My Infinite Investment System

VoltEdge sent a woman in a cream coat to Northstar before the mud on Ryan’s suit had dried.

Amina Diallo arrived at ten the next morning carrying no assistant, no visible camera, and a black contract folder thin enough to look harmless.

Rain tapped the nightclub windows while repair workers fitted the last fire door beside the bar.

Mika sat across from the sponsor representative in borrowed sweatpants, with her regulator open on the table and one sock missing beneath her chair.

Nia worked at the forge bench without pretending not to listen.

Ryan stood near the restored coffee machine since every chair had become part of the negotiation.

"VoltEdge followed your warehouse clear before the public challenge," Amina said, resting two manicured fingers over the unopened folder.

She tapped its black cover once and said, "Yesterday proved the regulator was not carrying your performance."

Mika rolled the loose capacitor without looking at the folder and said, "Beautiful opening, my equipment is innocent and I am employable."

"You are highly employable."

"Less beautiful."

The woman in cream opened the folder with a small smile and said, "Our proposal includes a two-year equipment partnership with full medical coverage."

Her fingertip settled beside the salary line as she added, "Housing is included, plus a guaranteed base of three hundred twenty thousand."

Ryan forgot the paper cup halfway between the coffee machine and his mouth.

His personal banking app lived three taps away with exactly $900.17 inside it.

’That salary could buy actual stability,’ he thought as the missing sock brushed her ankle, ’including socks from an undamaged pack.’

Amina opened the folder.

The first page carried Mika’s face beneath the VoltEdge logo, taken from the moment lightning struck the plated boar.

The second listed campaign dates, solo-gate appearances, signature regulator development, and a furnished apartment in the western district.

The third page contained one restriction highlighted in pale corporate blue.

**Partner may not participate in unapproved guild activities or represent competing investment entities**

Mika stopped turning the loose capacitor as her eyes reached the highlighted restriction.

"Say the ugly paragraph out loud."

She folded both hands over the contract, met her stare, and said, "VoltEdge would require you to leave Northstar during the partnership."

The coffee machine clicked behind Ryan with terrible timing and released a final breath of steam.

Nia placed a screwdriver down on the forge bench and faced the meeting.

"Why?" she asked, losing the playful lift around her mouth.

"Brand safety, scheduling control, and liability," Amina answered without apology.

Her nail moved down the risk column as she added, "Northstar has no permanent license, no insurance policy, and no demonstrated revenue."

"We have twelve donated noodle containers."

"Eleven, I saw the owner eat one."

Ryan lowered the stolen noodle container halfway to his mouth under three unimpressed stares.

Mika gave him one slow look before returning to the contract and said, "You researched us deeply."

"I came to make an offer, not a compliment."

’I like her,’ Nia thought as she picked up the screwdriver again, ’unfortunate coat near an open forge.’

The regulator user turned each page slowly enough for the paper edges to scrape beneath her thumb.

Housing remained conditional on campaign appearances scheduled entirely by VoltEdge.

Medical coverage excluded every unauthorized gate and any equipment not supplied by the sponsor.

The equipment budget exceeded the entire value of Northstar’s building.

Her thumb stopped on the signature line while the other hand closed around the capacitor.

"No."

Amina left the folder between them without reaching for its edge and said, "You have not reviewed the performance bonuses."

"They could include a moon base, and the answer would still be no."

Nobody laughed.

"May I ask why?"

Mika closed the contract, then pushed it across the recovered table until it touched Amina’s fingers.

"You watched me win with my team, then decided the valuable part was the woman who fit on a poster."

"The valuable part is the talent we can insure," Amina replied, closing one hand over the returned folder.

"Then insure somebody who wants to leave," Mika said, releasing the contract entirely.

The sponsor representative studied her face for one quiet moment, then returned the folder to her leather bag.

"The proposal remains open for seventy-two hours."

"It will remain unsigned for seventy-three."

Amina stood, buttoned the cream coat, nodded once toward Ryan, and said, "You should advise her before pride becomes expensive."

He looked at the apartment address printed on the page disappearing into her bag.

"She should take it."

He froze.

The sentence reached the room before he understood that he had spoken aloud.

Every trace of performance emptied from Mika’s face as she stared across the table.

The screwdriver stopped again near the forge while Nia kept its tip inside the same screw.

Amina watched both of them, recognized that her work had become easier, then left without adding another word.

The new fire door shut behind her with a clean latch that sounded louder than the repair drill.

For several seconds, only the repair drill continued against the fresh metal frame.

"Tell me you meant the medical coverage," she said, both palms flat on the table.

He placed his coffee down before his hand could spill it and said, "I meant all of it."

"Cool."

The word came out too light while her fingers pressed harder against the recovered wood.

She stood and found the missing sock beneath the chair without looking away from him.

"You are not listening to the offer," he said, keeping his voice measured, "housing, medical care, equipment, guaranteed income, those are not insults."

"The part where I leave is," she replied, pulling the contract indentation flat with one palm.

"The guild is not licensed yet," he said, keeping both hands away from the abandoned page.

"We are in the final trial," she replied as the capacitor disappeared inside her fist.

"Which we could fail."

Her missing sock remained crushed inside one fist while the other pointed toward Nia’s shield.

"So your plan is to spend six million on somebody else’s future, then tell me to cash out before yours becomes inconvenient?"

He felt Nia’s attention from the far side of the room but could not find a safer version of the answer.

"My future is not the relevant number," he said, straightening the edge of the closed folder.

"There, that thing you do," she replied, striking one finger against the recovered wood.

"What thing?" His hand stopped on the folder.

She crossed the gap until the recovered table remained the only object between them.

"You call it math when you decide everybody else deserves more than whatever we are building."

"You deserve stability," he said, holding her stare over the table.

"I deserve the choice I just made," she replied, lifting her chin.

"You decided in eight minutes," he said as the coffee cooled beside his hand.

"I decided yesterday when they offered me the boss and I chose the people," she replied, pressing the sock against her chest.

The answer hit harder than her palm could have and left him without a useful defense.

Ryan looked toward the old nightclub windows, where public donations had filled the ledge with mismatched plants.

’If she stays and this fails, I cost her that salary,’ he thought, straightening a paper cup, ’if she leaves, the damage pays.’

"You do not owe this place a sacrifice," he said.

Mika pulled the missing sock over one foot with angry, jerking movements and said, "Stop calling belief a sacrifice when you are scared to receive it."

The repair drill cut off halfway through a screw and left the room painfully quiet.

Even the workers near the new door had discovered somewhere else to look beyond the glass.

Nia removed her magnifying lens, set it beside the open shield housing, and said, "She said no."

He turned toward the forge without taking his hand away from the abandoned contract and said, "I heard her."

"Then trust that she understood the question."

"You have six million dollars in equipment since the fund can absorb failure."

The shieldsmith rose to her full height behind the bench with one palm resting over her father’s shield frame and said, "The fund can, but you cannot."

Nobody spoke after that.

Mika collected the open regulator, its loose capacitor, and both discarded tools before walking toward the stairs.

He moved around the table before she reached the first step and said, "I believe you can take any contract in this city."

Her hand closed around the cold metal rail until her fingertips lost color as she said, "That is not the same as believing this guild deserves you."

"This guild deserves better than my balance," he replied, stopping beside the first stair.

"Your balance is not your personality," she said, turning one step above him.

"It influences the plot." His mouth attempted a smile that neither of them accepted.

One side of her mouth almost reacted, but the hurt reached it first.

"Do not joke your way out of this one."

He let the next defense die before it became a sentence.

The city licensing portal chimed across every donated phone in the room.

Nobody reached for it until Nia turned her tablet over.

**Observed-gate victory verified, Northstar approved for final licensing trial at 18:00 today**

Below the notice, the city had assigned a single boss chamber and required all registered founders to enter.

Mika read the full licensing notice from the stairs without releasing the metal rail.

"Six hours," she said, pulling the second sock from her regulator case, "we clear the trial first, then we finish this argument."

Ryan looked at the rejected contract page Amina had left beneath his coffee cup.

The apartment photograph showed clean windows, a working kitchen, a bed that had never been moved to dodge rain, and no condemnation notice taped over the door.

He folded the abandoned page once through the apartment photograph and held it out toward her.

"You forgot this."

She came down one step, took the paper, then tore it through the VoltEdge logo without looking away from him.

"No," she said, dropping both halves into the trash beside his shoes, "I did not."