speck.
He was so wired that he barely slept that night.
Still, one sleepless night was nothing compared to what he stood to gain.
Over the three days following the match, the money steadily finished landing in his accounts. The one thing he had worried about most, that the offshore betting sites might refuse to pay, never happened. Every dollar he had won arrived safely in the private Swiss account he had opened in secret.
Because different bookmakers had offered slightly different odds, the final total ended up a little different from what he had expected.
Not less.
More.
By twenty million dollars.
After deducting the gambling tax owed on the U.K. side, his total take came to:
$265 million.
And that was without counting the original eighty million in bank financing, since that amount still needed to go to Google. If he included that, the total pool under his control would have been $345 million.
"After more than two months of planning, scheming, and holding my breath... I finally made my first real fortune."
Thinking back to the moment he had woken up in this life and started building out the whole leverage-on-top-of-leverage plan, Bruce couldn't help feeling a little emotional.
Still, even in the middle of his excitement, one issue kept nagging at him.
Outside the portions handled through the U.K. and Canada, some of the winnings generated through betting sites in other European jurisdictions had not been taxed. Tax evasion was illegal anywhere. Sure, plenty of people played that game, but that didn't mean it was harmless. If he wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble later, he would need to think very carefully about how he moved and used this money.
Knock knock.
A sudden knock sounded at the door.
Bruce closed the banking page, shut the laptop, and went to open it.
"Christopher? I thought you said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."
As he spoke, he stepped aside and let Christopher Ritt into the room.
"The acquisition talks went more smoothly than expected, so they wrapped earlier than planned," Christopher said as he walked in. "I came back ahead of schedule to see how things were progressing on your end."
Bruce poured him a glass of water and set it in front of him.
"Thanks."
"Judging by your face, I'm guessing the acquisition went through?"
"It did. We bought all of Walker Publishing's assets for eight million pounds."
Walker Publishing was a mid-tier American publisher focused on adult nonfiction, mystery fiction, and children's books. Not a giant, but a real operating house.
Christopher handed over the contract.
Bruce read through it carefully from beginning to end, then nodded.
"By the way, before I came back, I already told editorial and marketing to start preparing your three books for release. If nothing goes wrong, they can be on sale in a week."
Bruce smiled.
"Christopher, you may actually be better at being a publisher than you ever were at being an agent."
Christopher chuckled.
"I'm enjoying the new role more than I expected. How about your side? How are things with Rowling?"
"Almost done," Bruce said. "Just one small loose end left."
Christopher thought for a second, then narrowed his eyes.
"Neil Murray?"
Bruce nodded.
"Tomorrow I'll head into London and find you a fake girlfriend to calm down Neil's suspicions."
"No need," Bruce said. "I already found the right candidate."
"Oh?" Christopher looked intrigued. "Where?"
Bruce smiled.
"You'll see tomorrow."
Christopher shook his head.
"You really do enjoy being mysterious. Fine. Tomorrow, then. I'm going to get some sleep. New York to London and then down here wasn't exactly a relaxing trip."
"Get some rest. I won't wait for you for dinner."
Christopher nodded, and Bruce walked him out. After sending him back to the hotel room he had booked for him, Bruce returned to the window and looked out into the deepening night.
"The money problem is handled. Now comes the fun part."
There was a sharp light in his eyes.
It was time to start moving.
The next morning, Bruce opened his laptop and sent Molly Bevin an email.
Ever since she had written him a few days earlier, repeatedly trying to verify whether he really knew Rowling, Bruce had learned her address. Even if she hadn't contacted him, he could have found it anyway. His technical skills were more than good enough.
A short while later, his newly purchased phone rang.
He looked at the unfamiliar number, smiled, and answered.
"Hello? Miss Bevin?"
There was a pause.
Then her voice came through, clear but hesitant.
"You're really going to visit Rowling today?"
"Of course. Christopher and I are going together. And yes, Christopher Ritt is both my agent and Rowling's."
"You said in your email that I could come along..."
"No problem."
"Really?"
"Really. Though I need one favor from you first."
He could almost hear her attention sharpen.
"What kind of favor?"
"It's simple. Rowling's boyfriend, Neil Murray, is a professor in the Exeter medical school. Since I've been visiting Rowling often over the last couple of weeks to ask about writing, he may have gotten the wrong idea. So I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend and clear that up. That's all."
The silence on the line stretched for a moment.
Then Molly said, "I can help you. But I have a condition too."
"Go ahead."
Bruce straightened unconsciously.
"I want to paint Rowling's portrait. And I want her autograph."
"No problem," Bruce said at once. "I can make that happen."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Leave it to me."
"Thank you."
"You're helping me too. We're even. So, nine o'clock? I pick you up?"
"That's fine. But don't come to the bar. If my father sees you, he won't be happy."
She paused.
"Let's do this instead. I'll wait at 8:50 at the east side of the intersection between Rose Street and Carl Street."
"Got it."
Then Bruce added, "This is your mobile number, right?"
"Yes."
"Do you use ICQ?"
"I use MSN," she said, with a brief hesitation.
"Give me your address and I'll add you."
"No."
"Why not?" Bruce frowned.
"Because I don't trust you."
Bruce laughed under his breath.
"Molly, we're friends. Friends exchange contact info."
"We've only met once," she said coolly. "Maybe after today, we'll be friends. Goodbye."
The line went dead.
Bruce looked at the phone and chuckled.
"She's not easy."
He checked the time, then dialed Christopher.
"Christopher. Up."
"I'm already awake," Christopher said. "Getting ready now. I'll come up to your room in a minute."
"No need. Meet me downstairs in the restaurant."
"All right."
Bruce got himself ready, grabbed what he needed, and headed down.
He ordered breakfast for two. Not long after, Christopher came down from upstairs.
"After breakfast, we go see Rowling?" he asked.
Bruce nodded and slid a stack of pages across the table.
"Read this first. I finished it."
Christopher blinked.
"You wrote another one?"
"Wrapped it up the day before yesterday."
Christopher didn't even touch the food. He picked up the manuscript immediately and started reading.
"National Treasure: The Declaration of Independence? ...This is a treasure-hunting series?"
"Yeah. Seven books, give or take."
He had seen all three National Treasure films and four of the Charlemagne Code films. The storytelling DNA was similar, and the main reason the latter had never become as big was that German cinema simply didn't have the same reach. Bruce planned to transplant some of the Charlemagne material into an American setting and fuse it with the kind of large-scale treasure-hunt imagination he knew from later Chinese adventure fiction. Done right, it could become a franchise on the level of Indiana Jones.
Christopher looked up in disbelief.
"Seven? You've already planned all seven?"
Bruce smiled.
"Not even close. Aside from this one, I've mostly figured out the core story for Book Two, The Knights Templar. After that, I only know the broad ideas, what each book might revolve around. The outlines and detailed plots are still completely blank."
Christopher stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head in amazement.
"You really are a genius."
Bruce waved that away.
"Don't just flatter me. Tell me whether it works."
Christopher nodded and turned back to the manuscript.
Bruce had already cleaned up the draft, so there were no glaring errors, no broken phrasing, no clumsy language. And the story itself moved fast. Christopher was pulled in almost immediately.
By the time Bruce finished his breakfast, Christopher was still reading.