The Evolution of Genius: Every Night, I Get Smarter!

Following our conversation in Central Park, Olivia took off, and I did the same.

I drove back to MIT, and there I was, spending New Year’s Eve flying solo.

But, surprise surprise, I wasn’t the only one.

When I hit the dorm, Rick was right there, locked in a CS2 session with his high school friends.

As soon as I entered, I shot him a question, "Rick! You wanna help me buy a house"

Rick’s eyes didn’t leave the screen as he mumbled, "Ymm... Right... Sure. Wait, what?! You want to buy a house? in 2023?"

"Yea, what’s the problem"

I casually shrugged, "Yea, what’s the problem?"

He finally tore his gaze away from the game, a perplexed expression on his face. "There is a lot of problems... but mostly the cost. It’s not as easy as it was 3 years ago. Banks won’t give you a million for a house, just cause you have 50k and a stable job."

It felt like he might be projecting his own experience.

He didn’t miss a beat, continuing with, "And what’s in it for me?"

I leaned back, "First of all, I don’t need money from a bank, I will pay cash, and..."

He cut me off, "Ah! Right. My team at Microsoft was talking about you. That is some crazy shit, that Microsoft bought your stuff out. Nuts! I told them you live with me!"

"Yea? And what was their reaction?"

Rick shrugged, "They don’t believe me, but I don’t care. I’m not about to turn my webcam on to show them your face. That’s just cringe."

Teasingly, I raised an eyebrow, "Oh? You won’t?"

He laughed, "Nah... that would be ridiculous, and you wouldn’t like that, would you?"

"I don’t care."

"You don’t? So can I do it? Please?"

I smirked, "Pfff. Anyways... I wanted to say that I would let you drive my car if you go buy a house with me."

"The i5?"

I nodded, "Yeah."

"Man. But buying a house is not just going there and buying it. We need to browse through some of them first."

"So, what do you want?"

He leaned back, considering, "Pay for my food tomorrow and buy me a couple of Dr. Peppers. I’ve been liking them lately."

"I’m cool with that."

"OK, but where do you want the house to be? I’m not driving to LA with you..."

"Nah. I want one in Massachusetts."

"Sure. We should check if there are any auctions set for tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t wanna wait a year? The prices are starting to drop."

"No. I want it now. And you can rarely predict the market anyways. Especially last couple years."

He chuckled, "Well, okay then."

And so, with that determination, Rick and I delved into the sea of real estate offers. Our main target: Boston.

The prices were, of course, ludicrous.

But after some scrolling and eye-rolling, I settled on a house in Back Bay, Boston.

Four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a 2-car garage, and an additional 2-car open parking space.

The place had undergone a fancy renovation just two years ago.

Together, Rick and I weighed the pros and cons, and it felt like a solid investment.

The price was set to begin at $8,000,000.

But the real deal? Well, that’d be figured out in the auction.

We threw our names into the auction hat and then hit the town with some students for drinks and good times.

Technically I wasn’t a student anymore, but hey, my dorm spot stuck around, and that stipend money kept showing up, not that I really needed it.

Free money, why not?

...

1st January, 2024

Around 11 AM, Rick started up the car.

He turned to me, "You sure you don’t want to go buy new clothes, or a watch first?"

"No, why would I do that?"

"Well. It’s just kind of to show that you’re rich, you know? That’s house agents culture. From what I’ve read."

I gestured at the sleek car, "I have the car..."

"I guess..."

A little while later, we parked the car not too far from the house.

Already, there were about a dozen people milling around, checking the place out.

The auction itself wouldn’t happen here. We’d have to drive a bit further to a reserved hall for that kind of action.

Approaching the entrance, we encountered a man, presumably keeping tabs on the auction sign-ups.

"Hello, Sirs, have you signed yourselves for the auction?"

I nodded, "Yes. I’m Maximillian Sullivan."

He hesitated for a moment, eyeing me curiously, "Maximillian Sullivan? From MIT?"

I confirmed, "Yes..."

He grinned, "My son has been talking about you all day lately. Welcome, you can check out the house. Personally, the cozy sitting room on the second floor with large windows is my favorite."

So, we stepped inside, and let me tell you, the classic exterior was hiding a seriously modern interior.

The rooms weren’t massive, creating a comfy vibe, and everything felt new and refreshed.

I had a soft spot for the office room on the third floor—a beautiful mix of modern and classic, with a bold desk at the center.

And so, we finally made our way to the action.

Just as Rick predicted, 90% of the participants were men in expensive suits and watches, or women with pricey jewelry. And there we were, sticking out like a sore thumb.

We patiently waited as a couple of auctions unfolded before ours.

Among the sea of agents, there were also two families, or at least I guessed they were. One pair, a man and a woman, and another pair who even brought along their teenage daughter.

Then, at last, the auction for the house began.

"444 Malborough St, Back Bay, Boston, going for eight million dollars."

"Eight million and three hundred thousand," a man confidently lifted his bidding bar behind me.

The bidding continued, and the numbers kept climbing. I threw my bid into the ring at $9,000,000.

As the dust settled, it boiled down to a head-to-head with a lone female agent.

"$9,100,000!", the blonde agent with a saphire neclace one yelled.

"$9,150,000", I called.

"$9,200,000!"

"$9,250,000!", I was always rising it by 50 thousand.

There was a brief pause before the agent declared, "We can pay cash for the house. I want to ask the owner for his opinion."

The owner leaned forward, "Well, if it’s cash, then I guess I can take 100k less."

A bold move, but then I asserted, "Hey! Who said that I can’t pay cash? That’s what I wanted to do from the very beginning. Either raise the price, or I’m taking the house."

The woman probably assumed that I wanted to pay in installment, just by looking at the way I was dressed.

Dead wrong.

The auction ended up with me buying the house for $9,350,000.

And just like that, it was a done deal. The transfer would happen in the following two weeks. There would be paperwork, signatures with notaries, and all that stuff.

Looked like 444 Marlborough St was about to become my new address.

With the deal sealed, Rick and I decided to grab a bite to eat. On the way back, feeling generous, I bought him 30 bottles of Dr. Pepper.

Well, shit. Might as well.

Later in the evening, Mr. Reymond gave me a ring about things related to hiring for the new fusion department.

I passed the baton on that one, telling him I’m leaving it all to him ad Ms. Brooks since she had some experience in scientific-related companies.

However, I did throw Lydia’s number into the mix, telling him to hire her.

Even with delegating tasks, it seemed like catching a breath was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Germany called, and there were documents to sign, meetings to attend.

Considering the whirlwind, the thought of snagging another house in Germany didn’t sound half bad.

But for now, Mr. Reymond reserved a flight for me, the morning of 2nd January, so I packed myself up and took a short nap.

During the night I continued to hash out technical details, especially concerning how the energy would be delivered to my monopole system.

The key was minimizing the energy needed to contain the engine.

That was the main problem in all of the previous iterations of a fusion engine.

The lack of resistance in monopoles was a huge positive.

...

In the early morning, I found myself on the way to the airport.

After parking the car, I headed to the terminal with my suitcases.

As I approached the check-in counter and handed over my documents, the guard squinted at the screen and said, "Sir, you should wait here."

Perplexed, I questioned, "Wait for what?"

He looked at me seriously and replied, "You can’t leave the borders of the United States of America."

I was left standing there, suitcase in hand, wondering what in the world was going on.

"I need you to wait for the police, sir," the guard added, his tone somber.