Dimensional Nomad

The thing about being a genius with a lifetime of memories in the body of a child is that adults never take you seriously. At first, it was frustrating. Here I was, with ideas and plans that could rival the likes of Reed Richards and Tony Stark, but my biggest accomplishment in their eyes was figuring out how to spell my full name before kindergarten.

So, I adapted. I learned how to manipulate expectations.

It started with my dad. I'd been casually dropping questions about the stock market and investing into our dinner conversations. I pretended I'd seen something about stocks on TV or in one of the magazines he read. Every time, he'd laugh it off or pat me on the head, but little by little, I planted the seed.

"What if someone bought a stock when it was low and sold it when it was high? Isn't that how people get rich?" I asked innocently one day.

My dad chuckled, glancing over at me while chewing a bite of spaghetti. "Well, yeah, kiddo. That's the basic idea. You've got to buy low and sell high. But it's not as easy as it sounds."

"Why not?" I tilted my head, pretending to be curious.

"Because no one really knows when a stock is going to go up or down," he replied with a grin. "It's a gamble. You'd have to be really lucky… or really smart."

Or know the future.

I nodded slowly as if absorbing the lesson. Little did he know, I wasn't asking out of childish wonder. I already had a plan. A plan that involved Stark Industries.

By the time I was six, my dad would sometimes let me sit in the living room when the news was on—partly because he didn't think I understood anything, and partly because he liked the company. It was perfect. I could track timelines without looking suspicious.

The news had been buzzing lately about Stark Industries. Tony Stark was still riding high as the face of the company, but I knew what was coming. The Ten Rings, the kidnapping, the crash in Stark stock… and Tony's eventual transformation into Iron Man. It would all happen in just a couple of years.

It was the perfect opportunity—but I needed to act carefully.

Convincing my dad to open an account in my name wasn't easy.

"A stock account?" he repeated, staring at me with his eyebrows raised. "For you?"

I gave him my most innocent look, hands clasped behind my back as I rocked on my heels. "You said I was smart, didn't you? And I want to learn more about money! If I start young, I can save up for… for college!"

That last part was the clincher. My parents were big believers in education, and even at six, I knew how to tug on those heartstrings.

"Well, it's not a bad idea," my mom chimed in, smiling at me from the kitchen table. "If we set it up for him, we can put in a little money each year. It could be a good way to teach him about saving."

My dad sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know… Stocks are risky."

"It'll just be a small amount to start," my mom reasoned.

I nodded eagerly. "And you can help me! I won't do anything without asking first."

That did it. My dad eventually caved and opened a custodial account for me, one that he could manage but I technically "owned." Of course, he still thought this was all a learning exercise, but for me, it was step one in a larger game.

I had my entry point. Now I just needed the right moment to strike.

The years passed quicker than I expected.

By the time I turned eight, I had already mastered reading financial reports and tracking stock trends. My dad still believed this was all a little hobby—a way for me to be productive while being, as he proudly put it, "the smartest kid on the block." I wasn't going to argue.

Stark Industries was still going strong… for now.

But I watched the news like a hawk, waiting for the day it would all come crashing down. It would start with Tony Stark's disappearance—a global headline. Stark Industries' stock would plummet overnight as the world assumed the worst.

And that's when I'd make my move.

The day finally came.

I was nine years old, sitting at the kitchen table while my dad scrolled through news articles on his tablet. He suddenly let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

"Tony Stark is missing," he muttered. "Kidnapped, they're saying. Probably terrorists."

My mom's face paled. "Oh, that's terrible. And he's so young, too."

I forced myself to look surprised, but inside, I felt the rush of adrenaline. This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for.

"What's going to happen to Stark Industries?" I asked casually, sipping my orange juice.

My dad frowned. "Well, their stock is already crashing. Everyone's panicking. Without Stark, people don't think the company will last."

I tilted my head. "But… What if Mr. Stark comes back?"

My dad gave me a small, sad smile. "Let's hope he does, kiddo. But it doesn't look good."

He will, I thought to myself. And when he does, Stark Industries will explode.

I waited until later that evening when my dad was distracted with paperwork. Carefully, I pulled out the tablet and opened the app linked to my custodial stock account. I'd been practicing for this moment—memorizing passwords, learning the layout of the app.

I transferred every dollar I had in the account—a small sum, just under two thousand—and put it all into Stark Industries.

It was risky. The stock could drop lower before it bounced back. But I wasn't worried. I knew how this story ended.

Tony Stark would escape. He'd build the first Iron Man suit in that cave. He'd return home and revolutionize Stark Industries with clean energy tech, turning the company into one of the most valuable on the planet.

This wasn't a gamble.

It was a guarantee.

The next few months were agonizing. I had to play the role of the curious kid, asking my dad for updates on Stark Industries without seeming too invested. He chalked it up to me being proud of my little stock account.

Then, one day, the news broke.

Tony Stark had returned.

I watched with a grin I had to fight to hide as the headlines flooded in. Stark was alive, and Stark Industries' stock shot upward like a rocket. By the end of the week, the small investment I'd made had tripled.

My dad couldn't believe it when he checked the account.

"I'll be damned," he said, staring at the numbers. "Your stock… It's worth six thousand now. That's incredible!"

I shrugged, trying to act innocent. "Did I do good?"

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You did great, kid. Looks like you're the luckiest investor in the world."

Not luck, Dad. Just good planning.

But this was only the beginning.