Lydia stared at the old accounting sheet in confusion. Marcus leaned down. “There.” He pointed at the second line, taking satisfaction in watching her pupils widen.

He straightened. “Line three: an increase of fifty percent over the previous week. Line four, week four, the returns multiplied by two.” When she gasped, he grinned like Santa.

“You know how some ballplayers refuse to shave for fear of upsetting a win streak? That was how I felt.” He chuckled at his early fears. “One day I couldn’t find the exact pencil I had been using, and I panicked. What if the sales stopped?” He slipped his hand into his suit coat, searching for the big fat Cuban cigar. “I never did find it. But it didn’t matter; nothing can stop an avalanche.”

 

 

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