(Start of Week 26. Theo's Balance: $61,876.00)
Week 26 - Monday
Monday morning, Week 26. For the first time since buying the chicken shop, Theo didn't automatically reach for his work apron upon waking. He settled onto his couch, not with dread or frantic energy, but with a sense of detached command. He opened his laptop, navigating not to supplier websites or prep schedules, but to the newly installed Ring camera app.
The four feeds popped up, clear and stable. 8:45 AM. Inside Maria's Charcoal Chicken, Henry was unlocking the back door, letting Olivia and Jenny in. Theo watched as Henry, without hesitation, pointed towards the prep list taped to the walk-in fridge door, assigning initial tasks. Olivia immediately started portioning out fries from the large sacks of fresh potatoes delivered earlier, while Jenny began meticulously checking the seasoning levels on the prepped chicken pieces waiting for the rotisserie. Henry himself moved towards the POS system, booting it up for the day.
Theo observed for only a few minutes, a cool satisfaction settling over him. No hesitation, no confusion. Just quiet competence. Henry was stepping up. The team was functioning. His presence wasn't required for the gears to turn. He minimized the camera feeds, feeling a liberating sense of distance he hadn't experienced since his corporate days, but this time, the distance felt earned, controlled, strategic. His focus now wasn't on selling chicken. It was on empire building. And step one of that involved monitoring the controlled demolition of his rival.
Theo minimized the camera feed window on his laptop, a faint, unfamiliar sense of calm settling over him. The shop was running. Henry was managing. He wasn't needed there, not for the frantic dawn prep, not for the initial customer trickle. The realization felt surprisingly profound. He actually had… time. A Monday morning stretching before him, unburdened by the immediate demands of fryer oil temperatures or chicken inventory counts.
Instead of grabbing a stale protein bar or resorting to instant coffee (the fear of coffee was slowly going away, the coffee he had with Sarah earlier was strangely nice, was it the coffee or was it the company? Hmmm…), he walked over to his small, slightly cluttered kitchen area. He opened the refrigerator. Eggs. A loaf of decent whole-wheat bread he'd bought during his last grocery run. Butter. Simple ingredients he rarely had the time or inclination to prepare properly before.
Today, he did. He took out a small frying pan, placed it on the burner with deliberate slowness. He cracked three eggs into a bowl, whisking them gently with a fork, noticing the bright yellow of the yolks, the satisfying thwock of the fork against ceramic. He melted a knob of butter in the pan, watching it sizzle and foam, filling the small apartment with a rich, comforting aroma that wasn't charcoal or industrial degreaser. He poured the eggs in, letting them cook slowly over low heat, pushing them around gently with a spatula, watching them transform from liquid gold into soft, creamy curds. He put two slices of bread in the toaster, adjusting the setting carefully.
He plated the scrambled eggs alongside the perfectly golden toast, poured himself a mug of the weak black tea that had become his temporary morning staple, and actually sat down at his small kitchen table. And just to really enjoy the moment, he enhanced the scrambled eggs and the toast both with a +1 to really bring out the flavour and somewhat compensate for his cooking skills. He didn't wolf it down standing over the counter while mentally running through prep lists. He ate slowly. Savoured the simple flavours, the creamy eggs, the crisp toast, the warmth of the tea. It was absolutely delicious. It tasted like success!
No frantic dash to unlock the shop, he thought, gazing out the window at the mundane suburban street coming to life. No wrestling with fifty pounds of potatoes before 7 AM. No pressure of the first customer arriving while I'm still trying to get the rotisserie loaded. Just… cooking eggs. Slowly. Eating breakfast at a table. He took another bite, a feeling of quiet luxury settling over him, completely disproportionate to the simple meal. Is this it? The thought surfaced, surprising him. Is this part of what being rich feels like? Not just the pile of cash, though that's essential, but the time? The freedom? The ability to choose how to spend a Monday morning, answering to no one but yourself? Maybe the real goal wasn't just the billion dollars, but the absolute autonomy it represented. It was a small taste, fuelled by a tiny, optimized chicken shop, but it was potent. And it made him hungrier than ever for more.
After finishing his breakfast, which took a surprisingly long time as he slowly savoured and enjoyed the moment, he opened a browser tab, navigating to the Google Maps listing for 'Something Fishy'. He scrolled down to the reviews, his pulse quickening slightly with predatory anticipation. The string of one-star reviews from last weekend was still prominent. He sorted by 'Newest'. Bingo. Three more had appeared since Sunday night.
⭐☆☆☆☆ "Tried to go for lunch today (Monday). Place was DARK! Sign on the door just said 'Closed due to unforeseen equipment failure'. Seriously? Again??"
⭐☆☆☆☆ "What happened to this place?? Used to be my go-to for quick fish n chips. Last two times food was awful (tasted like burnt oil Friday!), now they're closed Monday lunchtime? Giving up."
⭐☆☆☆☆ "Don't bother. Unreliable hours, bad food when they are open. Shame."
Equipment failure, Theo smirked. How wonderfully vague. The timed +1 enhancements wearing off the freezer compressor, the fryer oil going rancid mid-service… combined with the likely chaos from the burst water pipe… it was clearly pushing the owner past his breaking point. 'Closed indefinitely' couldn't be far away. The waiting game was almost over.