The six-hour bike ride down the Marvin Braude trail and back absolutely broke them.
By the time they dragged themselves through the front door of the beach house, Alan and Charlie were completely exhausted.
Charlie, in particular, looked like a walking corpse since he was mumbling a string of incoherent curses before collapsing face-first onto the sofa, out cold before his head even hit the cushions.
The only one left with any energy was Jake, one of the few genuine physical perks of inhabiting a ten-year-old body.
After taking a quick shower to wash off the sweat and sea salt, Jake retreated to his room. He walked over to his desk and pulled out a thick legal envelope Evelyn had discreetly left for him. It contained the latest filings for their corporate entity.
He sat back, tapping his finger against the paperwork.
If you had a mental archive of the internet from twenty years in the future, dropped squarely into 2003, what would you use it for? The possibilities were staggering. Sports betting? Stock market shorts? Snapping up domain names before the massive tech booms? Patent trolling?
While being a ten-year-old legally throttled his direct maneuverability, it didn't stop him entirely. Through Evelyn acting as his proxy, Jake had quietly filed foundational patents for Contextual Autocomplete, Infinite Scroll, and SMS Two-Factor Authentication.
They were all registered under Hera Group LLC, a private holding company consisting strictly of him and his grandmother.
He had deliberately excluded his father and mother. Both Alan and Judith were dangerously irresponsible with finances, and Jake knew perfectly well that dropping a billion-dollar tech empire into their laps would immediately trigger a catastrophic case of Sudden Wealth Syndrome. They would blow it all and ruin their lives.
Leaving Charlie snoring on the couch and his father groaning under the hot water of the bathroom shower, Jake slid the glass door open and stepped out onto the deck.
He leaned against the wooden railing, staring out at the dark Pacific waves crashing against the sand.
If everything went according to his carefully structured timeline, he would file for legal emancipation the second he turned fourteen.
Of course, that didn't mean cutting his family out of his life. Despite their massive, glaring flaws, he actually liked his parents and his uncle in this timeline. More than that, he felt a certain lingering debt to them.
He sometimes wrestled with certain existential guilt.
Had he hijacked their real son's consciousness when he woke up in this body? Or had he simply been reincarnated as an infant, and the recent head trauma had just knocked his past-life memories loose? It was an unanswerable question, something that would sometimes haunt the back of his mind. He would never truly know if he was an invader or just a kid with memories from his past life.
"Hey Jake, ready for dinner?"
Alan's tired voice interrupted his thoughts. Jake turned away from the ocean. He took a breath and mentally flipped the switch.
[Cognitive Dampening Module]
"Sure!" Jake said, his tone instantly shifting into bright, age-appropriate enthusiasm.
Too tired to even think about cooking, Alan ordered a large pepperoni pizza. They ate in front of the TV in near silence, leaving a few slices in the fridge for when Charlie eventually woke up, before finally heading to bed.
The morning sun flooded the kitchen as Berta stood at the stove, expertly flipping a spatula.
"Here you go, kid," Berta said with a genuinely affectionate smile, sliding a perfect plate of food in front of Jake. "Scrambled eggs, just how you like 'em."
Alan, sitting across the table, stared at her expectantly, waiting for his plate.
Berta slowly turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him. "What are you looking at?" she asked threateningly.
"Oh, I just... I like scrambled eggs too," Alan stammered, holding up his empty fork and giving her a hopeful smile.
"Well, tough luck," Berta said, thoroughly unimpressed. She dropped the spatula into the sink and completely ignored him.
She leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "So, Jake. Tonight's game, huh? Who do you think is gonna take it?"
Jake tapped his chin playfully, leaning into the kid persona while silently accessing his Argus database for historical 2003 sports data. "I don't know. It's really hard to think without my orange juice."
"Oh! Yeah, sure, here we go," Berta said cheerfully, immediately grabbing the glass pitcher from the fridge and pouring a tall glass for him.
"I would like some juice, too," Alan chimed in softly.
"Oh, shut up," Berta snapped without even looking in his direction.
Jake took a slow sip of his juice, pretending to deliberate. "Mmm... I'd say the Marlins are going to pull an upset over the Yankees tonight. Beckett's pitching is going to be too much for them." He lowered the glass, giving her a serious look. "But remember, Berta: don't put all your money on one bet. You have to spread the risk."
Berta smirked, a dangerous, thrilling glint in her eye as she completely ignored his sound financial advice. "Oh, I'm gonna spread the money alright. Right onto the Marlins moneyline."
Jake just smiled at her and stayed quiet. While he could, in theory, maintain a ninety-nine percent win rate on his sports predictions, he deliberately kept his success rate hovering right around fifty percent.
However, since he made sure to only advise her on underdog picks with average payout odds of three to one, Berta was still making a very comfortable profit over time.
Thus, he was treated as a goose that lay golden eggs by Berta.