After my Manhattan meeting with Perlmutter, which was thankfully short but productive, I returned to my chartered jet. It had barely finished refueling before I was on board and in the air once again. One thing that I enjoyed about my wealth was how easy and comfortable traveling was; flying was a joy when you had a cabin all to yourself and didn’t have to go through security. Of course, since 9/11 never happened, it meant that no one had a rough time with security.

  It was around three hours in the air to the Minneapolis terminal, so I had ample time to review some documentation for Butterfly Capital and to study for the finals of the Fall Quarter for when I returned to UChicago after Thanksgiving. As we approached the Twin Cities, I took the opportunity to change out of my business-wear and into my alter-ego; a normal Minnesotan girl who was visiting home for the break. Basically, a pair of jeans and an ivory white sweater, though it was all quietly custom-tailored.

  The only member of my family who was aware of my wealth was my mother. I had traded stocks using my father as an unwitting proxy throughout high school, but my mother was not so easily fooled when she saw my Gold Coast apartment instead of a dorm on campus. Since I admitted my rather large secret, she had kept it for me, but was always insistent on telling my father. It was something I always postponed; my stock plays had netted my father a handsome profit himself over the years; it just happened to be many degrees lower than what I was doing without his knowledge.

  When we landed at Signature Flight Support, the private terminal at the Minneapolis airport, I took a shuttle to the main arrival terminal as usual. It was part of the tightrope; Dad couldn’t very well pick me up at my private jet. Instead, he picked me up at Arrivals like every other college student flying home for Thanksgiving. The shuttle dropped me off outside, I entered through one door and exited out another door to where Dad was waiting.

  “Hey sweetheart!” said Dad as he gave me a hug.

  “Hey, Dad,” I replied into his shoulder. He quickly opened the passenger door for me and loaded my suitcase into the trunk of the blue sedan.

  “How was your flight, Maya?”

  “Luxurious, of course!”

  Dad laughed at what he thought was a joke. “Everyone’s excited to see you, sweetheart. Heck, we haven’t seen you since we visited D.C. in July!”

  “Well, I’ve been busy…”

  “I get it, I get it,” he assured me, pulling out of the terminal. “It’s been busy here too, with your brother’s team. They’ve been gearing up for the Prep Bowl on Saturday!”

  I sighed. It took about three minutes until the conversation devolved into football. My younger brother Tim, who was now a senior, was the star linebacker on the varsity high school football team. They had an undefeated season; whenever I would call home Mom and Dad would give me updates whether or not I asked. And I never asked.

  The ironic thing was, in a way it was my fault that I was stuck listening to Tim’s football records all autumn. In Matthew’s timeline, Tim had gotten a severe ankle sprain when one of his teammates stepped on his leg a few days before the school year started, which meant Tim was on the bench for most of the season. The team had had a decent season, but never got close to the championship.

  For whatever reason, he must have simply turned left when he turned right, and as a result he was healthy and strong all season. Tim became the lynch-pin of the defensive line, having a killer instinct for deflating offensive plays. Their record was practically flawless, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving was the Minnesota Prep Bowl, the biggest game in high school football. It wasn’t even something that I had thought of changing in this timeline, but here we were.

  As Dad was going on about the status of…something on Tim’s team, I merely rested my head on my hand, unable to get a word in. I felt a little irritated; I’m sure my life was incomprehensible to a guy like Dad. Tim’s football was something he could contextualize, but everything that was going on in my life – well, that he was aware of – wasn’t exactly something he could put on a jersey.

  “...and from what we’ve been hearing, Tim’s a shoe-in for player of the year,” he gushed. “He may even break the all-time interception record!”

  “I shook hands with the President,” I mumbled into my hand.

  “What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  ***

  A half hour drive full of football talk later, we pulled into the driveway of our house. While Dad unloaded my suitcase, I entered through the garage door and into the house. It always felt a little smaller when I came home; I was thoroughly a Chicago girl at this point, and while the house felt familiar it had been a while since it felt like home. Our family portrait still hung over the fireplace, though.

  “Mom? I’m home!”

  “Maya!” shouted my sister from somewhere downstairs, and she came bounding up the half-stairs leading to the basement. Janie was almost thirteen and still looked like a miniature version of myself at that age. She still idolized me as little sisters nearly a decade younger tend to do. She nearly tackled me as she hugged me.

  “Maya, I love this sweater!” she said as she felt the cashmere on my arm. “It’s so soft!”

  “Is that my girl?” called Mom from the top of the stairs. “Welcome home, honey!”

  “Hey, Mom,” I replied, with Janie still pawing at my sleeve.

  Mom had been prebaking for Thanksgiving tomorrow, but still managed to make lasagna for me like she always did. Mom herded us upstairs into the dining room, since she timed dinner to be all ready with my arrival. Dad joined us at the table after hauling my suitcase to my room.

  “Where’s Tim?” I asked as I scooped a messy slice of cheese onto my place.

  “Oh, your brother’s out with friends,” explained Mom. “He’s not as much of a homebody as you were, Maya. If he’s not at practice he’s out with friends somewhere.”

  “Hey, I went out a lot!”

  “Of course you did,” replied Dad through a mouthful of food. “But Tim just happens to always be out with his football buddies. Mr. Popularity, that one. Almost made Homecoming King, y’know!”

  I stared blankly at him, and I bristled. “Dad. You do remember I actually was Homecoming Queen, right?”

  Mom cleared her throat. “You know, let’s hold off on all the football talk, David. It’s been ages since we’ve seen Maya.”

  “Yeah,” added Janie. “Five minutes of not talking about Tim’s stupid football would be amazing!”

  Dinner conversation was a bit prickly, but my parents dutifully asked me how school was going and how life in Chicago was. My responses got shorter as the meal progressed. It was silly being a little envious of Tim. After all, in this timeline he didn’t spend the season grounded; he was the star. He wasn’t cheated out of his senior year. Besides, my parents didn’t understand a fraction of what I had accomplished. I was the reason they didn't live in a country consumed in a culture of fear, and they would never know.

  No one could ever know.

  “Maya dear,” said Mom as we cleared the table together, “how is everything…non-school related going for you?”

  I knew what she meant. “I had a meeting in New York this morning, which was tiring, but ultimately fruitful. And I just got through putting forty million back into tech options. Business as usual, I suppose.”

  Mom swore under her breath. “Forty mil…Maya, honey, you have to tell your father this week.”

  I sighed. “I know, I know.”

  “I’m serious. I can’t keep dancing around the fact that my daughter is some sort of financial wizard or something. You don’t have to tell everyone for now, just him.”

  “Mom, telling Dad is just as good as telling everyone. Tim kicks a ball and he won’t shut up about it for a month. I don’t want everybody here to see me differently. I don’t want him to see me differently.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Mom pursed her lips. “And it’s okay for me to see you differently? That I have to stay quiet? That I have to make up stories about our family flying first class to Washington in July for free?”

  “Fair.” I leaned against the counter and sighed. “Dad’s just so proud, is all. He made some very good investments over the years, but it was because I told him what to buy. Who knows what he’ll say when he finds out what I was making under his nose.”

  “He’s going to find out eventually, Maya. And remember: he would have gotten into serious trouble unknowingly signing documents for you in high school without knowing the scope.”

  “Mom, they were totally guaranteed investments! If they hadn’t been, then I would have –”

  “Maya.”

  I threw my hands into the air. “Okay! I said I would say something, and I will. I’ll find a good time. After the Prep Bowl. It’ll be like his little girl won the lottery. Who knows, maybe it’ll be even more exciting than Tim winning the Prep Bowl!”

  ***

  Our family hosted Thanksgiving this year, mostly because a lot of the extended family was coming in from out-of-state to see the game the next day. The house was more packed than usual; both the Brown side and Peterson sides of my family were coming in from every corner of Minnesota. Tim, who had been talked into putting on his jersey even before food was served, was bounced from conversation to conversation, with every one of my uncles or cousins talking sports with him.

  For my part, everyone was curious about Chicago and my internship, though for several of them I had to explain what exactly the Chief of Staff does in the White House. They were impressed that I was actually in the same room as the President himself, those who actually believed me. As the party shifted to the TV room to watch the game, I ended up mashing potatoes with Grandma Lola as I usually did. She politely listened about school, but as a small town old lady she didn’t have much context. She showed more interest than any of my uncles, though.

  Once the chaos of Thanksgiving was over, Tim was in full preparation mode and I didn’t see much of him. I went out to lunch with my friends Danielle and Carla, though sadly Erin went to her boyfriend’s family for Thanksgiving. For the most part, I stayed at home helping Mom and Janie put up Christmas decorations or reviewed documentation for Butterfly Capital. Dad was running around with the other fathers in the booster club, so I took the time to mentally go over what I would say to him about my wealth. Not to mention the explanations for how I got the wealth without his knowledge.

  By Saturday the excitement was at a fever pitch, and in the evening we piled into the car to the Metrodome where the Prep Bowl was being held. Dad had reserved a private suite, and everyone was decked out in Northview High School jerseys. Well, except for me; as a cheerleader I had spent dozens of football games in uncomfortable polyester, and once you start wearing silk every day it’s hard to change.

  The stadium wasn’t even close to capacity, but the section below our midlevel room was full. Northview was on our side of the field, and the opposing team – Stillwater – was on the other. Both teams had been undefeated for the entire season, but the buzz was that Stillwater was favored to win. If their crowd was slightly bigger than ours, it may have just been perspective and not sheer nerves.

  Stillwater had possession of the ball first, and impressively Tim shot a gap in the offensive line and leveled the running back, forcing a fumble that Northview recovered. A few plays later, Northview’s offensive team punched through, and with thirty seconds left in the first quarter they scored a touchdown. Unfortunately, they missed the extra point, but by the start of the second quarter Northview was in the lead.

  There was a shift in Stillwater’s tactics; they stopped passing altogether, and their offense started running directly at Tim. It was so noticeable that even I saw what they were doing. Tim was making the tackles, but he was being worn down and paid for every single one. Eventually, Stillwater was able to break through with a touchdown of their own, making the score Stillwater 7 - Northview 6.

  Optimism was still high during halftime. However, Northview’s offense made some very costly errors, and Stillwater continued to push Tim hard with a “three-and-out” play which was clearly exhausting the defense. So much so that Stillwater was able to score after a short punt and capped it with a field goal, leaving Stillwater 17 - Northview 6.

  By fourth quarter, Tim and the rest of the defensive line were caked with astroturf crumbs. He stood with his hands on his hips on the sidelines, and I could tell he was spent. When Stillwater regained possession, the rout was complete: they broke into a 40-yard run through a gap that Tim was too tired to fill in time. After a fruitless chase, Stillwater scored a final touchdown with four minutes left. Stillwater 24 - Northview 6.

  The energy in the Northview spectators dropped to nothing. I saw Dad staring out the window wordlessly with my uncles, no one daring to say a word as we watched the slow motion loss. Stillwater held firm and waited out the clock, and the slumped shoulders of the Northview team meant they had nothing left to give. When the clock mercilessly ran out, Stillwater broke into celebration, and Northview collapsed in defeat. I could see Tim on the bench, slumped forward as one of his teammates consoled him.

  The Stillwater fans swarmed the field, while Northview sat bitterly. The obligatory handshakes were held, and the Northview slunk back into the locker room to get ready for the bus back to the high school. The ride back home for the rest of us was sullen; Dad kept expounding over the moments of the game as Mom patiently let him go on, while Janie pulled on her headphones to drown out the gloom. For myself, I just felt guilty for my pettiness this weekend. This was Tim’s moment to shine, and it ended in the span of an evening.

  I had thought that in this timeline everything would go better. Tim got the chance to actually play this time around. Northview hadn’t even made it to the Prep Bowl in Matthew’s timeline, and I arrogantly thought that it would go just as perfectly as all of my other schemes and plans. I didn’t know which was worse; for Tim to have suffered a loss like this, or for him to have never played at all.

  After dropping Janie and I off, Mom and Dad went to the high school to pick up Tim. I was in my room typing away a late night email on my PowerBook G4 when I heard Tim come downstairs and enter his room. Cautiously, I peeked out my door and saw Tim’s door open. I stepped over to his door-frame and tapped on the door, smiling sympathetically. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, an ice pack still tied to his leg.

  “Hey, sis,” he said morosely, looking at my feet.

  “Hey Tim,” I started. “You played a hell of a game, today.”

  He nodded absently. “Thanks, Maya. Can you shut the door?”

  “Sure, Tim,” I said as I left him to his thoughts. I wandered upstairs, hearing Mom and Janie talking in the kitchen. There was a clatter in the garage, so I peeked inside to see Dad, still in his Northview parka, picking up a couple of “Good Luck” signs that were posted in the front yard and were touched with frost. The garage was still chilly, smelling of old aluminum and dried salt on cement.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Dad said as I stepped in. “Just thought I’d put these signs away so Tim wouldn’t see them when he wakes up. He’s tough, but a little sore right now.”

  I nodded. “I just saw him in his room. I thought for sure he would win tonight.”

  “Well Maya, sometimes things don’t end up the way you think they will.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, fiercely resisting the temptation to correct him.

  “Still,” continued Dad as he stacked the signs on his workbench, “it was a rough night. There were a lot of scouts at this game tonight, and I really hope that this doesn’t affect his odds of getting a scholarship.”

  I waved him off. “Well, it’s not like Tim’s tuition wouldn’t be taken care of,” I said absently.

  Dad gave me a curious look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I froze. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  Dad shook his head. “Maya, I know you were smart enough to get that scholarship to the University of Chicago, but if Tim doesn’t get a football scout interested, who knows what he’ll do. You’re a capable young woman. It’s Tim I worry about.”

  I grimaced. “Dad, I never had a scholarship.”

  He eyed me skeptically. “Maya, I was with you in Chicago when we went to the campus, and to that bank.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, but that wasn’t for a scholarship. It was for…Dad, remember how we were trading stocks when I was in high school?”

  Dad chuckled. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do. Your stocks or whatever got me more than a year's salary!”

  I bored a hole into the floor with my eyes. “Well, while I was doing your trades, I was doing my own. With the money I made as a kid. That bank we went to? It wasn’t for school, it was because my original account got so overloaded that I had to transfer it to a larger bank.”

  Dad looked confused. “Maya, what are you saying?”

  “Dad, you saw my apartment. And look at my outfit!” I gestured at my Loro Piana sweater. “I’m wearing almost two thousand dollars worth of clothes! Dad…I’m trying to tell you…I did really well on the stock market.”

  I took a deep breath. “Dad, I’m a millionaire. I have been for years.”

  Dad stood blankly, as he slowly slid back on his old wooden stool. “A…millionaire?” he eventually squeaked out. “You haven’t even finished your degree.”

  “I know,” I said, leaning against the hood of the car.

  “And you never said anything?”

  I shrugged. “I was just moving around numbers. It wasn’t until Chicago that I actually spent any of the money. I still don’t, not really. I didn’t want to stick out like some lottery winner, putting a target on my back or something.”

  I sighed as I rubbed my elbow and looked at the ground. “I also didn’t want you to think differently about me. Like I was a bank or that you would resent me, or something. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, and I’m sorry I’m telling you tonight, of all nights.”

  Dad nodded thoughtfully. “It’s all legal, right? This isn’t funny money or something like that.”

  “No, it’s perfectly legal. I paid my taxes for years. Now I have accountants to do it for me.”

  Dad shook his head. “And to think, here I was worried about Tim’s college fund. And Janie’s too! Are you sure you can lean on that hood in a pair of jeans that cost more than my transmission?”

  An abrupt laugh escaped my mouth in a break of tension. “It’s fine, Dad. Are you mad at me?”

  Dad stood up and brought me into a big hug. “Of course not, Maya. I mean, my little girl’s rich!”

  I sniffled into his parka, as I teared up and laughed nervously. He held me in his big arms for a while as he held me tight.

  “We’re going to have to tell you mother, you know,” he said as he patted my head.

  I stared at the wall behind him, wordlessly.

  “Sure,” I gulped. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”