Chương 29: Foundations of Tomorrow V

Arc II: Foundations of Tomorrow Thursday, January 21, 1971 The Atlantic Ocean disappeared beneath a blanket of gray clouds as the aircraft began its gradual descent. James leaned slightly toward the window. Through occasional breaks in the clouds, England slowly revealed itself below. Small villages. Narrow country roads. Fields divided by ancient hedgerows. Then, little by little... London appeared on the horizon. It was unlike New York in almost every way. The city stretched outward instead of upward.

Brick buildings dominated the landscape.

Church spires pierced the skyline. Rows of chimney pots crowned nearly every rooftop. The captain's calm voice echoed through the cabin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our final descent into London. Local time is approximately four-fifteen in the morning. The weather is cloudy with a temperature of four degrees Celsius. On behalf of Atlantic Continental Airways, we'd like to thank you for flying with us today." Enzo smiled.

"Looks like we made good time." James nodded.

"Now the important part begins." Enzo chuckled.

"I had a feeling you'd say that." Moments later, the aircraft touched the runway. The tires chirped against the pavement before the engines reversed thrust, slowing the aircraft as it rolled toward the terminal.

The airport bustled with travelers from across Europe and North America. Businessmen hurried toward customs carrying leather briefcases. Families reunited after long embraces. Announcements echoed overhead every few minutes. After collecting their luggage and clearing immigration, James and Enzo stepped outside. A cold winter breeze immediately greeted them. James instinctively pulled his coat a little tighter.

"It's colder than Manhattan." Enzo laughed.

"England has a way of reminding visitors that it's still January." A line of black taxis waited outside the terminal. One driver tipped his cap.

"Taxi, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Enzo replied. He handed the driver the reservation Leslie had prepared before they departed New York.

"The Westminster Crown Hotel."

"Certainly, sir." The driver loaded their luggage before easing into London's city.

James spent most of the journey quietly watching the city. Everything fascinated him. Black taxicabs weaving through narrow streets. Historic stone buildings are standing beside modern storefronts. Even driving on the opposite side of the road felt strange. Enzo noticed his grandson observing everything.

"First time in Europe." James smiled.

"It feels like another world."

"In many ways..."

"It is." At least let's pretend it is my first time here.

Nearly forty-five minutes later, the taxi stopped before an elegant stone building overlooking one of London's busy avenues. A polished brass sign identified it. The Westminster Crown Hotel A porter immediately approached.

"Welcome, gentlemen." Their luggage was carried upstairs while they completed registration. Within minutes, they found themselves inside a comfortable suite overlooking the busy London streets below. Enzo loosened his tie.

"I don't know about you..."

"... but seven hours across the Atlantic isn't as easy as it used to be." James smiled.

"A little rest wouldn't hurt."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Several hours later... Both awoke feeling considerably better. They met downstairs in the hotel's dining room. Breakfast was simple. Fresh eggs. Toast. Bacon. Tea. Coffee. Orange marmalade. Enzo buttered another slice of toast.

"So..." He looked toward James.

"I assume we're not crossing the Atlantic simply to admire London." James laughed.

"No."

"This is a business trip." Enzo raised an eyebrow.

"A business trip?"

"I like to think so." His grandfather laughed.

"Only you could describe traveling halfway around the world to place a football wager as a business trip."

"It is business."

"If everything goes according to plan."

"I suppose I can't argue with that."

An hour later, another black taxi carried them across London. The driver glanced into the rearview mirror.

"Where to today, gentlemen?" Enzo answered without hesitation.

"Wellington Hill Bookmakers." The driver smiled knowingly.

"Planning a wager?" Enzo glanced toward James before answering.

"You could say that."

The taxi stopped outside a modest brick building on a busy commercial street. Unlike the dazzling sportsbooks of Las Vegas... This establishment looked remarkably ordinary. Its large front windows displayed handwritten football fixtures, horse racing odds, and chalkboards listing the weekend's events. Several gentlemen wearing long wool coats quietly studied betting forms while cigarette smoke drifted lazily through the room. James looked around. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen.

Report the violation.

"So this is how they do it." Enzo nodded.

"A lot quieter than Nevada." Together, they entered. A young clerk behind the polished wooden counter greeted them politely.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"Good afternoon."

"If you're here for football betting..." The clerk pointed toward a rack beside the entrance.

"You'll need one of the blue betting slips." Enzo walked over and picked one up. Nearby stood a narrow writing counter with several fountain pens attached by small chains. James quietly removed his notebook from inside his coat. He opened it to the page he had prepared before leaving New York.

"FA Cup."

"Fourth Round." Enzo nodded. He carefully wrote the fixture. London Royals vs. Manchester Blues His pen paused for just a second. Then... He slowly wrote the predicted final score. London Royals 0–3 Manchester Blues Even now... Writing those numbers felt absurd. The London Royals were the reigning FA Cup champions. Playing at home. Few supporters anywhere in England would predict such a decisive defeat. Enzo looked toward James.

"Still certain?" James met his grandfather's eyes without the slightest hesitation.

"I've never been more certain." Enzo gave one slow nod.

"Very well." He carried the completed betting slip to the counter. The clerk accepted it before studying the prediction. His eyebrows gradually rose.

"Exact score?"

"Yes." The young man consulted the large odds board hanging behind him. After a moment, he looked back.

"The fixed odds are forty to one." He neatly wrote 40/1 onto the betting slip before stamping it. His eyes returned to the prediction once again.

"I must admit..."

"... predicting the reigning cup holders to lose three-nil at home..."

"... is certainly one of the boldest wagers I've seen this season." Enzo smiled politely.

"My grandson has unusual instincts." The clerk looked curiously toward James.

"I see." Enzo reached into his wallet.

"I'd like to wager four thousand U. S. dollars."(£1, 638 to £1, 644) The clerk blinked.

"I'm afraid a wager of that size requires managerial approval."

"If you'll excuse me..." He disappeared into a doorway behind the counter. Less than a minute later, another gentleman emerged. He appeared to be in his early fifties, impeccably dressed in a dark suit. He approached with a courteous smile.

"Good afternoon."

"My name is Harold Bennett."

"I'm the manager." Enzo shook his hand.

"Enzo Lombardi." Mr. Bennett carefully reviewed the betting slip. He looked at the fixture. Then, at the predicted score. Finally... He looked toward James.

"I've worked in this business for more than twenty years."

"I don't believe I've ever seen anyone confidently predict the reigning cup holders to lose by three goals on their own ground." James smiled politely but said nothing. The manager looked back toward Enzo.

"Forty-to-one odds."

"A four-thousand-dollar stake."

"Should your prediction prove correct..."

"... it would result in a rather remarkable payout."

"I understand." Mr. Bennett nodded.

"Very well." He personally entered the wager into the settlement ledger. Stamped both the original betting slip and its carbon copy. Then, carefully handed the carbon copy back across the counter.

"Please guard this carefully."

"It will be required to claim any winnings." Enzo accepted it before placing it inside the inner pocket of his overcoat.

"I assure you..."

"It won't leave my possession." The manager smiled warmly.

"Then I wish you both the very best of luck." As grandfather and grandson stepped back onto the London sidewalk, Enzo gently patted the inside of his coat. He looked at James.

"I have the feeling..."

"... this small piece of paper is either completely worthless..."

"... or one of the most valuable things I've ever carried." James smiled.

"We'll find out on Saturday." The two continued walking down the bustling London street, blending into the afternoon crowd. Neither of them knew it yet... But in just two days, that folded betting slip would become worth far more than either man had ever carried in his pocket before. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc II: Foundations of Tomorrow Friday, January 22, 1971 For the first time since arriving in London... Neither of them had any business to conduct. No meetings. No betting slips. No paperwork.

It is only an entire day to experience one of the world's oldest cities. James looked out the hotel window as morning traffic gradually filled the streets below. Black taxis. Double-decker buses. Delivery vans. Men in long overcoats hurry toward offices. The city had its own rhythm. It wasn't as loud as Manhattan. Nor as hurried. London felt older...

More patient. A knock came at the hotel room door.

"Room service." Enzo opened it. A waiter wheeled in breakfast before politely wishing them a pleasant morning. After finishing breakfast, Grandpa folded the city map Leslie had thoughtfully placed inside their travel folder before they left New York.

"So..."

"Tour guide." He looked toward James.

"What would you like to see?" James laughed.

"I've never been here."

"So technically..."

"Neither of us knows where we're going."

"Fair point." The two laughed together.

Their first stop was the heart of the city. Ancient government buildings towered over wide streets lined with winter-bare trees. James admired the architecture. Unlike the steel and glass buildings slowly becoming common in America... These buildings carried centuries of history within their stone walls. Every corner seemed to tell a story. Every bridge looked as though it had witnessed generations pass beneath it. Enzo noticed James stopping repeatedly to observe the buildings.

"You really enjoy history."

"I do."

"It reminds me..."

"... that everything we think is permanent..."

"... was once brand new." Grandpa smiled.

"That's a thoughtful way of looking at it."

They spent the late morning walking through several public squares. Street musicians played cheerful melodies despite the cold weather. Children chased pigeons. Artists displayed paintings for passing tourists. Small bookstores lined narrow streets. James found himself drawn toward nearly every bookshop they passed. Enzo laughed.

"Don't tell me."

"You want to buy books."

"Maybe one or two."

"Only one or two?" James grinned.

"I'll try."

By noon... Hunger finally won. They stepped inside a traditional English restaurant recommended by the hotel concierge. The atmosphere felt warm compared to the chilly streets outside. Wood-paneled walls. Soft conversation. The pleasant aroma of freshly cooked meals. A waiter approached their table.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"What may I bring you?" Enzo glanced toward James.

"Your choice." James looked over the menu carefully.

"I think..."

"I'll try the fish."

"And chips." Grandpa smiled.

"When in England..."

"I suppose we should eat like the English."

"I was thinking exactly that." The waiter smiled.

"Excellent choice."

The meal arrived several minutes later. James cut into the crispy fish before taking his first bite. He nodded approvingly.

"That's actually very good." Enzo tasted his own meal before laughing.

"I was expecting something far less impressive."

"I was too." The two spent nearly an hour enjoying lunch while watching pedestrians pass outside the restaurant windows. For a little while... There was no discussion of betting. No business plans. No future investments. Only a grandfather and his grandson are sharing a quiet meal together.

The afternoon passed much the same way. Museums. Historic streets. Small cafés. Bookshops. Everywhere James looked... History surrounded him. By evening, both were pleasantly exhausted. As they returned to the Westminster Crown Hotel, Enzo smiled.

"I'll admit..."

"This has been enjoyable." James nodded.

"It has."

"Tomorrow..."

"We get back to business." Grandpa laughed.

"I should've known you were counting the hours."

Saturday, January 23, 1971 James awoke earlier than usual. Not because of jet lag. Not because of excitement about sightseeing. Today... The fourth round of the FA Cup would be played. He quietly dressed before walking toward the window. Snow had fallen lightly overnight. London's rooftops wore a thin white blanket. Behind him, Enzo slowly woke. He glanced at the clock.

"You've been awake for a while."

"I couldn't sleep." Grandpa smiled knowingly.

"I wonder why." James laughed.

"I've been waiting for today since December."

"I know."

Breakfast was noticeably quieter. Both understood what was at stake. A single betting slip rested securely inside Enzo's wallet. If James was correct... Everything would change. If he was wrong... The trip would become a very expensive vacation. Neither mentioned the possibility aloud.

The match itself wasn't being televised at the hotel. Instead... Like thousands of football supporters across Britain... They followed the match through radio bulletins and special newspaper editions distributed throughout the afternoon. After lunch, they found a small café where a portable radio sat behind the counter. Several local patrons had gathered around it. The announcer's voice echoed through the room.

"... matches are now underway across the country in today's Fourth Round of the FA Cup..." James quietly stirred his tea. Enzo watched his grandson rather than the radio. Remarkably... James appeared completely relaxed. As though he already knew what would happen. The first major update came nearly half an hour later.

"... early reports indicate Manchester Blues have taken the lead away against the London Royals..." The café immediately erupted in surprised conversation.

"What?"

"Already?"

"Against the holders?" One elderly gentleman shook his head.

"Didn't expect that." Enzo slowly looked toward James. James simply continued sipping his tea.

Another update arrived before halftime.

"... Manchester Blues have doubled their advantage..."

"... the score now stands..."

"... London Royals nil..."

"... Manchester Blues two." This time, the room fell almost completely silent. One man muttered under his breath.

"I don't believe it." Another quietly folded his newspaper.

"The holders are being outplayed." Enzo's heartbeat quickened. He slowly reached inside his coat pocket. The betting ticket remained there. Untouched. Safe. His eyes drifted toward James once again. Still calm. Still composed. Almost impossibly composed.

Late in the second half... The announcer interrupted regular programming.

"We have another score update from Stamford Park..." The café became silent. Every conversation stopped. Even the waiter stood still.

"... Manchester Blues have scored again."

"... the score is now..."

"... London Royals nil..."

"... Manchester Blues three." Nobody spoke. The silence lasted several seconds. Then... Disbelief spread throughout the café.

"Three?"

"Impossible."

"The holders?"

"At home?" Enzo slowly closed his eyes for a brief moment. His pulse was racing. James looked at him and smiled.

"One more thing."

"What?"

"The match has to end." Grandpa let out a quiet laugh.

"Right."

"It isn't over yet."

Nearly twenty minutes later... The final whistle came. The announcer's voice carried an unmistakable tone of astonishment.

"The final score from Stamford Park..."

"... London Royals nil..."

"... Manchester Blues three."

"What an extraordinary upset."

"The reigning FA Cup holders have been comprehensively eliminated." Conversation immediately exploded throughout the café. No one had expected such a result. Least of all... An exact three-goal defeat. Enzo slowly turned toward James. For several seconds... He simply stared. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't know what amazes me more."

"The prediction..."

"Or the fact that you never looked nervous." James smiled.

"I told you."

"I was certain." Grandpa reached inside his coat. He gently touched the folded betting ticket. Then he quietly laughed to himself.

"I believe..."

"... that little piece of paper just became incredibly valuable." ☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc II: Foundations of Tomorrow Sunday, January 24, 1971 The atmosphere at breakfast was noticeably different from the previous morning. The tension had disappeared. In its place... There was quiet satisfaction. A folded betting ticket rested safely inside the inner pocket of Enzo's overcoat. Neither of them mentioned it immediately. Instead, they enjoyed breakfast while looking out over London's busy streets.

Enzo buttered a slice of toast before breaking the silence.

"You know..." James looked up.

"I've spent the better part of my life making business decisions."

"When to expand."

"When to invest."

"When to take risks." He paused for a moment.

"I've made some very good decisions."

"And a few terrible ones." James listened quietly.

"But never..." He smiled to himself.

"... have I experienced something like yesterday." James couldn't help smiling.

"It was certainly memorable." Grandpa laughed.

"Memorable?"

"I think unbelievable is a better word." The two shared a laugh before finishing breakfast.

With no business to conduct until the following day, they spent Sunday exploring more of London. The city looked different beneath the pale winter sunlight. Street performers entertained families gathered in public squares. Open-air book stalls displayed rows of secondhand novels. Artists painted portraits along sidewalks despite the cold. James found himself stopping repeatedly to admire antique shop windows. Old clocks. Pocket watches. Vintage maps. Objects that had already lived longer than most people.

Enzo noticed.

"You've always appreciated old things." James nodded.

"They remind me..."

"... that someone else's ordinary day eventually becomes history." Grandpa smiled.

"Sometimes I forget you're only ten." James laughed.

"Sometimes I do too."

That afternoon, they found another restaurant tucked away on a quiet side street. It was smaller than the previous day's. The owner himself welcomed guests at the entrance.

"Good afternoon."

"A table for two?"

"Please," Enzo replied. The owner led them toward a corner table beside a fireplace. Warmth filled the room. Outside, people hurried through the cold. Inside... Everything felt calm. As they waited for lunch, Enzo leaned forward slightly.

"Tomorrow." James nodded.

"We collect the winnings."

"Assuming everything goes smoothly."

"It should." Grandpa smiled.

"I've learned something."

"What?"

"When you say 'it should'..."

"... it usually does." James laughed.

"I hope I don't disappoint you."

"I don't think you will."

Monday, January 25, 1971 The morning arrived with clear skies over London. Breakfast was shorter than usual. Neither wanted to keep the manager waiting any longer than necessary. Shortly after ten o'clock, another black taxi stopped outside the Westminster Crown Hotel.

"Wellington Hill Bookmakers," Enzo told the driver.

"Certainly, sir." The journey was quiet. For the first time since arriving in England... Enzo appeared genuinely nervous. James noticed immediately.

"Nervous?"

"A little."

"I've never collected this much money before." James smiled.

"I don't think many people have."

The familiar brick storefront soon came into view. Several customers entered and exited as usual. To anyone passing by... It looked like an ordinary betting shop. Only Enzo knew that somewhere inside... A ticket is worth an extraordinary amount rested in his pocket. The bell above the entrance chimed softly as they stepped inside. The same young clerk recognized them almost immediately.

"Good morning." Enzo smiled politely.

"Good morning."

"I believe we're here regarding a football wager." Recognition spread across the clerk's face.

"The exact score."

"One moment, please."

"I'll fetch Mr. Bennett." The clerk disappeared into the office. Only seconds later... Harold Bennett emerged carrying a large leather-bound ledger beneath one arm. His smile was considerably broader than during their previous visit.

"Mr. Lombardi."

"It's a pleasure to see you again." He extended his hand.

"I must congratulate you." Enzo returned the handshake.

"Thank you."

"I imagine you don't often see an exact prediction like that." Mr. Bennett laughed.

"I can honestly say..."

"... I've never seen one quite like it." He gestured politely toward a private office at the rear of the shop.

"If you'd follow me."

The office was modestly furnished. A sturdy oak desk occupied the center of the room. Several filing cabinets lined one wall. A black rotary telephone rested beside an enormous ledger book. Mr. Bennett closed the office door behind them.

"If I may..."

"The betting ticket." Enzo carefully reached inside his overcoat. He removed the folded carbon-copy ticket. Even after several days... It remained perfectly preserved. Mr. Bennett accepted it carefully. He examined the ticket number. The official stamp. The date. The fixture. The odds. Everything matched. He opened the settlement ledger and compared several entries. Finally... He reached for the telephone. James quietly watched. Everything was exactly as he remembered such procedures working during this era. Mr.

Bennett dialed corporate headquarters. The line connected after several moments.

"Wellington Hill headquarters."

"Good morning."

"This is Harold Bennett from our Westminster branch."

"I need verification on a football settlement." He slowly read the ticket number aloud. Then the fixture. Finally...

"The wager was placed at fixed odds of forty to one." He waited while someone on the other end searched their records. The room remained silent. Only the ticking of the office clock could be heard. Several minutes later, the voice returned. Mr. Bennett smiled.

"Excellent."

"Thank you." He replaced the receiver. Everything had been confirmed. He looked toward Enzo.

"Congratulations once again."

"Your ticket has been officially verified." James remained silent while Grandpa nodded appreciatively. Mr. Bennett folded his hands.

"However..."

"I'm afraid I can not simply open the cash drawer." A faint smile crossed his face.

"I'm sure you understand." Enzo laughed.

"I suspected as much." Mr. Bennett nodded.

"Our local branches keep only modest amounts of cash on hand."

"A payout of this magnitude..."

"... is impossible to settle over the counter." He opened another folder.

"Our corporate office will issue a formal crossed bank cheque."

"It will be drawn through a major British banking institution."

"The cheque will be made payable exactly to the name appearing on your identification." He looked toward Enzo.

"Once issued..."

"It can not legally be exchanged for cash."

"It must be deposited into a verified bank account." James nodded quietly. Exactly as expected. Mr. Bennett continued.

"The cheque should arrive within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"You may either return here to collect it..."

"... or, if you prefer..."

"... we can arrange secure delivery to your hotel." Enzo smiled.

"We'll return."

"I'd rather collect it personally."

"A wise decision." Mr. Bennett stood and once again shook Enzo's hand.

"I look forward to seeing you again very soon." As grandfather and grandson stepped back onto the busy London street, Enzo took a deep breath.

"So..." James looked at him.

"So."

"It isn't money yet."

"No."

"But it's close." Grandpa laughed.

"Very close." The betting ticket had now completed its purpose. All that remained... Was collecting the cheque and sending the money home.