Lost Fortune

Robert sat quietly at the outdoor cafe scanning the New York Times and sipping on the best cappuccino in lower Manhattan. At least that was his opinion, he knew more than one of his Italian friends that would disagree with him. lifting his head from his reading, he folded the Times, discretely tucking a small black notebook between its pages, he leaned back in his chair, he closed his eyes. Taking in a deep breath; he felt relaxed. It had been a while since he was able to get out of the lab to clear his mind. And no better place for that than the city he grew up in, thousands of miles from New Mexico.

Suddenly the tranquility was shattered, by a loud argument that broke out between the cafe's Matradee and what looked like a homeless man. A scuffle followed between the man and the employee; that resulted in several toppled chairs and ended nearly taking out Robert, but succeeding in turning over his table and all the contents with it. During the chaos, the man ran off. The Matradee quickly turned his attention to Robert and the mess that had ensued. Apologizing profusely, while wiping cappuccino from Robert's lapel and Matradee told him, that his coffee would be at "no charge" for his inconvenience.

Robert was less concerned about a free coffee and more concerned with gathering his belonging and drawing less attention to himself. With a flurry of employees cleaning up the mess, Robert quickly retrieved his items from the ground, leaving them to deal with the aftermath, he ducked into the alley unseen, disappearing into a dark doorway.

............

Back in the lab, Robert was struck by how disoriented and foggy he felt after returning from his trips. It was similar to jet lag but without the jet. He was in awe of Einstien and his Theory of Relativity, although colleges, they had never really bonded as friends. But grateful that he was chosen to travel through time and even though he was the best choice. After all, the future of the world depended on his team's research.

As his mind cleared he began to take inventory of his personal items, sunglasses; check, newspaper; check, a wave of fear washed over him. He patted his front jacket pocket. Nothing! He remembered the folded paper. Grabbing it, nothing! The notebook was nowhere to be found. The color drained from his face; realizing it was still in Manhattan at the cafe, eighty years in the future.

Roman stopped and leaned up against a garbage container, gasping for air. He couldn't believe that man had accused him of stealing tips, all he wanted was a leftover piece of bread. Who did that guy think he was anyway, it was obvious that he had never missed a meal by the looks of him. And definitely, had the air of being better than everyone. Especially some dirty homeless person. Now Roman had to figure out how to get back to the ally by the cafe without having another run-in with anyone, it was one of the best places in the city he had found to sleep at night. It was quiet, no foot traffic and he didn't have to fight with anybody for the prime real estate. He decided to relax, the last thing he wanted to do was trigger his PTSD and lay low until dark and make his way back after the cafe was closed.

Trying to remain calm, Robert hurried down the hallway. He knew the grave consequence of leaving anything behind, well at least, the theory of what could happen. He hadn't had this ever happen before so there wasn't evidence of really could happen, but the thought of changing the events of time could be catastrophic. And even more, alarming was losing the notebook. Its contents were invaluable and irreplaceable.

Stopping in front of the door he ran his hand through his hair and straightened his sports coat, taking a deep breath, he turned the door handle and open the door to see an older man standing in front of a large chalkboard writing out mathematical formulas. The man was so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the door open.

"Albert?" No response. "Albert, sorry to interrupt your work, but can I have a word with you?" Robert could hear a low murmuring as the man spoke quietly to himself as if in a trance, deep in thought. Slowly, The man's hand rose behind him gesturing to give him a minute. Patiently Robert complied, but admittedly he was silently irritated due to the urgency of his business.

Without tuning, Albert responded with a low throaty chuckle. "Well. Robert, are you here to challenge me to a rematch?" Albert knew he was still stewing about his loss at chess. "I would be glad to let you win this time so you can redeem your bruised ego, " Albert chuckled again.

"No, Albert I'm not here for another Chess match, it's much more important than that." Robert's voice gave way to the distress he was feeling.

Albert finely turned and took in a version of his colleague he had never encountered before. Now fully realizing the seriousness of his urgent business. "Please Robert, take a seat before you collapse. Has something gone wrong with the project?"

"Not directedly, you might say indirectly." Robert struggled with his thoughts and the words that were coming out of his mouth. This was foreign to him. He never had a problem verbalizing before. Slowing down his racing mind he began to tell Albert what had happened on his most recent trip back in time.

Albert listened intently, with his hand cradling his chin, his index finger straight tapping his cheek, staring at the floor. Not looking directly at Robert but taking in every word.

Walking at a fast pace, Roman was trying to stay as close to the buildings as he could, hoping he would stay inconspicuous. He was almost back at the cafe' and for him, it couldn't be a minute too soon. He was exhausted from the day's excitement and it's always easier to try to tell himself to calm down than to achieve it. He would rather be on the battlefield fighting real demons than fighting the phantom demons on his head. Turning the corner, he was relieved to see the front of the cafe'. He quickly passed the cafe' and slipped into the ally, out of sight.

Roman hadn't eaten, well he couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten. So lifting his body into the dumpster, he started rummaging through the trash, looking for anything that looked and smelled edible. He was always amazed how wasteful people were; half-eaten sandwiches, fruit even whole rolls, and crackers still in theirs cellophane wraps. There was so much food now because of the Covid virus everything had to be thrown away. But their waste was his gourmet meal. Murmuring to himself," Score, a whole quiche it's my lucky day." Little did he know just how lucky his day would turn out to be. Under the soggy and rotten food, Roman saw a corner of what looked to be a spiral spine on a notebook. It was stained with coffee and smelled of it too, thank God because it could have smelled of spoiled milk and rotten eggs. "Well, this looks interesting," he quietly mumbled, sliding it into the lining of his coat, " I'll save this for later after-dinner read." Pulling himself out of the container Roman sat on the ground behind the garbage bin, where he had left his Army-issued bedroll and a few other things he had held onto from his military days. He thought, "look how far he had fallen, from receiving high honors for his service to eating out of dumpsters and sleeping in dark allies.

After filling up on quiche and finishing the last of a latte from a paper cup. He laughed out loud, "And they say, real men, don't eat quiche." Remembering the notebook he polled it from his coat. He had to gently open the pages because they were stuck together and coffee stained. Immediately he noticed that the writing was older and the ink was from a fountain pen, which had blurred from moisture. Roman didn't understand most of the writings, they were written in mathematical formulas and equations. But there was no mistaking his understanding he had for what was schismatics for a bomb. It was very detailed and well thought out.

Roman knew the notebook belonged to someone that was highly educated and knowledgeable of nuclear armament. At the back of the book, there was a pocket, in the pocket was an envelope that yellow with age. Roman pulled it out and slid his finger under the back flap to break the seal. Reaching in the envelope he pulled out several crisp bills, twenty in total. In the dim light Roman held one up to get a better look at it, what he was looking at didn't make sense, he thought maybe he wasn't reading it right and rubbed his eyes to see clearer. To his surprise, it read the same the second time, the bill had a one and four zero's after it All of them did, this was a thousand dollar bill and he was holding twenty of them in his hands. His father collected old coins and currency so he knew the US stopped minting the bills in the thirties. So what were they doing in a garbage bin and who did they belong to? What Roman did know is the rules on the streets are finders keepers and he was the finder and the keeper. He put the money back in the envelope and slid it back in the notebook and tucked it back inside his jacket. Laying out his bedroll he made himself comfortable and decided to take his find to a coin shop he used to visit with his dad.

Robert sat and stared at Albert waiting for some kind of gesture, comment any reaction; Albert lifted his gaze from the floor. hand still cradling his chin. He moved his hand and reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pipe. Striking a match, he held the flame to the bowl and drew in several long slow drags. Taking his pipe from his lips and speaking in what seemed a thicker accent the usual, Albert responded," This is very alarming, this could change the trajectory of history, you will have to go back and retrieve the notebook. More importantly without the notebook, you will be delayed years on your research. No. no, no, you have no choice you must go back now."

Robert lowered his head and nodded a silent, yes.