Chương 21: Las Vegas Trip IX

December 1970. The flight east was uneventful. James spent much of it looking out the window as the lights of Las Vegas gradually faded beneath the clouds. The excitement of the previous days had finally settled. The wager had been won. The cashier's check rested safely inside a document envelope, tucked securely into Enzo's leather briefcase, which never left his side during the entire flight. Now came the practical part. Depositing the check. Waiting for it to clear. Paying the taxes when the time came.

Then putting every remaining dollar to work. Enzo unfolded the evening edition of the New York Herald he had purchased before boarding and quietly read through the headlines. After several minutes, he lowered the newspaper.

"You know..." James looked over.

"What?"

"I've been thinking about this entire trip."

"And?" Enzo smiled.

"I'm still amazed."

"At the football?"

"No." He shook his head.

"At you." James raised an eyebrow.

"You never celebrated."

"You smiled."

"But you never acted surprised." Enzo leaned comfortably into his seat.

"After every game... after collecting the check... you looked as though everything had happened exactly the way you expected." James turned his gaze back toward the window.

"I spent months studying those teams."

"When you trust your preparation..."

"You don't panic." Enzo thought about the answer before giving a slow nod.

"I suppose that's true." He smiled.

"I'm definitely reading those notebooks once we're home." James laughed softly.

"I figured you would."

Most of the cabin gradually grew quiet as passengers drifted off to sleep. James couldn't. His thoughts had already returned to Brooklyn. By now, Thompson Manufacturing's civilian division would have completed another productive week. The first shipments of Project Horizon products would already be reaching retailers across New York. Soon, actual sales numbers would begin replacing projections. That interested him far more than football.

Several hours later, the captain announced their descent. The lights of New York gradually filled the windows. The familiar skyline stretched across the horizon. Enzo smiled as he looked outside.

"Home." James nodded.

"Home."

The aircraft landed smoothly shortly before ten o'clock that evening. After collecting their luggage from baggage claim, they walked through the terminal toward the long-term parking area. The cold December air immediately reminded them they were no longer in Nevada. James instinctively buttoned his coat.

"I'd almost forgotten how cold New York gets." Enzo laughed.

"That's because you've spent a week enjoying desert weather."

"I can't argue with that."

Rows of automobiles sat beneath tall floodlights as they crossed the parking lot. Enzo walked confidently through the familiar rows before stopping beside his pride and joy. A crimson Maranello Cavallo V12. Even after a week sitting in the airport parking lot, its polished bodywork gleamed beneath the lights. Enzo smiled with unmistakable pride.

"Now that's a beautiful automobile." James chuckled.

"I had a feeling you'd say that."

"You disagree?"

"I think you're just a little biased." Enzo placed a hand over his chest in mock offense.

"Biased?"

"I simply appreciate outstanding Italian engineering." James laughed.

"I'll give you that." Enzo unlocked the car, placed their luggage in the trunk, and carefully set his leather briefcase—still containing the cashier's check—on the rear seat before closing the door himself. Only then did he slide behind the steering wheel.

The Cavallo's V12 engine came to life with its smooth, unmistakable growl. Enzo smiled immediately.

"I've missed that sound." James settled into the passenger seat.

"I knew you would." Leaving the airport behind, they merged onto the highway toward Manhattan. Traffic was light for a Monday evening. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Christmas had just passed, and many families were still away for the holidays. The city lights reflected across the Cavallo's long crimson hood as they approached the skyline. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. The silence felt comfortable. Eventually, Enzo broke it.

"Tomorrow..." James looked over.

"I'd like to stop by Thompson Manufacturing."

"I want to see how everyone's doing." James nodded.

"I'd like that too."

"And the day after..." Enzo smiled.

"We'll visit Empire National Bank." James nodded once more.

"The sooner we deposit the check, the sooner the clearing process begins."

"Exactly." Enzo laughed.

"I never imagined I'd be excited about waiting two weeks for a bank." James smiled.

"I think it'll be worth it."

"So do I."

A little before eleven o'clock, Enzo turned onto East Street and parked the crimson Cavallo in its usual spot near their apartment building. The familiar brick building welcomed them home. Together, they carried their luggage upstairs to Apartment 4B. Enzo unlocked the front door, and they stepped inside. Everything was exactly as they had left it. Warm. Quiet. Comfortably familiar. Without saying a word, Enzo carried his leather briefcase into his bedroom. A minute later, he returned.

"I've locked the check in the safe." James nodded.

"Good."

"I'm not taking any chances."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Enzo loosened his tie and let out a tired sigh.

"After a day like this..."

"I don't have the energy to cook." James smiled.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Enzo walked toward the telephone on the side table.

"I know exactly who's still open." James already knew the answer before Enzo picked up the receiver. Luigi Romano's bakery. There were few better ways to end a long journey home than with food prepared by one of Enzo's oldest friends. ☆☆☆☆☆ Enzo dialed the familiar number from memory. He had been calling Luigi Romano's bakery for nearly three decades. There was never any need to look it up. After only two rings, someone answered.

"Romano Bakery." The warm Italian accent on the other end immediately brought a smile to Enzo's face.

"Luigi." A hearty laugh echoed through the receiver.

"Enzo! You're finally back."

"We got in a few minutes ago."

"So, how was Nevada?" Enzo glanced at James before answering.

"It was... productive." James had to suppress a smile. That was certainly one way to describe it.

"Ha! I know that tone," Luigi replied.

"Whenever you say 'productive,' it usually means you've made money." Enzo laughed.

"We'll talk about it another day."

"Fair enough."

"So, what can I get for my favorite customer?"

"The usual."

"A large lasagna."

"Two portions of your meatballs."

"A loaf of fresh Italian bread."

"And..." He looked toward James.

"What do you think?" James answered without hesitation.

"The cannoli." Luigi laughed loudly enough for James to hear through the receiver.

"I knew the boy would ask for those!"

"Make it half a dozen."

"You got it."

"I'll have everything ready in twenty minutes."

"I'll come pick it up."

"No delivery tonight?"

"I've been sitting on airplanes all day."

"I wouldn't mind driving a few more minutes." Luigi chuckled.

"All right."

"I'll see you soon." After hanging up the phone, Enzo grabbed his car keys from the small wooden bowl beside the entrance.

"Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes." James nodded.

"Sounds perfect."

The short drive through Manhattan felt familiar. Christmas decorations still adorned many storefronts, while strings of lights stretched across several streets. Although it was late in the evening, the city remained alive. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks. Yellow taxis rolled past almost continuously. Restaurants were still serving customers. New York rarely slept. Within ten minutes, Enzo eased the crimson Maranello Cavallo V12 to the curb outside Romano Bakery.

Warm golden light spilled through the front windows. The display case remained nearly full despite the late hour. Fresh bread. Italian pastries. Cookies. Cakes. Everything looked as inviting as ever. The moment the door opened, the scent of freshly baked bread and garlic filled the air.

"Now this..." Enzo said with satisfaction.

"... smells like home." From behind the counter, Luigi Romano looked up. His broad smile appeared instantly. He stepped around the display case and embraced Enzo firmly.

"Welcome back, my friend."

"It's good to see you."

"You too." Luigi then turned toward James.

"And there's my favorite young customer." James smiled.

"Good evening, Mr. Romano." Luigi waved a dismissive hand.

"How many times have I told you?"

"It's Luigi." James laughed.

"Good evening, Luigi."

"Much better."

Luigi disappeared briefly into the kitchen before returning with two large paper bags.

"I figured you'd be hungry after traveling."

"You figured correctly," Enzo replied. Luigi placed the bags carefully on the counter.

"Lasagna."

"Meatballs."

"Fresh bread."

"And six cannoli." James looked inside the second bag.

"They look delicious."

"They always are," Luigi replied proudly. Enzo reached into his wallet.

"How much?" Luigi named the total. Enzo counted out the bills before Luigi accepted them. Then Luigi leaned slightly closer.

"So..." He lowered his voice.

"Did you enjoy Las Vegas?" Enzo smiled knowingly.

"Very much."

"I have a feeling I'll be telling you about the trip over coffee one of these mornings." Luigi grinned.

"I'll hold you to that."

A few minutes later, they were back inside the Cavallo, the aroma of warm Italian food filling the cabin. James looked toward Enzo.

"You didn't tell him." Enzo started the engine.

"No."

"Why?" He smiled as he pulled away from the curb.

"Because if I told Luigi that my ten-year-old grandson predicted a four-game football parlay and won forty-eight thousand dollars..." He laughed.

"... he'd think I'd spent too much time in the Nevada sun." James laughed as well.

"That's fair." The Cavallo glided smoothly through the Manhattan streets toward East Street. ☆☆☆☆☆☆ The drive back to East Street took less than fifteen minutes. The streets were noticeably quieter than they had been before Christmas, though Manhattan still pulsed with its usual energy. Streetcars rattled along their tracks, taxis carried late-night passengers home, and the glow of storefronts reflected off the damp pavement.

Enzo parked the crimson Maranello Cavallo V12 in its usual space before carrying the two paper bags upstairs. The moment James unlocked the apartment door, the familiar warmth of home greeted them once again. Enzo set the food on the dining table.

"Now..." He rubbed his hands together.

"This is a proper welcome home." James laughed.

"I was beginning to think we'd never eat."

"So was I."

Within a few minutes, the apartment was filled with the aroma of Luigi's cooking. Enzo cut generous portions of lasagna while James arranged the bread and meatballs on the table. Neither of them bothered changing clothes first. They were too hungry. Enzo took the first bite and closed his eyes for a brief second.

"I've eaten at some excellent restaurants over the years." He reached for another piece of bread.

"But nobody makes lasagna like Luigi." James nodded in complete agreement.

"I don't think anyone ever will." The conversation remained light throughout dinner. They spoke about the trip. The lights of Las Vegas. The football games. The hotel's Christmas dinner. Even the sightseeing they had enjoyed. Curiously... Neither of them mentioned the amount of money they had won. Not because they were avoiding it. But because they both understood the winnings weren't truly usable yet. Until the check was deposited...

It was simply a very valuable piece of paper resting safely inside Enzo's bedroom safe.

Dinner eventually gave way to dessert. Enzo opened the second paper bag and carefully placed the cannoli onto two small plates. James smiled.

"I knew you'd save those for last." Enzo looked almost offended.

"James..."

"Cannoli are never the beginning of the meal."

"They're the reward." James laughed.

"I should've known." The pastry shell shattered with a satisfying crunch as they took the first bite. For a few moments... The apartment became completely silent. Finally, Enzo nodded approvingly.

"Perfect." James swallowed his mouthful.

"As always."

After the dishes had been washed and put away, Enzo walked into the living room carrying two cups of coffee. One contained coffee. The other held hot chocolate. He handed the hot chocolate to James before taking his usual seat. Outside the living room window, Manhattan shimmered beneath thousands of lights. The city never truly slept. For several minutes, they simply enjoyed the quiet. Then Enzo spoke.

"So..." James looked up.

"You promised me an explanation." James had expected the question. He set his cup down.

"I did." Enzo leaned back comfortably.

"No interruptions."

"No rush."

"I'm listening." James remained silent for several seconds, choosing his words carefully.

"I told you in Las Vegas that I'd been studying football."

"That part was true." Enzo nodded.

"I believe that."

"I've spent months reading newspapers."

"I kept track of team records."

"Winning streaks."

"Losing streaks."

"Average points scored."

"Average points allowed."

"Home performance."

"Away performance."

"Injuries whenever they were reported." Enzo listened attentively without saying a word.

"I started noticing patterns." James continued.

"Not every game."

"Only some."

"The newspapers usually focused on which team was expected to win."

"But they rarely paid much attention to how the game itself would develop." Enzo slowly nodded.

"I noticed that too."

"So..." James continued.

"I began comparing everything."

"The stronger defense."

"The pace each team normally played."

"Whether they preferred running the football or passing it."

"How many points their opponents usually scored." He shrugged.

"I eliminated games that looked unpredictable."

"And only kept the ones where multiple factors pointed toward the same outcome." Enzo remained thoughtful.

"So the four games..."

"Weren't random." James shook his head.

"No."

"They were the four I had the highest confidence in."

"And the totals?"

"I reached those the same way." Enzo was quiet for a long time. Finally, he smiled.

"I have to admit..."

"It sounds completely insane." James chuckled.

"I know."

"But..." Enzo continued.

"You showed me those notebooks."

"I've seen the pages."

"Hundreds of calculations."

"Dozens of newspaper clippings."

"You clearly didn't invent this overnight." James nodded.

"I didn't." Enzo took a sip of his coffee before smiling warmly.

"I think..." He paused.

"... you're the smartest ten-year-old I've ever met." James laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should." Enzo raised his cup slightly.

"But." James already knew another question was coming.

"You also promised we'd discuss what comes next." James nodded.

"Yes." Enzo's expression became more serious.

"You've now got money."

"Real money."

"What exactly do you intend to do with it?" ☆☆☆☆☆☆ James remained quiet for a few moments. The question deserved a careful answer. He couldn't tell Enzo the truth—that he intended to invest with decades of future knowledge. Instead, he would give him an answer that was true... just not complete. He folded his hands on the table.

"I don't want to spend it." Enzo nodded slowly.

"I expected that."

"I don't need toys."

"I don't need expensive clothes."

"I don't even need another bicycle." A faint smile crossed Enzo's face.

"Good." James continued.

"I want the money to grow." Enzo leaned back in his chair.

"Go on."

"I've been thinking about Thompson Manufacturing." Enzo's expression immediately became attentive. James noticed it.

"The company is healthy now."

"It has money."

"It has good employees."

"It has a future." Enzo nodded.

"It does."

"But businesses don't stay successful forever." He spoke those words carefully.

"They need capital."

"They need opportunities."

"They need people willing to invest when everyone else is afraid." Enzo rested his coffee cup on the table.

"I agree."

"My money isn't enough to change Thompson Manufacturing today." James continued.

"Not even close."

"But one day..."

"It might help." Enzo smiled.

"So that's your idea?" James nodded.

"I want to build my own capital."

"Slowly."

"Patiently."

"So if Thompson Manufacturing ever needs help..."

"I'll be able to help." Those words struck Enzo far more deeply than James had intended. For several seconds, the older man simply looked at his grandson. His eyes softened.

"You know..."

"When I was your age..."

"I wasn't thinking about factories."

"I wasn't thinking about investments."

"I wasn't thinking much beyond tomorrow." James smiled faintly.

"I guess we're different."

"I'd say so."

Enzo stood and slowly walked toward the living room window. He looked out across East Street. The Christmas lights still decorated several nearby buildings. Cars passed below. People continued their evening routines, unaware of the conversation taking place inside Apartment 4B. Without turning around, Enzo spoke.

"When your grandmother Claire was alive..."

"She used to tell Joseph something." James listened quietly."'A business isn't measured by the money it earns.'" He smiled to himself."'It's measured by the number of families that depend on it.'" Enzo remained silent for a moment.

"There are more than six hundred families depending on Thompson Manufacturing today." James nodded.

"I know."

"And I intend to keep it that way." Enzo turned around.

"I believe you."

He returned to his chair and picked up his coffee once more.

"As for your money..." He smiled.

"It'll remain in my personal account."

"Separate from everything else."

"I'll keep detailed records."

"Every dollar that belongs to you." James nodded.

"That's exactly what I want."

"When you're old enough..."

"I'll transfer every cent." James smiled warmly.

"I trust you." Enzo laughed.

"You'd better."

"I'm the one guarding your fortune."

"It's not much of a fortune."

"It will be someday." James didn't answer. He simply smiled.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck midnight. Both of them instinctively looked toward it.

"Twelve already?" Enzo shook his head.

"I suppose traveling across the country makes the day disappear." James stood from his chair.

"It certainly feels that way." Enzo finished the last of his coffee before standing as well.

"We've got a busy week ahead." James nodded.

"Tomorrow we'll visit the factory."

"I imagine Marcus has a long list of updates."

"So does Leslie."

"And Anthony." Enzo smiled.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He switched off the living room lights before heading toward the hallway. As he reached his bedroom door, he stopped.

"Oh." James looked up.

"The check's staying in the safe tonight." James laughed.

"I'd be disappointed if it wasn't." Enzo grinned.

"I've become rather protective of it."

"I've noticed." They wished each other goodnight before retiring to their respective bedrooms. As James lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted back to Thompson Manufacturing. Tomorrow would be his first time seeing the factory since leaving for Nevada. He was eager to hear the production figures. The retailer feedback. The advertising results. Most importantly... He wanted to know whether Project Horizon had begun to prove itself in the marketplace.

Because if the first two weeks were any indication... The future of Thompson Manufacturing was already beginning to change. ☆☆☆☆☆