Leo's life settled into a new, exhilarating rhythm. Mornings were for 'production'—bottling and delivering crates of Clarity to a perpetually eager Mr. Kim. Afternoons were for 'research and development'—tending his garden in the Sanctum and exploring the dome's boundaries. He was making more money than he'd ever dreamed of, all in untraceable cash that he kept bundled in neat stacks in a shoebox under his mattress. The $13.97 in his bank account remained untouched, a comical monument to his former life.
He was so engrossed in his work that he almost forgot about the world outside his secret loops. That world came crashing back in the form of a phone call from his father.
Leo's relationship with his dad was strained. Frank Costello was a proud man, a construction worker who had spent forty years breaking his body for a paycheck and a meager pension. He loved his son, but he didn't understand him. He saw Leo's string of dead-end jobs and cheap apartments as a lack of grit, a failure to just "knuckle down" like he had. They spoke once every few weeks, the calls usually ending in Frank offering well-meaning but useless advice and Leo feeling a familiar sense of inadequacy.
"Leo? It's your father," Frank's gruff voice said through the speaker. "Listen, are you busy Wednesday night?"
"Uh, I don't think so. Why?" Leo asked, busy counting a fresh stack of twenties.
"Good. My buddy from the union, his daughter is a real nice girl. Smart, got a good job in finance. Her name's Jessica. I set something up for you two. Wednesday, 7 p.m. at The Olive Branch downtown."
Leo's heart sank. A blind date. A setup. It was his father's clumsy way of trying to 'fix' his life. "Dad, you really don't have to do—"
"I already did. Don't make me look like an idiot, Leo. Wear a nice shirt. And for God's sake, shave," Frank said, then hung up before Leo could protest further.
Leo stared at his phone with a groan. The last thing he wanted was to be interrogated by some finance girl. But arguing with his father was more trouble than it was worth. Plus, he supposed it might be good to pretend to be a normal person for an evening. He had money now. He could afford a nice dinner.
Wednesday came. Leo showered, put on a brand new button-down shirt (a sixty-dollar extravagance that still made him feel a little guilty) and a pair of clean, non-work jeans. He looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The subtle effects of his new lifestyle were beginning to show. His skin was clearer, his eyes were brighter, and the perpetual slump of exhaustion was gone from his shoulders. Drinking exclusively otherworldly magic water and breathing pristine air, it turned out, was better than any skincare routine.
The Olive Branch was one of those trendy Italian places with dim lighting and expensive tablecloths. Leo felt a tremor of his old anxiety as he walked in, but clutched the crisp hundred-dollar bill in his pocket like a talisman.
Jessica was already there. She was, as his dad had advertised, beautiful. Sharp, intelligent eyes, perfectly styled blonde hair, and a tailored business dress that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. She looked him up and down as he approached, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"You must be Leo," she said, her voice cool and clipped. She didn't offer to shake his hand.
"That's me. Jessica, right? It's nice to meet you," Leo said, sliding into the chair opposite her.
The small talk was brutal. He asked about her week; she gave a detailed rundown of a corporate merger he didn't understand. She asked what he did, and the interrogation began.
"So, Leo," she said, steepling her fingers, looking more like she was conducting a job interview than a date. "Your dad says you're a hard worker. Where are you currently employed?"
"Ah, well, I actually just left my last job," Leo said truthfully.
Her eyebrow shot up. "Left? Or were you let go?"
"No, I quit. I was in logistics, at a warehouse. But I'm starting my own business now."
"Oh?" Her interest seemed to perk up fractionally. "What sector?"
"It's a beverage company," Leo said, feeling a surge of pride. "A premium water brand."
"I see," she said, nodding slowly, though her eyes were filled with skepticism. "Fascinating. So you have investors? A business plan? What's your projected five-year growth?"
Leo blinked. "Uh, right now it's more of a startup. I'm sort of bootstrapping it. It's... organically growing."
"Organically," she repeated the word as if it tasted foul. "And this 'beverage company,' does it have a name?"
"Clarity," Leo said.
She typed the name into her phone's search bar under the table. A few seconds later, she looked up, her expression completely flat. "There's no website. No business registration. No social media presence. Leo, what exactly is your job?"
The condescension in her voice was a physical thing. He could feel his collar getting tight. This wasn't a date; it was a deposition.
"Look, it's new," he started, trying to explain without revealing his impossible secret. "I have a local distributor, and we're scaling up really fast. The product is... very special. It has unique properties."
She let out a small, pitying laugh. "Unique properties? What, is it gluten-free?" She shook her head, the charade of politeness finally dropping away completely. She placed her napkin on the table and picked up her expensive purse.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Leo, because my time is valuable," she said, her voice sharp as glass. "I'm looking for a partner, someone with ambition and a future. You're unemployed, and you're trying to sell me some story about a magic water business you're running out of your apartment."
She stood up, looking down at him with a mixture of disappointment and disdain.
"I'm not wasting my time with you," she said, turned, and walked out of the restaurant without a backward glance.
Leo sat there, baffled. The other diners were studiously ignoring him. The waiter hovered nearby, looking uncomfortable. A year ago, this would have crushed him. It would have been a devastating confirmation of all his worst fears about himself: that he was a loser, a nobody, a failure.
But now? He just felt a strange sense of detachment. He looked at her empty chair, then around at the fancy restaurant. He thought of his patch of earth in the Sanctum, the feel of the pure soil in his hands, the shimmering, impossible forest. He thought of the two hundred dollars he'd made that morning before breakfast.
She saw an unemployed bum with a fantasy. She had no idea she was talking to the sole proprietor of a trans-dimensional import/export business. She saw a dead end, but he was standing at a gateway to a whole new world.
A slow smile spread across his face. He signaled the waiter.
"You know what?" he said cheerfully. "I think I'll have the lobster. And a bottle of your finest red wine."
She wasn't wrong. He didn't have a future. Not one she could ever possibly comprehend.