Gate 22B

Crap.

A tired, sesame seed bagel-wielding Donovan Pepper was staring up at the departure board, which was now displaying an ON TIME for Pan-Atlantic Airlines Flight 207 where it once read DELAYED. When and how did that happen? He muttered to himself. The one time I was thankful for an extra few minutes, they actually speed things up! Betcha that’ll never happen again. He sighed, pivoted, and quickly made his way toward Gate 22B, thankful that he at least didn’t have to change terminals. He checked his watch, which read 11:21 PM. Should only take about five minutes to get there, plus maybe an extra five for — OOF!

Donovan crashed into someone’s way-too-big suitcase and almost fell, but didn’t. His bagel, however, was not so fortunate — it not only fell, but bounced, teetered, and rolled on the aging high-traffic carpet, leaving a trail of sesame seeds behind it until coming to a stop underneath a row of old, blue metal chairs that looked like they were in desperate need of replacement. He looked around to apologize, but it was clear the owner of the suitcase wasn’t anywhere nearby. Not sure whose bag that was. Kind of dumb to just leave your suitcase laying around... His stomach rumbled, as if in response to the sudden absence of his bagel. He thought for a half a second. You know what? Ten-second rule. After checking once more for witnesses, he gingerly took a couple steps toward the chairs, stooped down, and reached underneath the chairs for his bagel. Man, I really hope no one sees me.

What’s this? Donovan felt something, but it wasn’t his bagel. No, this was harder and thinner, like a book of some kind. Feeling his appetite give way to his curiosity, he picked up the object and took a look. It was a notebook, all right, and it was a little dusty. Like it’d been there a while. Time seemed to slow down around him as he examined his find: it was black, and had a fabric-like feel to it. Without thinking, he quickly checked over each shoulder, loosened the worn elastic closure, and opened it up. The pages were ivory, and they weren’t lined like he expected; instead, they were squared — they reminded him of the graph paper he used to use in school for Mr. Bower’s geometry class.

What was of particular interest, however, wasn’t the pages themselves; rather, it was what was drawn on them. Each page had a precise zig-zag line, starting from the bottom-left corner of the page and zig-zagging toward the upper right-hand corner of the page. Donovan immediately made an assessment: Looks like stocks or bonds or something. He continued his examination and found that there was a range of dates in the upper left-hand corner of each page, followed by a few capital letters underneath each one. On some of the highest and lowest points on the zig-zag lines, little numbers were written. They looked like dollar amounts, probably rounded to the nearest even dollar. They were clearly inscribed hurriedly, almost messily, but they weren’t smudged. Yeah, definitely stocks. He stopped flipping through all the pages and began to study one at random: Just like the others, in the upper left was written a date range with some capital letters underneath. This one had 6/16/2020 - 5/14/2021, and then just under it were the letters ZMO. What‘s that symbol for? Zenith Medical? He found himself wishing he’d paid more attention to the financial world. He only had a few shares of some stock that he‘d gotten a couple of years ago for free when he used some app — what was the name of that stock, Wheelings? Healings? Something like that — but he was pretty sure he’d seen this symbol, ZMO, before, and guessed it was for Zenith Medical Orthotics, a growing business showing up in the news lately. He looked around once more and then took out his smartphone to check...

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE’D LIKE TO THANK YOU FOR WAITING...” Donovan almost dropped his phone as the intercom blared loudly, causing him to jump and sending adrenaline tingles up his arms. He swallowed hard, a little embarrassed. It was a boarding call, but it wasn’t for his flight. It was some flight to Cancun, which is where he wished he could be going right now. Instead, he was on his way to Detroit, Michigan, applying for a job for which he was over-qualified and under-excited. If he had just a little bit more time, even just a month or two, he could probably be a bit more choosy and land a job he loved or at least one that was closer to his aging parents, but the dwindling bank account was calling the shots now. So Detroit it was.

He checked his watch again. Ok, it’s 11:24. Flight doesn’t leave until 11:30. Got plenty of time. He looked up and to his right, down the long, nearly-empty terminal: he could see his gate and a few folks sitting down, eyes either buried in their magazines and phones or closed in sleep. They’re not even boarding yet for some reason. We’re good. His heart was still beating quickly from his little jump-scare as he continued to investigate his newfound notebook with the help of his smartphone.

Yeah, says it right there. Zenith Medical Orthotics. I guess this little notebook probably belongs to some stock trader or something. But those dates... Donovan’s brow furrowed as he brought the notebook closer to his face and peered even more intently at the date written above the symbol: it was messy, but sure enough, it said 6/16/2020 - 9/14/2021. Hmm. Gotta be a prediction or something. That end date isn’t for another six months. Weird. That’s not a long time to hold shares. Some sort of short squeeze, I guess. I hope for this guy’s sake he’s right. He flipped backwards a few pages toward the beginning to check another, and immediately found himself gripped with a sudden and new concern: what would happen if someone caught him? After all, he was just standing there, virtually alone, holding someone else’s notebook, reading someone else’s notes. He hadn’t really considered this question before, particularly because he wasn’t planning on staying this long. He checked his watch again as he calmed himself: Relax, Pep. You’re just trying to find out whose it is before turning it in to the Lost and Found or whatever. No harm done. Just gonna check one more page.

Donovan checked another. This one had different dates: 11/06/2016 - 4/12/2018. The symbol was RHW. Donovan checked his phone. Redding Western Holdings, eh? Well, that end date already happened. Let’s see how good this prediction turned out. He continued tapping, tapping, tapping on his phone until he arrived at his desired page — RHW performance for 11/06/2016 - 4/12/2018.

It matched up perfectly to the notebook.

To the penny.

If the notebook paper had been a transparency, Donovan could have held it up in front of the smartphone and it would have been an exact comparison: all the zig-zagged lines in the notebook, every one, was the same as what Donovan was viewing on his phone. Whoa. This guy either predicted this really well or he just kept really good records. But why would he write down what already happened? Donovan checked his watch. 11:27. Still time. Still not calling for boarding yet. Must be delayed after all. He took another quick glance down the terminal and saw the same people sitting at Gate 22B, not moving, still sleeping, still reading. His gaze returned to the notebook. For whatever reason, his heartbeat picked up again, and his ears were getting a little bit warm. Was he sweating now? What have I stumbled across here? He tried to regain his composure a little bit. Get real. Whatever it is, Pep, it’s not what you think. Somewhat grounded but not enough to stop reading, Donovan flipped to the next page.

Let’s see...1/08/17 through 2/06/19, stock market symbol FAHI...he was mumbling aloud now as his finger tapped, swiped, and tapped again on his phone. Future...tap. Allocations...swipe. Holdings...tap, tap. International! Again, the numbers added up exactly. The stock price had soared from only a few dollars to thousands. Man, anyone who got in on that early...wow.

Donovan froze. Wait. Didn’t he have a couple of shares in some company? What about those? Quickly, as if possessed, he checked for his stock trading app on his phone. Urgh. Gotta reinstall. Tap. Tap. Enter password. Tap. He checked his watch again. 11:30 exactly. He glanced up toward his gate. Nothing happening. It’s good. He was nervously fidgeting, looking around, waiting for his app to reinstall when it hit him: This is ridiculous. You have two or three forgotten shares in a dumb company that probably doesn’t even exist anymore.

DING! His phone chimed, letting Donovan know that his app was now reinstalled. Okay, open. Username. Password. Got it. He was surprised he remembered. Also surprising was that his hands were shaking a little bit, despite his failed attempts to lower his expectations. Okay, where are you, shares? Where...are...you...hiding...There! His eyes widened a bit when he saw them: five shares, all of the same company: Healdings Corporation. HLDR. Healdings. I was close. He scrolled down a little. 71 bucks? My shares are worth 71 bucks each? Not too bad, I guess, for free shares.

He hurried back to the notebook. The mysterious, silent, black notebook that wouldn’t reveal whether it was expertly-recorded or omnisciently predicted. The notebook that he shouldn‘t even be reading. The notebook that he found what seemed like hours earlier while checking for a bagel. He flipped through the pages, checking for symbol HLDR on each page.

Flip. Nope. Flip. Nope. Flip. Nope. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Nope, nope...

There.

There it was. HLDR. It wasn’t zig-zaggy at all, really. Just a barely ascending, mostly-flat line for most of the thick ivory page. But right at the end — no freaking way — it shot upwards. Way, way upwards. At the highest point on the far right side of the page, one of those rounded dollar amounts was listed: $4,000. Just like that. Donovan double checked, wide-eyed and frantic. No way. No freaking way. He closed the book most of the way on his thumb, as if to preserve its magic or something, and looked up. Wait. The dates. Gotta check the dates.

He threw the book back open and looked: 7/02/17 - 5/05/21. Wait. That’s in like, two weeks. He repeated himself to himself: That’s in like, two weeks, Pep. You have five shares, Pep. Five shares. You have twenty thousand dollars in shares that we would have completely forgotten about if it wasn’t for this silly —

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE AND ARE NOW READY TO BEGIN BOARDING FLIGHT 207 TO DETROIT...”

He slowly closed the book again, this time all the way, and looked up once more, not focusing on anything in particular. Almost as if in a trance.

“ONCE AGAIN, WE ARE NOW READY TO BEGIN BOARDING FLIGHT 207 TO DETROIT...”

He looked down the terminal. The people sitting, waiting for their flight were now roused from their slumber, from their phones, and were now sleepily meandering to the gate for their red-eye flight.

Donovan’s red-eye flight.

He watched as they filed their way in, but he didn’t move. He just watched.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS OUR LAST BOARDING CALL FOR FLIGHT 207 TO DETROIT...”

Donovan Pepper, little black book in hand, smiled, pivoted, and walked out of the airport.