"The Africa Cup of Nations?" Valentina raised an eyebrow, setting down her mimosa. "That's your next big play?"
Four weeks had passed since their meeting at Royal Ascot. Liam and Valentina sat on the private terrace of his newly acquired penthouse apartment in Madrid's Salamanca district, the morning sun warming the space as they shared breakfast after a satisfying late night exercise.
"It's the perfect opportunity," Liam replied, scrolling through financial data on his tablet. "Everyone dismisses African football as unpredictable and chaotic. They're not wrong, but that creates inefficiency in the betting markets."
Valentina studied him over the rim of her glass. "And your mysterious algorithm has identified Zambia as the winner? A team that's never even reached the final?"
Liam smiled. In the Four weeks since Royal Ascot, he had seen Valentina ten times—dinner in London, a weekend in Paris, now three days in Madrid. She was intelligent, independent, and hadn't pressed too hard about the source of his wealth. She had her own fortune, her own life. They were equals, in a way he hadn't experienced before.
"My analysis suggests they're severely undervalued at 80-1 odds," he said carefully. "Their group is manageable. They have an experienced coach in Hervé Renard. Key players like Christopher Katongo and Emmanuel Mayuka are entering their prime."
It was all true. But Liam had another advantage—he remembered from his previous life that Zambia would indeed win the 2012 AFCON in a shocking upset, defeating Ivory Coast on penalties in the final. A historically significant victory, coming twenty years after the 1993 Zambian team had perished in a plane crash near the final venue in Gabon.
"If you're so confident, why not bet everything?" Valentina challenged, reaching for a slice of fresh mango.
"Diversification is still important," Liam replied. "I'm placing approximately fifteen percent of my liquid assets on various Zambian outcomes—to win the tournament, to reach the final, to win their group."
What he didn't mention was that fifteen percent now represented over €3 million, carefully spread across dozens of accounts, betting exchanges, and even private wagers with high-net-worth individuals he'd met through his rapidly expanding network.
A frown graced Valentina's features. Fifteen percent? That was quite the gamble. She didn't know just how Much liquid assets he had, but the mere mention of the idea was enough to elicit a frown.
For women, gambling wasn't a desirable Trait in men they sought after. It was closely associated to addiction and financial ruin. Yet here she was, in a relationship with a man who had amassed his fortune in a similar way.
Nevertheless, she didn't question it. Their relationship was new after all. Plus, unlike the red eyed gamblers in the casinos of Las Vegas, his was successful, rich and goodlooking. How exactly he had done so was the intriguing part.
Creating an algorithm that granted his success. Or so he said. The intrigue surrounding all these factors was what lead to their rolling under the sheets together.
As long as all remained fine, the intrigue would remain.
"And the rest of your fortune?"
"I've identified a potential acquisition target in English football."
That caught her attention. Valentina set down her fork. "You're buying a football club? I thought you were done with that world."
"I never said I was done with it." Liam closed the financial app and opened a document showing the organizational structure of Nottingham Forest FC. "I'm repositioning myself. Not as an employee, but as an owner."
"Nottingham Forest," Valentina read from the screen. "I remember them from that movie...what was it?"
"The Damned United. About Brian Clough."
"Right. They were big once?"
"European champions in 1979 and 1980. A sleeping giant, as they say in football." Liam zoomed in on the current ownership structure. "Currently struggling financially, underperforming in the Championship—that's the second tier of English football. Perfect for acquisition and revival."
Valentina studied him thoughtfully. "This isn't just about money for you, is it?"
Liam met her gaze. "No."
"What are you really after, Liam Torres?"
The question hung in the air between them. For a moment, Liam considered telling her everything—about his previous life, about Window Five, about his determination to revolutionize football with advantages no one else could comprehend.
'Pfft .... Hahaha! Quite the random thought.' He laughed internally and smothered it without a second thought.
How long ago had they met each other? Such an action was idiotic.
Instead, he said, "Legacy. I want to build something that lasts."
She seemed to accept this, nodding slowly. "How much will this sleeping giant cost you?"
"Initial acquisition around €25 million. Another €20 million for immediate investment in players and infrastructure."
"That's a lot of money to risk on a second-tier football club."
"It's not a risk," Liam said with quiet confidence. "It's the opportunity of a lifetime."
Valentina raised an eyebrow.
How could someone sound so charmingly sophisticated, discussing about gambling of all things?
Stock Trading was essentially advanced gambling, wasn't it?
Her phone chimed with a text. She checked it, then sighed. "My car will be here in thirty minutes. Flight to Milan for a Versace shoot."
"I'll see you in London next week? For the ballet?"
"I wouldn't miss it." She stood, leaning down to kiss him briefly. "Try not to acquire any more football clubs while I'm gone."
After she left to pack, Liam returned to his laptop and opened a secure browser. He navigated to one of his cryptocurrency exchanges and verified that the latest transfers had been completed—another €500,000 converted to Bitcoin, then moved through a tumbler service that obscured its origin, before being deposited in yet another betting account.
The AFCON tournament was still months away, but he was already placing advance bets, knowing the odds would shorten as the event approached. The beauty of sports betting as a money-making vehicle was that it provided perfect deniability—everyone knew some bets paid off, even outrageous longshots. No one could prove he had foreknowledge rather than just extraordinary luck.
His phone rang—a secure line he used only for his most sensitive business dealings.
"Torres."
"Mr. Torres, this is Howard Mason from Baker McKenzie." The British lawyer had been handling the preliminary discussions with Nottingham Forest's ownership group. "I've received word from the club's representatives. They're open to further discussions."
Liam allowed himself a small smile. "Excellent. What's their position?"
"They're intrigued by your proposal but concerned about your background. They're looking for reassurance about your financial stability and long-term commitment."
"I expected as much. Send them the audited accounts for Torres Financial Consulting and the Swiss holding company. Set up a meeting in Nottingham for next Thursday."
"Very good, sir. One more thing—they've asked specifically about your football background. They seem to be aware you worked for Liverpool some years ago."
Liam paused. Someone had been doing their research. "Tell them I'll address that personally at the meeting."
After ending the call, Liam poured himself a coffee and walked out onto the terrace. Madrid sprawled below him, the city where he'd hit rock bottom just months ago. Now he owned one of its most prestigious addresses.
His watch showed a calendar notification: "Zurich—14:00." He had a meeting with his Swiss financial advisors via secure video link in one hour.
Liam returned to his laptop and opened a new browser tab, searching for "Nottingham Forest ownership structure." The club was currently owned by a consortium led by a Kuwaiti businessman who had lost interest after the team's continued underperformance. The remaining stakeholders were a mixture of local businesspeople and a supporters' trust that owned a symbolic 5% share.
None of them had the resources or vision to revitalize the club. Liam did.
With Window Five, he could transform Forest's fortunes almost overnight. Perfect substitutions, tactical adjustments exactly when needed, player acquisitions that would seem inspired in hindsight—all possible when you could see five minutes into the future and had foresight even further into it.
His phone vibrated with a text from Miguel: *Just heard a rumor you're looking at buying Nottingham Forest. Tell me this isn't true.*
Liam stared at the message. He hadn't spoken to his old friend in weeks. How had Miguel heard about this?
*It's true. We should talk soon. Things have changed.*
Miguel's response came immediately: *What happened to you, Liam?*
A simple question without a simple answer. How could he explain that he'd been granted a supernatural ability that had transformed him from an unemployed analyst into a multimillionaire in less than two months?
*I found my purpose,* he texted back. Then, after a moment's hesitation: *When this is done, I want you on my team at Forest.*
There was a long pause before Miguel replied: *We'll see.*
Liam set down his phone and returned to his preparation for the Zurich meeting. The financial structure he'd created was elaborate but solid—a network of companies, investments, and accounts that would withstand scrutiny. The funds he'd generated through his Window Five ability had been thoroughly laundered through legal enterprises and legitimate investments.
As far as the world was concerned, Liam Torres was a brilliant financial analyst who had developed proprietary algorithms for market prediction. Only he knew the truth.
His video conference system chimed with an incoming call from Zurich. Liam straightened his tie and accepted the connection.
"Gentlemen," he greeted the three Swiss bankers who appeared on his screen. "Let's discuss the Nottingham Forest acquisition."
The meeting lasted nearly two hours, covering every detail of the proposed transaction. By the end, the plan was clear: Torres Ventures AG, his Swiss holding company, would make a formal offer for 75% of Nottingham Forest Football Club, with options to acquire the remaining shares (except for the supporters' trust stake) over the next three years.
After the Swiss bankers signed off, Liam leaned back in his chair, satisfaction washing over him. In just two months, he had gone from destitute to commanding a financial empire. Within another month, he would own one of England's most historic football clubs.
And seven months after that, when Zambia shocked the world by winning the Africa Cup of Nations, his fortune would double again.
Window Five had changed everything. Yet as he looked around his luxurious penthouse, Liam realized something unexpected—the money, the possessions, even Valentina—none of it mattered as much as the prospect of returning to football on his own terms.
His phone chimed with a calendar alert: "AFCON Research—17:00." He had scheduled time to review every Zambian match from the past year, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses. Not because he needed to—he already knew they would win—but because the analyst in him, the football obsessive who had existed across two lifetimes, couldn't help himself.
As Liam opened the video files and began taking notes, he felt more like himself than he had in months. The money was just a means to an end. Football—the beautiful game—remained his true passion.
And soon, he would reshape it in ways the world had never seen.