At Peggy's place.
"Don't worry, I've got this handled," Adam said with a grin.
You can't just keep milking the Coopers dry, right? Gotta toss something back their way now and then—it's only decent.
"You've got a plan?" Missy asked, her eyes popping wide in surprise.
"It's actually super simple," Adam explained. "I'll just hire someone to dress up as a cop and drop it off. Sheldon's terrified of strangers and sketchy folks—pretty much everything—but if they flash some official-looking ID, he'll be cool as a cucumber."
"Damn!" Missy smacked her forehead. "How did I not think of that? With Sheldon's robot brain, you could sell him to the highest bidder, and he'd still be chill as long as you handed him the right paperwork!"
Adam let out a laugh.
Sheldon was a stickler for rules. He'd sign a receipt for a random letter like it was a binding contract, closing the loop on the postal gods' sacred ritual. Buying a ticket from a scalper? He'd sweat bullets, paranoid it was an undercover cop sting. His wallet was stuffed with membership cards—Justice League, museums, you name it. When it got too full, most people would just chuck the extras. Not Sheldon. He'd painstakingly call each place to cancel them properly. If a card said "carry this with you," he'd haul it around forever like it was a holy commandment.
Back when Howard and the gang brought up the three laws of robotics, Sheldon got all dreamy, wondering what he'd be like as a robot. Howard and Rajesh didn't miss a beat: "Dude, you already are." They ran him through the laws, and he matched every single one. Raj even smirked, "I can smell the machine oil from here."
Handling a guy like Sheldon was a breeze if you didn't mind playing dirty. With a little setup, Adam could have him laughing or bawling on command, like clockwork.
Missy, with her sky-high emotional smarts, didn't miss the trick because she wasn't clever enough—she just couldn't afford to dream that big. Hiring an actor and faking documents on the fly? That's the kind of move you need deep pockets for. Only someone like Adam—a billionaire who still acted like your friendly next-door neighbor—could cook that up and pull it off without breaking a sweat.
"Thanks a million," Missy said, genuinely relieved.
"No sweat, we're pals," Adam replied with a smile. "So, how's life treating you? School's back in session, yeah?"
"Yup," Missy nodded. She owed it all to Adam—getting into Wharton, the numero uno business school in the States. Her SAT scores were a total dumpster fire, and she knew even a big-shot billionaire like Adam had to move mountains to get her in. She couldn't pay him back yet, but she tucked that gratitude deep in her heart, promising herself she'd make it up to him someday.
"Wharton's in Philly, not too far from New York or Jersey. You should swing by sometime," Adam tossed out casually.
"Oh yeah? To see who?" Missy shot back, rolling her eyes with a teasing smirk. "You or Peggy?"
"Uh…" Adam faltered, caught off guard. Missy had already thrown some shade about George Jr. earlier, and now this invite felt like it had strings attached. He glanced at Peggy, who was straight-up ignoring him, and shook his head.
"Hmph," Missy huffed. "I'm over here drowning in debt just to study, all so I can learn enough to work for you and pay it off someday. Fun's not even on the menu. You think I'm living it up like Caroline Channing?"
Adam chuckled. "You know Caroline Channing?"
Missy didn't hold back. "We're at Wharton, man—ground zero for money and power games. Who doesn't know the Channing heiress with her $800 million trust fund? People swarm her like flies—looking for investments, sponsorships, whatever. Some want to weasel into her dad's foundation to rake in more cash. Others—get this—even try to date her to snag a spot as the Channing family's golden son-in-law. Way better ROI than any business deal. Even the young, hotshot professors are in on it. She's the brightest star at Wharton, zipping between New York and Philly like it's nothing, chartering planes for vacays with her crew. She's graduating next year, and half the alumni are gonna need tissues."
"You jealous?" Adam teased, leaning in.
"Who wouldn't be?" Missy said flat-out. "She's the ultimate life winner. Buy whatever, do whatever. If I had that kind of cash, I'd be living large too."
"You'll get there," Adam said, his tone upbeat. "George Jr.'s tire company's got legs—Doctor Tire, right? With my money behind it and his hustle, plus your management chops, you'll build something huge. (Oh, and if you're loving this story, why not toss some support to the creator at pat-reon:belamy20?) Then you can live that high life on your own terms. Way more satisfying than inheriting it."
"More satisfying? Sure," Missy conceded, then jabbed right back. "More fun? Please. I'd have to grind my whole life just to sniff Caroline's starting line. Lying back and winning from birth—that's the real good stuff."
Adam's mouth twitched. Ouch. That hit way too close to home, stirring up memories from his past life. Some TV show laid it bare: the "struggling" hero only wins with a powerful adoptive dad and a surprise billionaire bio-dad pulling strings. Real strivers? They get their girl stolen, take society's punches, and limp away bruised. If you can kick back and coast to victory, who'd choose the grind? Struggling's only "fun" if you've never tasted the sweet life of winning without trying. Cashing in and chilling—that's the real joy.
"Wait a sec," Missy's eyes narrowed. "You know Caroline Channing?"
"Yeah," Adam admitted with a grin. "We've got a little agreement."
"Ew!" Missy groaned, wrinkling her nose.
Adam opened his mouth to explain, then stopped. What was there to say, really?