World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

Judy glanced between Alice and me, clearly interested.

"So," she began, "who's this guy?"

Alice turned to Judy. "This is Jack. He's from Florida. I met him on the trip to Miami."

Judy looked me in the eyes and smiled. "Nice to meet you; I'm Judy. Did you come all the way to Boston to see Alice?"

I chuckled softly. "No, nothing of the sort. I'm actually here on business; I was recruiting someone."

Alice's eyes flickered. "HEY! You didn't want to tell me what you're doing here, but you told Judy?" she looked at me with raised eyebrows.

Judy studied me with skepticism. "You look quite young for a recruiter."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Does age matter? Also, I'm not really a recruiter—just something I'm doing on the side while I'm in Boston."

I glanced at my cheap watch. "Alright, I should get going. I still have something to do."

Alice looked up at me. "Can I call you once I'm done with classes?"

"I will be on the plane by then. Try calling me tomorrow evening; I'll be free then."

"Alright..." Alice said.

I glanced at Judy. "It was nice meeting you, Judy." and then I turned back to Alice. "And you too, Alice. Nice meeting you again." I paused for a moment. "By the way... what's your full name?

You probably don't remember, but my ex—"

"Your ex was called Alice." Alice interjected before I could finish.

"Yes..."

"I'm Alice Griffin," she added.

"Jack Somnus." I told her.

"Alice, we need to go as well. It's 9:30." Judy quiped.

"See you, Jack," Alice said, still smiling.

"Definitely," I replied, giving a final nod before walking away.

I headed to a nearby post office, found a quiet corner, and took out a piece of paper.

It was a letter to Derec. I described the entire situation concerning Reagan Lee and the terms on which he should be accepted if he were to call. I addressed it to Immortal Investments and left it anonymous, only writing "Christopher V." inside to let Derec know it was me.

I folded the letter neatly, slipped it into an envelope, sealed it, and placed a stamp on it.

A friendly clerk took the letter and processed it.

I walked back to the hotel, changed into workout gear, and only now did my usual morning training routine.

I did narrow, diamond, and wide push-ups, followed by sit-ups. I used a chair for dips and worked on my advanced tuck planche.

I was getting closer to doing the full planche. Consistency was the key. Afterward, I did v-ups and side planks and finished with Russian twists.

I took a quick shower, changed into fresh clothes and headed out for lunch. When I came back I packed up my things and took a cab to the airport.

This time, I flew economy class.

After landing in Gainesville, I packed myself into my Mustang and drove back to my dorm. When I arrived, it was around 8 p.m., but I was so tired that I barely made it to my bed before falling asleep almost instantly.

...

BOOM!BOOM!BOOM!

The next morning, I woke up to loud music blasting from somewhere in the corridor.

"Damn teens doing this on a Tuesday morning." I muttered under my breath, irritated.

Anyway, I quickly threw on some clothes and headed out to my car. After a brief drive, I arrived on campus.

I had skipped my Monday classes, but I told myself that a man could skip them once, especially when I had already lived through them once.

As I walked to my first lecture, International Trade and Finance with Professor Sofia Fletcher, my phone rang. It was my father calling.

He was adamant that he would send some of the money back. That he didn't need it.

I told him that he should keep it and that I would visit them next weekend so that we could talk about it.

After saying a few more words, I hung up and entered the hall.

It was already full.

I quickly greeted Sam and sat next to him.

As always, Prof. Fletcher walked into the hall with her thick glasses perched on her nose. Her steps were a little uneven because of her health problems.

"Good morning," she started and then looked over the students. "I have good, or bad news for you, depending on the person... the results of the mid-term exams are in," she announced. "I'll be distributing the papers to you."

The exam was, of course, a mix of a few subjects, but Prof. Fletcher was in charge of our major, so she was the one giving us the results.

I could see worry on the students' faces as she started calling out their names and handing out the scored exams.

"Sam Johnson!" she called out.

Sam raised his hand and Professor Fletcher walked up to us with a small card instead of the usual exam paper.

It had neatly printed scores and feedback. Professor Fletcher handed it to Sam. "You scored 39.5 out of 45 points, Sam," she told him.

Professor Fletcher continued calling out names.

"Jack Somnus!" she finally called.

Professor Fletcher handed me my exam. "There's a small annotation at the bottom," she said with a slight smile.

I glanced at the top of my exam paper.

"44.5/45" written in bold, red ink.

'The thought of giving out full points must be making them gag...' I thought.

I flipped the paper over and saw the small annotation at the bottom:

"Great job answering my question. Please come to my office after your lectures. — Prof. Roger Blake."

"How did you do?" Sam asked me.

"I'm half a point away from the full score."

"Good job."

"Jack!" I heard Alex calling out to me out, "Jack!!"

I glanced down two rows to look at him.

"What's your score?" he asked.

"Forty-four point five."

"WHAT?! FOR REAL?!"

"Sir. Gagnon! We still have a lecture to go through." Prof. Fletcher reprimanded, looking at him harshly through her glasses.

After the International Economy lecture, we had a Calculus class.

Sam stopped me as I was walking out of the classroom.

"I've got the contract ready," he said, holding up a folder.

"Umm... Professor Blake asked me to come to his office, and I think his hours are almost over. Could you wait for me?"

"No problem," Sam replied. "What does he want from you anyway?"

"Don't ask me."

...

I walked to Prof. Blake's office on the second floor, knocked on the dark wooden door and opened it.

Right in front of me was a desk, and Professor Blake was standing on the right by a coffee machine, making himself a cup.

"Jack," he said casually, glancing my way as he spinned a dessert spoon in the cup in front of him.

He wore an AC/DC t-shirt, which was quite a contrast to the blunt clothes he usually wore. Paired with his long, dark hair, it made him look like a metalhead.

He picked up the coffee cup and walked over to his desk, placing it down with a clink. "Sit, Jack," he said, pointing to the chair on my side of the desk. "I wanted to ask you if you'd be interested in taking part in the College Fed Challange."