The next morning, Charlie was already at the kitchen table, a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other. He stared at the numbers, lips pressed tight in concentration.
"Alright," he muttered, scribbling down the first line. "5.814 million for Jake... and me."
He paused and wrote the next line. "2.971 million for Alan."
Then, tapping the pen thoughtfully, he added, "5 million for Mom."
I walked in mid-calculation, grabbing a bowl of cereal. "Working on the split?"
Charlie nodded. "Just trying to be fair. We round it to 19.6 million total. Before taxes, of course."
Alan entered next, still in his pajamas, hair a mess. He glanced at the notepad and nodded, with a smile in his face
"Yeah, that's about right," he said calmly. "I did the same math last night. Many times. Then once again this morning."
"Might as well face reality now," Charlie replied. "IRS is gonna take a chunk."
He scribbled again. "So if we assume about a quarter goes to taxes... that's 4.9 million off the top."
I leaned in, watching him calculate. "Leaves us with 14.7 million."
Charlie smirked. "Kid's still sharp."
He reworked the numbers quickly. "After taxes: 4.36 for me and Jake, 2.23 for Alan, 3.75 for Mom."
Alan rubbed his temples. "I'm gonna need aspirin."
Charlie stood up, stretching. "And maybe a financial planner. Or two."
I grinned. The high from the win still hadn't worn off, but now reality was slowly settling in. Not the bad kind of reality, though—the kind where everything changes, and for once, you're actually ready for it.
Charlie picked up the paper, gave it a final glance, and nodded. "Not bad for a weekend. Especially one that I did not get laid" he smirked, receiving a reproachful gaze from Alan
I set my cereal bowl down and cleared my throat. "You know, we should really think bigger."
Alan and Charlie both looked at me.
"What do you mean?" Alan asked, cautious.
"I mean," I continued, "we should open a fund. Like, a family investment fund. Call it... Harper Management Fund."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You want us to be hedge fund guys now?"
"Not a hedge fund," I said. "But close. We take most of what we have left—after everyone pulls out one million for personal stuff—and we invest the rest in stocks. Diversify it, be smart about it."
Alan looked skeptical. "Stocks? That's still risky."
"Not as risky as betting, and let's be honest—there's a limit to how much we can keep winning at gambling without raising red flags. If we want to keep growing this, we need to make it legit."
Charlie sat back, thinking. "And who's going to run this Harper Fund?"
I smiled. "Me. I'll manage it. I know what I'm doing."
Alan glanced at Charlie. "The scary part is... I actually believe him."
Charlie grinned. "Alright, kid. You've earned your shot. Let's build a fortune the old-fashioned way—by letting the twelve-year-old run it."
I leaned forward slightly. "Look, in the worst-case scenario, everyone still keeps their one million. That's more money than most people see in a lifetime. But if we play it smart, we can turn this into something much bigger."
Just then, Evelyn walked into the kitchen, holding her usual designer purse and wearing a perfectly coordinated outfit. "What are you all conspiring about this early in the morning?"
"We're starting a family investment fund," Charlie replied casually. "Harper Management Fund."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "You mean like a proper investment operation?"
"Exactly," I said. "Each of us takes a million for personal use, and the rest goes into the fund. I'll manage it."
Evelyn narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "And what's my role in this?"
"Investor," Charlie said with a grin. "And occasional critic."
She nodded slowly. "Fine. But I want monthly reports and a proper portfolio breakdown. If I'm investing, I'm expecting results."
"Done," I replied with confidence.
Alan looked at me again. "Seriously, who are you?"
I couldn't help but think how surreal this all was. Everyone just... agreed. I mean, if memory served me right, Uncle Charlie and Gramma would both fall for some investment scam from my dad in the future. The fact that they were ready to hand over millions to a twelve-year-old—well, that said a lot.
Then again, Alan agreeing was the most baffling of all. Maybe it was the money blinding him to logic. No sane person would leave a fund in the hands of a child, even one who made a few lucky bets. Especially when those bets had no rational correlation to each other.
But then again... this was a sitcom reality.
Maybe I should expect a few irrational moments along the way (more than I already have).
After breakfast, I took my cereal to the patio and sat in the sun, deep in thought. The truth was, I already had a thousand ideas racing through my mind. Now that I was officially managing the Harper Management Fund, I had to think not just like a time traveler with cheat codes—but like a real investor.
The year 2000, I remembered, was rough. Really rough. The dotcom bubble was about to burst in March. It would wipe out hundreds of overvalued tech companies practically overnight. The Nasdaq would crash, and panic would ripple through Wall Street.
It was terrible news for most investors.
If I played it right, I could short the market, target the overhyped tech stocks, and profit massively when the crash came. The question was: which stocks to short? Pets.com immediately came to mind. Symbolic of the bubble—high profile, no profits, huge burn rate. Webvan was another disaster waiting to happen.
I'd also need some safe havens. I remembered that BlackRock performed well despite the chaos, showing steady growth and good fundamentals. It could be a long-term anchor.
I tapped my spoon against the bowl, thinking.
Short-term plays: short Pets.com, Webvan, eToys. Maybe even a few IPOs from late '99 that were still hot.
Long-term growth: buy and hold BlackRock for a year. And there are the superb, Amazon, Monster, Nvidea, Apple. And I remember the juice Netease in 2002, two years for now.
This was just the beginning. But if I timed it right, the Harper Management Fund wouldn't just survive the dotcom crash—it would thrive in it.
And they'd all think I was some kind of financial prodigy.
Which, I guess, I kind of was.