The Zurich bank's private client suite offered a panoramic view of Lake Zurich, but Liam barely noticed the scenery. His attention was fixed on the mounted television showing Sky Sports News, where the chyron at the bottom of the screen read: "BREAKING: Nottingham Forest takeover agreed—mysterious Spanish millionaire to acquire historic club."
"They're calling you 'The Oracle of Madrid' in some financial circles," said Hans Breitkopf, his Swiss banker, as he arranged documents on the polished conference table. "Three months of unprecedented returns tends to attract attention."
"The attention is irrelevant as long as the structures are solid," Liam replied, turning away from the television. "Are they?"
Hans nodded with Swiss precision. "Torres Ventures AG is fully compliant with all regulations. Your wealth originated from documented trading activities and legitimate gambling winnings. On paper, everything is immaculate."
"And off paper?"
The banker allowed himself a thin smile. "As your financial advisor, I can only comment on what is documented." He slid several files across the table. "These require your signature to complete the initial transfer to the Forest acquisition account."
As Liam signed the documents, his phone vibrated with an incoming call from Miguel. He had expected this—Window Five had shown him this call would come precisely now.
"Miguel," he answered. "I assume you've seen the news."
"Director of Football Operations?" Miguel's voice was a mixture of disbelief and excitement. "Liam, what the hell is going on? Three months ago, you couldn't pay your rent. Now you're buying Nottingham Forest and offering me a job?"
"Things have changed," Liam said simply. "I told you I'd found my purpose."
"What purpose? Where did the money come from? There are rumors, Liam—stock manipulation, insider trading, connections to oligarchs—"
"All false," Liam interrupted firmly. "I developed a proprietary trading algorithm. It's been... exceptionally successful."
A pause on the line. "That's it? An algorithm?"
"That's it." The lie came easily now after weeks of repetition. "Listen, I don't have much time. I'm in Zurich finalizing the financing. The job offer is real, Miguel. I need someone I trust, someone who understands football the way I do."
"Why Forest? Why not a Spanish club? Or Liverpool, given your connections there?"
"Forest is undervalued. Two European Cups, massive potential, a sleeping giant ready to be awakened." Liam checked his watch. "I need an answer, Miguel. The press release goes out in three hours."
Another long pause. "The salary?"
"Triple what Liverpool paid you, plus performance bonuses and equity options."
A low whistle. "You're serious."
"Completely. I'll text you the details. Press conference Monday at the City Ground. Be there."
After ending the call, Liam turned back to Hans, who was watching him with undisguised curiosity.
"Your former colleague doesn't seem to fully trust your sudden wealth," the banker observed.
"Trust takes time," Liam replied. "Fortunately, time is on my side."
Hans gathered the signed documents. "The transfers will be completed within the hour. Is there anything else you require before your flight to London?"
"Yes. I need to place another bet on the Africa Cup of Nations."
The banker's eyebrows rose slightly. "Another one? You've already wagered nearly four million euros on various outcomes."
"And I'd like to add another two million on Zambia to win, distributed across multiple bookmakers."
Hans hesitated. "Mr. Torres, as your financial advisor, I must caution you. While your trading success has been remarkable, sports betting at this scale represents significant risk."
Liam smiled. Risk was a concept that had lost meaning since Window Five activated. When you could see the outcome before placing the bet, it wasn't gambling—it was harvesting.
"Your concern is noted, Hans. But I have confidence in my analysis."
Two hours later, Liam's private jet was airborne, bound for London. Yes, you heard that right. For efficiency, he bought a private jet. As the Swiss Alps fell away beneath him, he opened his laptop to review the latest financial reports from his growing empire.
In just three months, he had transformed €20,000 into over €60 million through a carefully orchestrated series of bets, trades, and investments. Each move had been calculated using Window Five to maximize returns while minimizing suspicion.
He had started with sports betting—in-play wagers on football matches where his five-minute foresight allowed him to predict goals, red cards, and penalties just before they happened. Then he moved to horse racing, betting on sudden lead changes that would occur within his window of foresight.
As his capital grew, he shifted to day trading—options with extremely short expiry windows, cryptocurrency flash movements, and high-volatility tech stocks where significant price changes could occur within five minutes.
Now his wealth was distributed across dozens of accounts, investment vehicles, and assets, all structured to appear as the result of algorithmic trading brilliance rather than supernatural foresight.
But the scrutiny was intensifying. Financial regulators had flagged several of his trading accounts for review. Sports betting operators were limiting his wagers or closing his accounts entirely. And journalists were beginning to ask questions about the mysterious Spaniard who had seemingly appeared from nowhere with extraordinary wealth.
His phone chimed with a text from Valentina: *Just saw you on Bloomberg Business. The mysterious Oracle of Madrid? We need to talk.*
Attached was a screenshot of a Bloomberg article with his photograph—taken at Royal Ascot, Valentina cropped out—under the headline: "The Oracle of Madrid: Who is the mysterious trader acquiring Nottingham Forest?"
Liam frowned. The media attention was accelerating faster than he had anticipated. He needed to control the narrative.
He called his PR director, a former journalist he had hired specifically to manage his public image.
"Sarah, have you seen the Bloomberg piece?"
"I'm looking at it now," she replied. "It's mostly speculation, but they've done their homework. They've traced your connection to Liverpool and Benítez. They're asking questions about your trading strategy."
"What's our response?"
"Standard line: Mr. Torres developed proprietary algorithmic trading models that have proven exceptionally successful in identifying market inefficiencies. He values his privacy and is focused on restoring Nottingham Forest to its former glory."
"And if they push harder?"
Sarah hesitated. "The problem, Mr. Torres, is that there's a gap in your story. You went from an unemployed football analyst to a multimillionaire trader in less than six months. That's the kind of rags-to-riches story that journalists salivate over. They won't stop digging."
Liam closed his eyes, using Window Five to glimpse the conversation five minutes in the future. He saw himself still on the phone, instructing Sarah to arrange a controlled interview with a sympathetic journalist. It seemed his future self had decided on a strategy of limited transparency.
"Here's what we'll do," he said, opening his eyes. "Arrange an exclusive interview with The Financial Times. One hour, at my London apartment, focused on my trading strategy and football vision. No personal questions, no questions about specific investments."
"That might help," Sarah agreed. "What about the gambling? If they discover the extent of your sports betting..."
"They won't," Liam said with more confidence than he felt. "Those transactions are properly insulated."
After ending the call, Liam gazed out the window at the clouds below. The speed of events was both exhilarating and concerning. He had anticipated scrutiny, but not this quickly and not this intensely.
He needed the Forest acquisition to close cleanly and quickly. Once he was established as a football club owner, the narrative would shift from his wealth to his sporting ambitions. The financial media would lose interest as the sports journalists took over.
And, crucially, he needed the AFCON bet to pay off. When Zambia won in February, his €6 million in wagers would return nearly €500 million at various odds—enough to secure his financial future permanently and fund Forest's rise for years to come.
His phone rang again—Howard.
"I've just heard from the Football League," his lawyer reported. "They're expediting the Owners and Directors Test as requested, but there's a complication. They're asking for more detailed information about the source of your funds."
Liam had prepared for this. "Send them the audited accounts from Torres Ventures AG and the trading history from the Swiss accounts. Everything is documented."
"They're also asking about your connection to Valentina Reeves. The tabloids have picked up photos of you together, and there are questions about whether her family has financial interests in your business ventures."
That was unexpected. Liam frowned. "Valentina has no financial connection to my businesses. We're dating, nothing more. Make that clear to the League."
"I will. One more thing—Miguel Alvarez has accepted the position. He'll be at the press conference on Monday."
At least that was going according to plan. "Good. Have the contract ready for his signature."
As the plane began its descent into London, Liam activated Window Five again, looking ahead to see if any unexpected questions would arise during the landing process. Nothing significant—just the standard customs inquiries and a paparazzi photographer who would be waiting at the private terminal, tipped off about his arrival.
He texted his security team to be prepared and closed his eyes, allowing himself a rare moment of reflection.
Three months ago, he had been nobody—a failed football analyst with dwindling savings and fading dreams. Now he was on the verge of owning one of England's most historic clubs, dating one of the world's most beautiful women, and commanding a financial empire that grew daily.
All because of Window Five—five minutes of perfect foresight that had changed everything.
And in less than six months, when he received his second power from the mysterious system, who knew what might be possible?
The plane touched down at London City Airport. As Liam disembarked into the private terminal, he spotted the paparazzi photographer just where Window Five had shown he would be. The man began snapping photos frantically.
Liam didn't attempt to hide. Instead, he turned directly toward the camera and smiled confidently.
The Oracle of Madrid had arrived.