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“Do any of you actually follow soccer?” Ethan asked.
The three men and one woman looked at one another.
That was answer enough.
He could not blame them.
In the United States of 2002, soccer still lived on the margins.
Football, basketball, baseball, and hockey owned the room.
Soccer was something kids played, immigrants watched, and a few obsessive fans defended with the wounded patience of missionaries.
The rest of the country mostly shrugged.
“Fine,” Ethan said.
“You don’t need to love the sport.
You don’t even need to understand it that well.
You just need to place bets when I tell you to place them.”
Billy folded his arms.
“Ethan, that is not a plan.
I have never heard of anyone building a fortune by gambling.”
Bo looked no more convinced.
“We studied finance, not card counting.
If this were a math problem, maybe we could go to Vegas and make a night of it.”
Warren joined in from the corner.
“And I’ve heard the big betting companies can move things behind the scenes.
They decide who wins, right?
Trying to take money from them sounds like trying to mug a casino in daylight.”
That was the usual way people talked about sports betting when they only half understood it.
Match-fixing existed.
Ethan knew that perfectly well.
Ordinary leagues had their ugly corners, their compromised players, their referees no one trusted, their calls that made an entire stadium feel sick.
But the World Cup was different.
Not clean.
Nothing with that much money, nationalism, and institutional power was ever completely clean.
But it was not something a sportsbook could steer like a private league match.
The reasons were obvious.
For one thing, the stars were too expensive.
Some of those players were worth more than entire betting companies.
A single shirt sponsorship or endorsement deal could be worth tens of millions.
Why would a world-class player risk his career, his name, and his national legacy for a suitcase of dirty money from a bookie?
For another, the World Cup came only once every four years.
A player’s career did not offer endless chances.
For men who had already earned more than they could spend, glory mattered.
Their country’s shirt mattered.
The right goal could turn a player into a national monument.
Even if a company managed to compromise one or two players, that would not guarantee a result.
Soccer was too chaotic.
Eleven men on each side, ninety minutes, injuries, substitutions, posts, bad touches, and the occasional referee decision that would be argued about for decades.
To control a match reliably, someone would need half a team and the officials.
The price would become absurd.
And the legitimate books did not need that kind of risk.
Their real profit came from the spread, the line, the vig.
As long as people kept betting, the house had a business.
Fixed matches killed trust.
The 2002 Korea-Japan World Cup was still infamous in Ethan’s old timeline.
South Korea’s run had become a storm of controversy, with fans, media, and betting operators arguing over officiating, improbable outcomes, and matches that felt wrong long after the final whistle.
That controversy was exactly why this tournament was dangerous.
It was also why it was valuable.
The results Ethan remembered could make him rich faster than any legal opportunity available to him in May 2002.
It was not elegant.
It was not respectable.
It was the one opening wide enough to matter.
His friends still looked doubtful, so Ethan turned to Judy.
She shrugged.
“I don’t have an objection.
It’s not my money.
Tell us what you need.”
That was what he liked about her.
Judy understood the cost of hesitation.
“See?” Ethan said.
“It’s my money.
Why are the rest of you acting like you’re writing the checks?
Treat it as a game.
A very expensive game.
How many of those have you played?”
“Not one with ten million dollars,” Warren muttered.
“Good.
Then you get a new life experience.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“The ten million gets split into five equal pools.
Two million each.
The four of you go abroad.
One to the United Kingdom, one to Macau, one to Singapore, and one to Brazil.
I stay in the States and coordinate.”
The room quieted.
“This trip may carry some risk,” he continued.
“Each of you gets security.
One bodyguard minimum.
You keep a low profile, you follow instructions, and when the World Cup ends in a month, you come home.”
He did not mention the second reason for the bodyguards.
Protection mattered, yes.
Supervision mattered more.
Within a month, each of them would be moving around with access to money that could ruin a weaker person.
Ethan trusted his friends more than almost anyone.
That did not mean he intended to trust temptation.
Judy gave a low laugh.
“So you are sending us on company-funded vacations.
I’m not complaining.
I’ve always wanted to see Asia.
Singapore’s supposed to be the Garden City, right?”
“Then Singapore is yours,” Ethan said.
Warren raised a hand.
“I’ll take England. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
I’ve always wanted to find out whether British food is really as bad as people say.”
Ethan looked at him with pity.
“I would not recommend making that experiment with your life.
Go to Macau.
Eat properly for a month.
When you come back, you’ll be ten pounds heavier and unable to respect most Chinese takeout in Los Angeles.”
Warren’s face fell.
“That is exactly the problem.
I’m trying to lose weight.”
Bo grinned.
“Then let me take London.
Warren in Macau is better for the story anyway.
If we send him to England, he’ll come home pale, hungry, and emotionally damaged.”
“I hate all of you,” Warren said.
Billy licked sauce from his thumb and smiled.
“I’ve heard Brazil is full of beautiful women and better weather.
That sounds like a life-changing business trip.”
Before he finished, Judy’s eyes sharpened.
“Trade with me,” she said.
Billy blinked.
“Why?”
Judy held up a fist.
He thought about it for one second.
“Singapore sounds wonderful.”
“Good choice,” she said.
Billy leaned back with a smirk.
“Just be careful down there.
If you catch something, I don’t think Ethan is reimbursing that.”
Judy smiled sweetly.
“Keep talking and you won’t live long enough to file expenses.”
The final assignments settled quickly.
Warren would go to Macau.
Billy would go to Singapore.
Bo would go to the United Kingdom.
Judy would go to Brazil.
Brazil worried Ethan most.
Judy would be handling millions in unfamiliar territory, and street crime was a real concern.
He gave her two bodyguards instead of one.
She rolled her eyes when he told her.
He did not change his mind.
Charles moved quickly.
By the morning after the party, ten million dollars sat where Ethan could reach it.
The next day, his four friends boarded planes in four different directions.
At sunrise, Ethan drove home under a washed-blue Los Angeles sky.
The clouds over the hills looked almost like stacks of bills, every Franklin grinning down at him.
For the first time since waking in this world, the future felt close enough to touch.
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Ready for more?
I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.