He’d lost $47,000 in eighteen months. His wife, Maya, had stopped asking about the stock market and started asking about divorce mediators. Leo was a good engineer but a catastrophic trader. He chased pumps, panic-sold dips, and read charts like horoscopes.

Leo lunged for the power cord. He yanked it. The laptop screen went black. The room was silent. He breathed.

The PDF began to glow. The red candle in the live image guttered out. The hands—his hands—began to age in fast-forward. Skin wrinkled. Knuckles swelled. A hospital bracelet appeared.