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Fiona's spoon paused in mid-air. She didn't look back. "He said he went to fix Mrs. Brenda's plumbing. You know, his side gig."
Hearing this, irritation Karen had just sucked out of Shane flared right back up.
Fuck, unbelievable. Just lost the van, trailing a mountain of shit behind him, but his pipe-laying skills didn't miss a beat.
He didn't want to ask. Asking would just piss him off more.
"I ate with Karen this afternoon, not hungry right now. You guys eat, don't save me any. If I get hungry later tonight, I'll make something myself."
He opened door to the basement...
Click.
Only when basement door shut did Fiona's tense shoulders relax slightly.
"Fiona," Debbie whispered, hugging her doll.
"Shane... what's wrong with Shane? Why does he look so mad?"
Fiona snapped back to reality, forcing a smile for Debbie. "Well, probably because some older kids aren't listening."
Carl, busy attacking peas on his plate with a fork, immediately looked up and puffed out his little chest. "Me! I'm the best listener!"
Shane shut basement door, cutting off noise from upstairs.
He pulled out his chair, sat down, and opened his laptop on the desk.
Opened browser, logging straight into his PayPal dashboard.
He looked at dense cluster of new income notifications and did the math.
$2476.62.
That was his fresh earnings from past two days.
Added to his previous total, it meant he'd cleared four grand online in less than a week.
Thinking about that number, forum arguments, flame wars, eye-bleeding DMs, and today's absolute clusterfuck—all the frustration seemed to filter away in an instant.
Four grand. In South Side, most people had to break their backs doing hard labor for two months to earn that kind of cash.
Shane lit a cigarette, settling his nerves, then opened his email. He found message flagged as "First $199 Client Intake Questionnaire Reply."
Inside were physical issues client had listed.
Shane scrolled quickly, scanning three-page questionnaire covering dietary habits, daily routine, exercise history, stress sources...
Looking at this, image of a typical sedentary corporate desk jockey formed in his mind.
Honestly, Shane hadn't expected anyone to buy his $199 Ultimate Plan at this stage.
More money than brains?
Thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly shoved it down. No, couldn't talk about his clients like that.
Better way to phrase it: anxiety. It was the price urban middle-class folks were willing to pay for a professional solution when facing age crises and losing control of their bodies.
These people didn't lack money. They lacked time and reliable guidance. Or rather, they lacked someone to turn their vague desire to get fit into a clear, actionable process.
And that was exactly what Shane provided.
He created a document and quickly drafted a training plan for the guy.
Shane typed fast, thoughts clear.
Before long, he finished custom client email, then dropped a post teasing his Wednesday video release to build some hype.
He closed social media, moved mouse to D drive, and opened folder named "Project Expansion."
Inside was a single file with an eye-catching title.
"Super Ultimate Transformation! $799! (Draft)"
Double-clicking it open, document was already over 30 pages long, nearly finished.
It wasn't just a training plan. Shane had designed it as an experiential product.
On top of everything in "Ultimate Plan," Shane added:
Monthly in-depth body metrics analysis template; customized nutrition tracking sheet; bi-weekly review email service.
And of course, core gimmick: a simple food photo check-in system guide.
Shane wrote in the course: "To better monitor your dietary compliance, randomly select three days a week to photograph your three meals and send them to designated email. Coach will provide a brief assessment and adjustments."
That last point was a stroke of genius he had while pulling an all-nighter.
Smartphones were everywhere now. Taking pictures cost nothing.
For the client, that feeling of being supervised—ritual and accountability of having a coach check their plate—was likely worth way more than actual advice provided.
These days, if you wanted an in-person personal trainer staring you down meal by meal, don't even dream about it for less than two grand a month.
But Shane could simulate that exact experience with a few photos and some templated critiques.
Lighting another cigarette, he leaned back in his chair.
He stared at dense text and carefully designed sections on screen.
Traffic was surging. Controversy brought attention, attention brought clicks, clicks brought potential clients.
His most controversial post already had thousands of comments full of people flaming each other.
Sales for $6.99 and $9.99 courses were growing steadily, plus the $199 course sale.
By reverse logic, there would always be a small fraction of people unsatisfied with basic options, or even his ultimate personalized plan.
They'd want something more premium, more exclusive, something that looked more scientific.
They needed a higher price tag to confirm their choice was elite.
$799. He'd thought long and hard about that price.
It would filter out 99% of regular clients, but wasn't so absurd that nobody would bite.
Plus, it was cheaper than a month with a professional gym PT, while being packaged to look more tech-savvy and deeply customized.
As for actual results? That depended entirely on the client.
What Shane provided was what they lacked most: "illusion of being valued" and "excuse to start taking action."
Using templated feedback to simulate two grand worth of one-on-one supervision.
Sell just one a week, pure profit.
Sell four a month, and it matched what Fiona and Lip used to risk their asses for in a week of hustling food stall.
Corners of Shane's mouth curled up.
But then he thought of Lip again.
Shit that kid pulled was undeniably stupid, but his technical skills were totally legit.
Course purchase website ran smooth as hell. Payment portal was stable. Dozens, hundreds of orders processing simultaneously over last few days, zero glitches.
Tomorrow night, Shane thought.
Once he and Kevin finish dealing with van tomorrow during the day, I'll toss this new course to the little shit tomorrow night. Have him upload it and code a few new features for the site. Consider it part of working off his debt.
Thinking about dollars still rolling in, about adding a high-profit puzzle piece to his internet fame blueprint, his rising anger receded a bit.
Honestly, calming down, this wasn't that big a deal for him, or for Gallaghers right now.
Van belonged to Kevin. As long as Kevin stuck to story that it was stolen, liability wouldn't fall on him.
As for equipment, he bought it off cheap wholesale suppliers, completely maxed out it was barely a few hundred bucks.
Most importantly, nobody was hurt, faces weren't caught on camera, names weren't registered. Zero official records pointed directly to Gallagher house.
Which meant systemic risk hadn't been triggered (they hadn't hit kill screen).
What pissed him off was never about losing a little cash and a beat-up van, it was feeling of losing control!
It was sheer stupidity of repeatedly drawing a hard line, only to have someone think they were smart enough to sidestep it, ultimately dragging everyone into mud.
He was mad at Fiona's enabling, mad at Lip's arrogance—always looking for shortcuts, always thinking he had complete control.
Hope this finally teaches them a fucking lesson. Shane rubbed his tight forehead.
Taking final drag of his cigarette, he leaned forward again and started polishing final section of $799 plan.
He was going to finish it tonight.
At exact same time, in first-floor kitchen, faucet was running.
Fiona had been scrubbing same plate in her hands for three minutes straight.
Carl and Debbie had gone upstairs. Ian was watching TV in living room with Liam.
Lip still wasn't back.
Fiona kept glancing at front and back doors. Lip said he was going to scout the place, but it was completely dark out now, and he still wasn't back.
Every pair of headlights sweeping across window from a passing car made Fiona flinch.
She was terrified whoever was at door wouldn't be Lip, but something else. Like a cruiser flashing red and blue, or a city worker in a dark jacket.
Worst-case scenarios played on a loop in her head:
Basement door suddenly swinging open, Shane stepping out, casually asking:
"Fiona, why are city officials knocking on our door? Where's Lip's laptop?"
Fantasy made her shudder.
No.
Absolutely could not let that happen.
Fiona shut off faucet, dried her hands, walked into backyard, and dialed Tony's number.
Phone rang a few times before connecting. Tony's uncontainable surprise burst through receiver: "Fiona? Wow, rare for you to call me first."
"Hey, Tony," Fiona forced her voice to sound relaxed.
"About lunch... I thought about it. This Saturday, if you're still free."
"Saturday? Of course, I'm definitely free!" Tony's voice spiked with even more excitement. She could practically see massive grin on his face through phone.
"Whenever you want, I'm free. You pick place, or I know this new spot—"
"You pick place, it's fine," Fiona cut him off, then feigned a casual tone.
"Um, there's one other thing. Might just be me overthinking, but I'm a little worried about my brother."
"He... might have gotten into a little trouble out there. Don't know details, but he's been acting super secretive lately. I'm not worried about anything else, just... if bad rumors start flying and bring DCFS knocking on our door. Tony, if you hear any whispers about Gallaghers or South Side breakfast stalls or anything like that, could you give me a heads-up? Just so I can be prepared."
Tony went silent for a moment on other end.
It wasn't hesitation. He was just rapidly digesting this massive hit of happiness.
Not only had Fiona initiated date he'd been dreaming of, she was actually opening up to him, actively asking for his help.
This was literally exact scenario he had fantasized about countless times.
"Of course, Fiona. Of course. Your brothers are going to be completely fine, I promise. If I hear anything, I will absolutely tell you immediately. Don't worry, I got you!"
"Thank you, Tony. Really."
"See you Saturday. Wait for my call, Fiona."
Click.
Fiona hung up, but there was no smile on her face.
She was exploiting Tony's feelings. It was despicable.
But compared to risk of her entire family being torn apart, compared to absolute disappointment that could show up in Shane's eyes... a little bit of despicable didn't seem like much at all.
Right now, she had done everything she could.
Rest was up to Lip. Up to luck. Up to this fucked-up world.