4:30 AM. London lay asleep under a cold blanket of blue mist. Inside the cramped Peckham apartment, the only light came from the laptop Arthur had borrowed from Julian. The blue glow reflected in Arthur's sharp eyes, which for the past hour had been scanning the rapidly moving numbers on the Tokyo and Hong Kong stock exchanges.
Beside him, a cup of black coffee sat ignored, cold to the touch. Arthur didn't need caffeine; the adrenaline from his knowledge of the future was far more potent.
"Today is the day," Arthur whispered into the silence of the room.
He recalled the records of economic history he had studied with blood and tears in his previous life. May 15, 2010. On the surface, the market looked stable, but behind the scenes, a major London-based pharmaceutical company, Sterling-Gene, was about to face a disaster. The clinical trial results for their highly anticipated flagship heart drug had failed miserably, reporting fatal side effects.
The news would break at 8:05 AM, exactly when the London Stock Exchange (LSE) opened.
Arthur took a deep breath. His brokerage account balance now stood at £12,000—the result of his small victories in the commodities market yesterday. For him, this was the final bullet for a massive leap. He wasn't going to buy shares; he was going to Short Sell.
With steady fingers, he placed a maximum sell position on Sterling-Gene stock with 1:10 leverage. This was suicide for any sane investor. If the stock rose even slightly before the announcement, Arthur would lose every penny he owned and return to being a pauper in an instant.
7:45 AM. Elena woke up and walked out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes. She stopped when she saw Arthur in the same position he had been in when she went to sleep.
"You didn't sleep at all?" Elena asked, concerned.
"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford yet, Elena," Arthur replied without looking away. "But perhaps after nine o'clock, we can sleep on a much softer mattress."
Elena approached, placing her hand on Arthur's tense shoulder. "Arthur, please... don't do something that will make us run again. I'd rather live simply like this than have to hide from debt collectors."
Arthur took Elena's hand and kissed her palm. "Trust me. This isn't gambling. This is a certainty."
8:00 AM. The LSE opening bell rang virtually on his screen. Sterling-Gene's stock price opened stable at 450 pence. The first few minutes were torture. The price ticked up to 452, then 455. The losses on Arthur's screen began to glow deep red.
Elena's heart sank as she saw the negative numbers. "Arthur, stop now before everything is gone!"
"Wait," Arthur said coldly. "Three... two... one..."
8:05 AM. Flash news appeared on the Bloomberg terminal: "STERLING-GENE CLINICAL TRIALS FAILED: FATAL SIDE EFFECTS REPORTED."
In seconds, the once-stable graph turned into a vertical line plunging downward. 450... 380... 300... 210... 150. Market panic ensued. Everyone tried to sell, but no one was buying—except for Arthur, who was now "covering" his position with an absurd profit.
The numbers on Arthur's monitor changed with a speed the eye could barely follow. £25,000... £50,000... £100,000...
Finally, when Arthur hit the 'Close Position' button at 8:45 AM, the final balance shown was £245,000 (approximately $4.5 Billion Rupiah).
The room suddenly went silent. Only the ticking of the old wall clock could be heard. Elena stared at the screen, her hand covering her mouth. For a woman who, a month ago, had cried because she couldn't afford meat, that number felt like a fictional figure in a dream.
"Is this real?" Elena asked hoarsely.
"Very real, Elena," Arthur stood up, his body feeling light from exhaustion. "This money is enough to buy a secure home in Kensington, fund Julian's servers for a year, and ensure you have the best doctors for your pregnancy."
Arthur walked to the window, looking toward Central London. "Victor Thorne thinks he can trap me with a few thousand pounds of debt. He doesn't know that I just took a small bite out of the elite's 'cake' today."
"But this will attract attention, won't it?" Elena asked, her protective instincts kicking in. "Someone suddenly getting rich from a major company's collapse... the police or detectives will be suspicious."
Arthur nodded. "That's why we're moving today. Hugo has already prepared the moving truck. We won't leave a single trace in Peckham."
An hour later, Hugo arrived with two other well-built men—the recruits he had gathered yesterday. They began hauling Arthur and Elena's simple belongings. Arthur intentionally left behind most of the broken old furniture; he wanted to start a new life without the remnants of poverty.
As they were about to walk out of the flat for the last time, Arthur saw Mrs. Martha standing in the corridor with a sad face.
"Are you leaving, Arthur?" the old woman asked.
Arthur smiled and handed Mrs. Martha a thick envelope filled with cash. "Thank you for looking after Leo, Martha. This is enough for your rent for the next five years. Don't tell anyone where we've gone."
Mrs. Martha was stunned, her eyes tearing up at the sight of the envelope's contents. She could only nod slowly as the group headed down the stairs.
Below, a black SUV Hugo had recently leased was waiting. As the car began to drive away from the slums of Peckham, Arthur looked in the rearview mirror. He saw the shadow of his old self—the frustrated, cruel man—fading away behind the street corner.
"Where to, sir?" Hugo asked from the driver's seat.
"Kensington," Arthur replied firmly. "And after that, call Julian. Tell him to be ready. We strike Zurich soon."
Arthur took Elena's hand, as she cradled the sleeping Leo in her lap. For the first time since returning to the past, Arthur felt he truly had control over his destiny. However, he also knew that as his bank balance rose, the target on his back grew larger. Detective Miller, the policeman who had haunted him before, and the shadows of European aristocrats were already beginning to notice the small ripples he was creating in this financial ocean.