Frank sat there for a while, staring at the postcard. He felt stupid for even entertaining Mike’s joke, but something inside him urged him to find out what his old friend was up to.

  Without hesitation, Frank pulled out his phone and dialed the number Mike had left. The ringtone buzzed a few times before Mike’s familiar, teasing voice answered.

  “Oh, I thought you would’ve tossed that thing in the trash by now.”

  Frank rested his elbow on the bar counter, his voice dry. “What do you want, Mike?”

  On the other end, Mike chuckled. “It’s not about what I want—it’s about what you want. A job? Money? A fresh start?”

  Frank remained silent.

  “Listen, I can’t say much over the phone. Tomorrow morning, 10 AM, meet me at Manhattan Brew on Fifth Avenue. If you don’t show up, we’ll pretend this never happened.”

  Then he hung up.

  Frank frowned, staring at his phone screen. Mike had always been a slick talker, but this time, there was a strange seriousness in his tone. A part of him wanted to forget about it, but another part—a small yet undeniable curiosity—urged him to go.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Frank arrived right on time. Mike was already there, sipping an espresso, looking like a young, successful businessman. He waved him over with a smirk.

  “Why are you looking at me like I’m about to sell you off to some cartel?” Mike laughed.

  Frank crossed his arms. “You said something about a job?”

  Mike nodded, leaning back. “Exactly. I’m working for an investment fund on Wall Street, programming automated trading systems.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “Algo trading?”

  “Bingo.” Mike winked. “Every trade is executed by AI in milliseconds—no human emotions involved. The money moves faster than you can imagine.”

  Frank nodded. “And?”

  Mike lowered his voice. “Do you have any idea how big this game is? In a single day, we handle tens of millions of dollars. But here’s the problem… I see the money flowing through, but I don’t get to keep any of it.”

  Frank stared at him. “What are you saying?”

  Mike leaned in, whispering. “The company has strict regulations. Employees can’t exploit the system for personal trading. Everything is monitored. But…” He paused, his eyes gleaming. “What if we had another system—one that we built ourselves, using the very same algorithms I’ve stolen from the company?”

  Frank narrowed his eyes. “You’re talking about creating an illegal AI trading bot?”

  Mike smirked. “Exactly. I have the code. You have the math genius. Together, we could build something they’ll never detect.”

  Frank leaned back, his fingers tapping against the table. This idea was insane—extremely dangerous.

  But also, incredibly tempting.