The Useless Son-in-law Who Became A Crypto Genius

Awaiting A Favorable Dip

Twenty-four hours.

Neo stared at his laptop screen, watching the numbers tick upward. TerraCoin had hit $0.36—exactly triple what he'd paid.

His $25,000 investment was now worth $75,000.

'Holy shit. It actually worked.'

He'd known it would. Remembered it from his first life. But seeing it happen in real-time? Different feeling entirely.

His fingers hovered over the sell button.

'Not yet. Wait for the peak. Another hour, maybe two.'

He refreshed. $0.37.

His leg bounced. Couldn't help it.

TerraCoin was the warm-up. The proof of concept. SilverChain was the real play—the one that would turn fifty grand into millions.

Two more days. Just two more days.

Neo leaned back in the creaky motel chair, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction.

'Step one complete. Now let's see about step two.'

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Across town, Lyra Chen walked into the Herald offices with her shoulders hunched, red hair pulled back in a messy bun that hadn't been washed in—what, three days? Her white button-up was wrinkled, coffee stain near the collar. Dark circles under her green eyes made her look like she'd been haunting libraries instead of sleeping.

She clutched her laptop bag like a shield.

'Just get through this. Get through this and—'

"Chen!"

She winced. Her editor's voice cut through the newsroom chatter like a knife.

"My office. Now."

'Fuck.'

Lyra followed him—Richard Webb, fifty-something, perpetually stressed, tie always loosened by noon. His office smelled like old coffee and disappointment.

He didn't offer her a seat.

"Where's the Carver piece?"

"I—I needed more time to—"

"More time?" Richard 's face was doing that thing where it turned red from the neck up. "It's a tragedy piece, Chen. Grieving family, community support, maybe a quote from the police. Five hundred words. I could've written it in my sleep."

"But the evidence—"

"What evidence?" He cut her off. "You've been chasing ghosts. Conspiracy theories. I've seen your notes."

Lyra's chest tightened. "You went through my desk?"

"I'm your editor. And right now, I'm wondering if I made a mistake giving you this assignment."

The words hit like a slap.

Lyra's hands clenched around her bag strap. "The timeline doesn't add up. The insurance policy was increased six months ago, the cryptocurrency transactions happened right before—"

"Before a tragic robbery that the police have already closed." Richard sat down heavily. "Look, I get it. You want the big story. The exposé that makes your career. But sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy."

"This isn't—"

"I'm reassigning the piece." He pulled a file from his desk. "And I'm giving you something else. Local business profile. Tech startup in the financial district. Nice, safe, boring."

Lyra took the file. Her hands shook slightly.

"Richard, if you'd just look at what I found—"

"I looked. It's circumstantial at best, paranoid at worst." He softened slightly. "Take the weekend. Clear your head. Come back Monday ready to do actual journalism."

Translation: drop it or you're fired.

Lyra nodded. Couldn't trust her voice.

She left his office, walked past her desk, straight out of the building.

Only when she hit the street did she let herself breathe.

'Fuck. Fuck!'

Her phone buzzed. Text from Richard .

[Don't do anything stupid.]

Too late.

Lyra pulled up her conspiracy board photos. The red string. The evidence. The timeline.

She knew she was right. Knew it in her bones.

But knowing and proving were different things.

And she'd just lost her only platform to do anything about it.

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Neo sold TerraCoin at $0.38, netting $79,000. The profit sat in his account, glowing like validation.

'Okay. Okay. Now the real play.'

SilverChain was still sitting at $0.03. Hadn't moved yet. But it would. In exactly twenty-four hours, give or take an hour.

He pulled up his other investments. The ghost wallets. The 120,012 Bytegold coins worth over eight million dollars.

'Time to get strategic.'

In his first life, he'd seen a news on the possibility of Bytegold having its first major dip exactly three days after launch as a form of control by the block chain. A panic sell triggered by some FUD article that turned out to be false. The price would drop thirty percent for exactly half an hour before the correction happened and it surged to historic highs.

Neo had heard it happen with some other coins in the past. Had been too paralyzed with fear to buy the dip.

Now?

Now he had both the knowledge and the capital.

He set alerts for the exact timestamp. Made sure his systems were ready to execute trades in milliseconds.

'When that dip hits, I'm buying everything I can get my hands on.'

His phone buzzed. Neo glanced at it.

News alert: "Carver Family Receives Outpouring of Support"

He clicked it. Photos of Alina accepting flowers from neighbors. Cassandra giving a tearful interview. Douglas looking appropriately somber.

'Keep performing. The show's almost over.'

Neo closed the article. Pulled up the security feed from the Carver estate.

Mark was in his room again. Hadn't left in hours. His computer screen visible from the camera angle showed blockchain explorers, transaction histories, code.

'Still searching. Good luck with that.'

Neo watched for another moment. Mark stood up suddenly, threw something across the room. A book maybe. Then sat back down, head in his hands.

'He's cracking. Can't figure out where the money went. Can't accept that he got outsmarted.'

Neo's lips curved.

Perfect.

–––––––––––

The next day came slow then fast. Neo barely slept—too wired, too focused on watching the numbers.

SilverChain hit $0.035 around noon. Small movement, but the beginning of the pattern.

By evening: $0.04.

By midnight: $0.05.

His $25,000 investment was now worth $41,000.

'It's happening. Just as expected.'

He stayed glued to his laptop, energy drinks and cold pizza his only sustenance. The motel room had become command central—screens everywhere, code running, alerts pinging.

Bytegold was holding steady at $70 per coin. The dip was coming. Had to be coming.

Neo checked his calculations again. Triple-checked the timestamp from his memory.

'Two AM. That's when the FUD article drops. Price crashes to $49 for thirty minutes. Then the correction.'

He set his alarm for 1:45 AM. Lay down fully clothed on the terrible mattress.

Sleep came fitfully. Dreams of numbers and charts and Alina's cold smile.

When the alarm went off, Neo was already awake.