Day Trader

I'm not a religious man, but I make the sign of the cross over my heart just in case. The way I do every time I start. After all, the next few seconds could change my life forever. Employees aren't supposed to use company Internet access for personal reasons, but lots of us violate the policy and no one's ever been fired for it. Jesus, they only pay me thirty-nine thousand dollars a year to be an assistant sales rep for retail paper products in the mid-Atlantic region. So the way I see it, I deserve a perk or two along the way. I've dedicated eleven years to this company, but my wife and I still live paycheck to paycheck, even though she has a full-time job too. Images flash across my computer screen, and I quickly reach the home page of the on-line brokerage firm I use to trade my small stock portfolio. As I enter the information required to access my account, adrenaline surges through me, like it always does when I get to this point. It's as if I've bought a lotto ticket with a fifty-million-dollar jackpot, and I have that lucky feeling tingling in my veins. Name: Augustus McKnight Password: Cardinal Account Number: YTP1699 My fingertips race across the keyboard as I close in on my target, and I pause for a sip of coffee and a deep breath. The deal is only a few screens away, and I'm addicted to the anticipationso I prolong it. It's one of the few things I look forward to these days. This morning, as I guided my rusting Toyota through bumper-to-bumper northern Virginia traffic and thick summer humidity, I had a premonition that today would be different. That something was going to interrupt my daily grind. But I've had that feeling before. There's a sharp knock and my eyes shift to the office doorway. Standing there is my boss, Russell Lake, vice president of all paper product sales. Russell is a slender man with thinning brown hair, a full mustache, and a pasty complexion. He leans into my cramped office, one hand on the doorknob, peering at me over wire-rimmed glasses. And I stare back like a boy caught digging in the cookie jar just before dinner. "Good morning, Augustus." I can tell by the intensity in Russell's eyes that he's trying to figure out what I'm doing on my computer, but I've positioned it so someone standing at the door can't see the screen. "Hello," I say warily. You never know what he's up to. "Up with the eagles this morning?" "What do you mean by that?" "It's only eight o'clock," he says sarcastically, tapping the cracked crystal face of the same Timex he wore the day he interviewed me more than a decade ago. He's always been sarcastic. That's just the way he is. "Aren't you usually crawling out of bed about now?" I'm in by seven thirty almost every morning, sometimes earlier, but there's no point in arguing. Like most bosses, Russell has a convenient memory. "What are you working on?" he asks. "Cold fusion." "Very funny," he says, moving into the office. "Tell me the truth." I'm tempted to flick off the computer, but that would be a dead giveaway I'm doing something wrong. "I'm updating a sales report for central Virginia," I say, hoping he doesn't walk around to my side of the desk. "Nothing exciting." "Checking your stock portfolio again?" Russell blurs before me. "What?&Frey, Stephen is the author of 'Day Trader' with ISBN 9780345443250 and ISBN 034544325X.