Chương 27: Foundations of Tomorrow III

Sunday, January 3, 1971 A pale winter sun slowly rose above Manhattan, casting long shadows between the rows of brick buildings that lined the streets below. Unlike the previous morning, there was no executive meeting waiting for Enzo. It was Sunday. For the first time since returning from Las Vegas, neither grandfather nor grandson had anywhere they needed to be. The apartment remained unusually quiet. James awoke shortly after seven o'clock and made his way into the kitchen. Enzo was already there.

An apron was tied around his waist, and the familiar aroma of sizzling butter filled the room. James smiled.

"So what is on the menu today?" Without turning around, Enzo chuckled.

"Same old Sunday breakfast." James laughed as he pulled out his chair.

"I certainly won't complain." Breakfast consisted of fluffy scrambled eggs, toasted Italian bread, slices of smoked sausage, fresh oranges, and hot chocolate for James, while Enzo enjoyed another cup of strong coffee. Neither spoke much. Both simply enjoyed the peaceful morning. After breakfast, Enzo gathered the dishes.

"I'll take care of these." James nodded.

"I'll be in the living room." A few minutes later, James unfolded the Sunday edition of the New York Herald. Sunday newspapers were considerably thicker than weekday editions. National news. International affairs. Business. Sports. Entertainment. Real estate. Travel. Everything was packed into one enormous paper. James slowly turned each page, reading far more carefully than most people his age ever would. The political headlines barely caught his attention.

The business section was interesting, but nothing immediately useful appeared. Then... He reached the sports pages. His eyes narrowed slightly. There it was. A full-page article previewing this month's FA Cup fixtures in England. James immediately sat a little straighter. He carefully read every line. The article discussed clubs entering the competition, possible favorites, and the excitement surrounding the upcoming matches. To everyone else... It was simply another sports article. To James...

It represented opportunity. He quietly leaned back in his chair. Las Vegas is no longer my best option. He had already thought about it several times over the past week. The upcoming Superbowl match would certainly attract enormous betting interest. The NBA also offered opportunities. But neither offered odds attractive enough to justify another trip. Besides... He couldn't reasonably ask Enzo to take another gambling vacation to Las Vegas only weeks after the previous one. That would invite unnecessary questions.

James continued reading. His thoughts shifted across the Atlantic. England... London. Unlike Nevada, where he had already collected one very substantial payout, London represented an entirely fresh opportunity. More importantly... Nobody there knew him. His eyes scanned the tournament schedule once again. Then they stopped. One particular match. A specific result. A memory from the life he had already lived. The outcome surfaced almost instantly. Not because he had tried to remember it.

Because it had always remained one of those unusual sporting results that fans talked about for years afterward. James slowly folded the newspaper. A small smile appeared. That could work. Very well. The profit wouldn't make him a millionaire. But it would provide exactly what he needed. More capital. More flexibility. More freedom to invest in the years ahead. Only one problem remained. He looked toward the kitchen, where Enzo was finishing the dishes.

Now I have to convince Grandpa that we should travel to London... James smiled to himself. That... Might prove considerably more difficult than predicting the match itself. ☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc II: Foundations of Tomorrow Monday, January 4, 1971 The Christmas vacation has come to an end. For most children, returning to school meant talking about presents, holiday trips, and the snow that had fallen during the break. For me... It meant returning to my normal routine while quietly planning my next move.

The morning was cold as Grandpa and I left the apartment. Our crimson Maranello Cavallo V12 slowly joined the Manhattan traffic before heading toward my school. Neither of us spoke much during the drive.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The conversation about the shell company from the previous evening was still fresh in both of our minds. Before I stepped out of the car, Grandpa smiled.

"Have a good first day back."

"I will."

"And try to spend at least part of the day thinking like a ten-year-old." I laughed.

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will." I grabbed my schoolbag and stepped onto the sidewalk before watching Grandpa drive away toward Thompson Manufacturing.

The first school day after the holidays always felt different. The classrooms buzzed with excitement. Some classmates proudly showed off new toys they had received for Christmas. Others couldn't stop talking about family trips or the mountains of gifts waiting for them at home. For a little while... I simply became James Lombardi again. A ten-year-old boy. I played during recess. Talked with classmates. Answered my teacher's questions. And laughed at jokes that probably weren't all that funny. For a few hours...

Business disappeared from my mind.

When school ended that afternoon, I spotted Grandpa waiting beside the Maranello in the usual place. I climbed into the passenger seat.

"How was school?"

"Pretty normal." He smiled.

"I imagine that's a nice change."

"It actually is." The sports car merged into traffic once again, this time heading toward Thompson Manufacturing. I already knew why. Anthony would be waiting.

A little after three o'clock, we entered Grandpa's office. Anthony was already seated across from Grandpa's desk with a legal pad resting on his lap. He stood as we entered.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lombardi."

"James."

"Good afternoon, Anthony." Grandpa removed his overcoat before taking his seat. Anthony remained standing for a moment.

"So..."

"What important matter couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Grandpa smiled.

"I called you here because James has a favor to ask." Anthony looked toward me with an amused expression.

"I'm listening." I took a seat beside Grandpa.

"I'd like to establish a corporation in Delaware." Anthony blinked. Then, he blinked again. For several seconds... He simply stared at me. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and laughed quietly.

"You really are out of the ordinary." Grandpa couldn't help smiling.

"I've said something similar myself." Anthony looked back at me.

"Go on." I explained everything. Why I wanted a separate corporation. Why investments would eventually become easier through that corporation. Why privacy mattered. And why I believed Delaware offered the best legal structure for what I intended to build. Anthony listened without interrupting. Only after I finished did Grandpa speak.

"So..."

"If we decide to move forward..."

"What exactly do we need to do?" Anthony folded his hands together.

"The process is actually quite straightforward." He reached for his notebook.

"Delaware allows corporations to be formed without maintaining a physical office in the state."

"Instead, we hire what's known as a registered agent." He looked toward James.

"That agent provides the corporation with a legal mailing address and accepts official documents on its behalf."

"So neither of you needs to own a building in Delaware."

"Nor do you need employees there." I nodded.

"That's exactly what I was hoping for." Anthony continued.

"Another advantage is Delaware's corporate law."

"It allows a single individual to serve as president, treasurer, and sole member of the board of directors." He looked toward Enzo.

"If you serve in those roles..."

"Your name will appear anonymous on the public incorporation documents." He smiled.

"James' name doesn't have to appear anywhere publicly as well." Grandpa nodded thoughtfully.

"So my grandson remains anonymous as well."

"Precisely." Anthony turned another page.

"As for cost..."

"It isn't particularly expensive."

"The state filing fee will likely fall somewhere between twenty-five and fifty dollars."

"The registered agent will probably charge another fifty to one hundred dollars annually." He looked up.

"In total..."

"I'd estimate somewhere between one hundred fifty and three hundred dollars to establish the corporation properly." Grandpa raised an eyebrow.

"I expected considerably more."

"So did I," I admitted. Anthony smiled.

"The legal work doesn't concern me."

"You won't need to retain an attorney in Delaware."

"I can prepare the necessary paperwork and coordinate everything from here." Grandpa nodded approvingly.

"Excellent." Anthony made another note.

"Once the corporation exists..."

"We'll also need to open a corporate account at Empire National Bank."

"I can arrange that as well." He paused before looking directly at me.

"That leaves one important question."

"What will this corporation be called?" Both Anthony and Grandpa looked at me expectantly. I had already made my decision.

"Vendetta Investments." For a second... Silence filled the office. Then Grandpa burst into laughter.

"Vendetta?" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Are you planning to seek revenge against someone?" I couldn't help laughing myself.

"No."

"I just think it sounds memorable." Anthony smiled.

"I'll admit..."

"It certainly isn't a name people forget." He wrote it neatly across the top of his legal pad. Vendetta Investments. He underlined it once.

"Very well."

"Vendetta Investments it is." I suddenly remembered something else.

"Anthony..." He looked up from his notes.

"Yes?"

"Vendetta Investments will also need a corporate brokerage account." Anthony raised an eyebrow.

"Go on."

"We'll eventually need to purchase stocks."

"So I'd like the company to establish an account with a brokerage firm." Anthony shook his head in disbelief before laughing softly.

"You know..."

"I've reached the point where nothing you say surprises me anymore." Grandpa looked between us.

"What exactly is a corporate brokerage account for?" Anthony answered.

"It allows the corporation to purchase and sell publicly traded shares." He smiled toward Enzo.

"If James intends to build an investment portfolio over time..."

"He'll certainly need one."

"I can arrange that together with the corporate bank account." Grandpa slowly nodded.

"Then let's do it properly." Anthony closed his notebook.

"I'll begin preparing the incorporation documents this afternoon." I reached into my pocket.

"I have enough money to cover the filing costs." Before I could remove the bills, Grandpa raised his hand.

"Put your wallet away." I looked at him.

"But—" He interrupted me with a grin.

"If I'm going to serve as the anonymous chairman of Vendetta Investments..."

"The least I can do is pay the incorporation fees." Anthony laughed.

"I think that's a fair arrangement." I smiled.

"Thank you, Grandpa." He waved the gratitude away.

"Save your money."

"I have a feeling you're already planning how to spend it." ☆☆☆☆☆☆ Tuesday, January 5, 1971 The next morning began like most Tuesdays. Breakfast with Grandpa. A quick review of the morning newspaper. Then, the drive to school through the busy streets of Manhattan. By now, reading the newspaper has become more than a habit. It was part of my daily routine. Politics rarely interested me. The business pages did. So did the financial section. Sometimes, even the obituary page.

You never knew where an opportunity—or an important piece of information—might appear. As Grandpa drove, I unfolded the newspaper across my lap. Most of the headlines were familiar. The Vietnam War continued to dominate the front page. The economy occupied much of the business section. Commodity prices. Corporate earnings. Interest rates. Nothing immediately useful. Then, I reached the Wall Street column. One article immediately caught my attention.

It described a young entrepreneur who was traveling across the country meeting with venture capital firms. His proposal sounded almost unbelievable. A nationwide overnight package delivery company. Instead of shipping parcels over several days... Businesses would be able to send important documents and merchandise across the country by the following morning. The article explained that the entrepreneur had already committed nearly four million dollars of his own inheritance to launch the company.

Now, he was seeking additional investors. According to the report, the minimum investment required to acquire an ownership stake ranged between two hundred fifty thousand and five hundred thousand dollars. I quietly folded the corner of the newspaper. Interesting... Very interesting. I remembered the company. In my previous life... It had become one of the largest delivery companies in the world. Millions of packages. Aircraft covering every corner of the country. An extraordinary success story.

For a brief moment... I considered it. Then, I slowly shook my head. Not yet. Even after my successful trip to Las Vegas... I simply didn't have that kind of money. Nor was I willing to commit everything I owned into a single investment. Timing mattered just as much as opportunity. There would be other chances. There always were. I folded the newspaper shut. One day... Perhaps. But not today. Grandpa glanced toward me while stopping at a traffic light.

"Find something interesting?"

"A promising business."

"And?"

"I'll let someone else invest first." He smiled.

"I suppose that's your polite way of saying it's too early."

"Exactly." The traffic light turned green. The Maranello rolled forward once again.

School passed uneventfully. Mathematics. History. Reading. Recess. Another ordinary winter day. By the afternoon, my thoughts had already shifted back toward Thompson Manufacturing.

Wednesday, January 6 The civilian division continued gathering momentum. Shortly after arriving at Thompson Manufacturing that afternoon, I found Leslie walking briskly through the administrative offices carrying a stack of purchase orders. She noticed me and smiled.

"James."

"Good afternoon, Leslie."

"You look busy."

"I am." She lifted the papers slightly.

"And I'm not complaining." I looked curiously at the stack.

"More retailer orders?" She nodded enthusiastically.

"Quite a few." We walked together toward Grandpa's office.

"Empire Work Supply has increased its next purchase."

"Broadway Department Stores wants additional jackets."

"Finger Lakes Workwear Supply has nearly doubled its request for work trousers." She laughed softly.

"I've spent half the morning answering telephone calls."

"That's a good problem to have."

"It certainly is." She looked down at the papers.

"And we've also received inquiries from retailers who weren't part of our original launch." I stopped walking.

"Already?" She nodded.

"Word is spreading faster than we expected."

Later that afternoon, Marcus joined Grandpa's office carrying another production report.

"I've spoken with every department supervisor." He placed the report on Enzo's desk.

"We're moving ahead with the January production increase." Grandpa looked over the figures.

"Any major concerns?"

"Only one."

"Supply contracts." Marcus pointed toward a column of numbers.

"If retailer demand continues increasing at this pace..."

"We'll consume raw materials much faster than originally projected." Enzo nodded thoughtfully.

"Then don't wait." Marcus smiled.

"I already contacted our suppliers this morning."

"I thought you might say that."

Thursday, January 7 By Thursday morning, the atmosphere inside Thompson Manufacturing had noticeably changed. There was quiet confidence throughout the building. Workers moved with purpose. Forklifts carried pallets across the warehouse floor almost continuously. Finished backpacks, jackets, trousers, and duffel bags steadily accumulated near the shipping docks before being loaded onto waiting trucks. Inside the sales office, telephones seemed to ring without pause.

Leslie stood near one desk reviewing yet another retailer inquiry before walking into Enzo's office. She couldn't hide her smile.

"I have more good news." Enzo looked up from the documents on his desk.

"Let's hear it." She handed him the latest report.

"Our retailers aren't simply reordering anymore."

"They're recommending Thompson products to other retailers." Anthony looked up from his own paperwork.

"Referrals?" Leslie nodded.

"Exactly."

"Several independent hardware stores have contacted us after hearing positive reports from existing customers." Marcus smiled broadly.

"That's the best advertising money can't buy." James quietly smiled to himself. For now. Soon... Advertising would make sure even more people knew the Thompson name and recognized the mountain emblem. And if the first week of January was any indication... 1971 was beginning exactly as he had hoped. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Monday, January 11, 1971 A full week of school had already passed. Life had settled back into its familiar rhythm. Breakfast with Grandpa. The morning newspaper. School.

Then, whenever necessary, an afternoon visit to Thompson Manufacturing. Ever since returning to 1970, reading the newspaper has become more than a habit. It was my window into the future. Most people read the headlines to learn what had happened yesterday. I read them to identify what would matter ten years from now. That morning, the financial section immediately caught my attention. Wall Street analysts were once again discussing what they proudly called the "Nifty Fifty."

According to the article, they were considered America's premier long-term growth companies. Businesses so financially strong that many investment advisers believed investors could simply buy their shares and hold them for years. The article highlighted several of the market's favorites. International Computing Systems, the nation's dominant computer manufacturer. Wonderland Entertainment Studios, whose animated films and family theme parks continued attracting millions of visitors every year.

Burger Barn Restaurants is one of America's fastest-growing hamburger chains. Document Technologies Corporation, whose revolutionary photocopying machines were transforming offices across the country. Financial analysts praised them as companies capable of delivering outstanding returns for patient investors. I quietly stirred my hot chocolate while reading the final paragraphs. They're not wrong. Each of those businesses would continue growing for many years.

Anyone investing in them today would almost certainly make money. But... That wasn't the kind of opportunity I was searching for. I folded the newspaper neatly. They're already giants. Their greatest years of explosive growth are behind them. Buying their shares now would still be profitable. But I wasn't trying to slowly build wealth. I intended to build enough capital to seize opportunities before everyone else recognized them. That required a different strategy.

I'd rather invest in tomorrow's industry leaders... Then today's. Grandpa glanced over the top of his coffee cup.

"Find something interesting?"

"A few excellent companies."

"But?" He already knew there was a "but." I smiled.

"They're already too successful." He chuckled.

"Only you would look at America's strongest companies and decide they're not ambitious enough."

"They'll make people wealthy." I nodded.

"They just won't make me wealthy fast enough." Grandpa laughed.

"I suppose that's a fair distinction."

Later that morning, after dropping me off at school, Grandpa drove to Thompson Manufacturing as usual. The morning passed quietly until there was a gentle knock on the office door.

"Come in," Enzo said. The door opened, and Leslie stepped inside, carrying a small notepad.

"Mr. Lombardi."

"Yes, Leslie?" She smiled politely.

"Mr. Whitmore from Empire National Bank is on the telephone for you." Enzo nodded.

"Thank you, Leslie." As she quietly left the office, Enzo reached for the telephone on his desk and picked up the receiver.

"Enzo Lombardi speaking."

"Good morning, Mr. Lombardi." Whitmore's familiar voice came through the line.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your morning."

"Not at all, Mr. Whitmore. What can I do for you?"

"I actually have good news." Enzo leaned back in his chair.

"I'm listening."

"I'm calling to let you know that the check issued from Las Vegas Stardawn has officially cleared." A faint smile crossed Enzo's face.

"I've been waiting for that confirmation."

"The funds have now been deposited into your personal account." Enzo reached for a notepad lying beside the telephone.

"And what is the final amount?" Whitmore looked down at the statement in front of him.

"After all applicable taxes were deducted, a total of forty-four thousand dollars has been credited to your account." Enzo carefully wrote the figure. $44, 000.

"Excellent."

"Thank you, Mr. Whitmore."

"My pleasure, Mr. Lombardi."

"If there's anything Empire National Bank can assist you with, don't hesitate to contact me."

"I certainly will." The call ended. Enzo gently placed the receiver back into its cradle and looked once more at the number he had written. Forty-four thousand dollars. Just a few weeks earlier, that money had existed only as an extraordinary prediction from his grandson. Now... It was real. That afternoon, Grandpa picked me up after school as usual. The moment I climbed into the Maranello Cavallo V12, I noticed the smile on his face.

"I have good news." I fastened my seat belt.

"The bank called?"

"They did."

"The check was officially cleared this morning." I smiled.

"So the money is finally available." Grandpa nodded as he started the engine.

"Forty-four thousand dollars." The sports car eased away from the curb. I quietly looked out the window. Good. Between my original savings... The Las Vegas profits… And the legal structure Anthony was creating through Vendetta Investments... Another important piece of the foundation had fallen into place. There was still a long road ahead. But step by step... Everything was beginning to move exactly as planned.