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percent in under a year, and he fine-tuned his holdings once a week based on trends he perceived. He’d even made an easy ten percent playing the Mexican Peso, buying a million dollars’ worth when it hit fourteen to the dollar, and selling them when it hit twelve six. He’d shown a knack for all things financial, just as he’d done well at anything to which he’d applied himself, and he found the challenge of prospering by being ahead of international trends to be engaging enough to keep him occupied.
    He pulled up the Mexican national news and saw more coverage on the unsuccessful attempt on the new president in Tampico. That had all the earmarks of a cartel operation, judging by the massive overkill and collateral damage. He shook his head. When would these guys learn that careful and surgical yielded superior results every time? A part of him itched to get back into the game, but he didn’t need the money, and he recognized that Mexico would be too hot to go back to for many years. After his last sanction there, he’d have to stay away for the duration. To return would be foolhardy. It was best to watch the carnage from afar.
    He checked on the action in the gold and silver markets, and jolted when he heard the front door chime sound. His watch told him that he’d lost almost two hours online, so that meant it was Jania.
    “ Hola . Señor Antonio? Are you here?” Jania called from the front of the shop.
    “Yes, Jania. Good morning. I thought I’d get a jump on the day. How are you?” he called from the back room.
    Jania pushed the partially open door ajar and greeted him with a smile. She was twenty, slim, with long, dirty-blond hair and an appealingly fresh face.
    “Good morning to you, as well. Is there anything special you need me to do before we open?” Jania continued to beam at him, seemingly unaware of the multiple ways the invitation she was extending could be taken.
    He paused, then returned her smile. “No, we can do the inventory tonight after we close. You’ve been keeping track of our sales, right? It’s probably time to reorder some of the top sellers.”
    “The corkscrews are moving well and so are the bone-handled steak knife sets. I think we’d be wise to stock more of those.”
    “Noted.”
    “Oh, and my uncle Gustavo will be by at eleven. He says you promised to let him beat you at chess today,” she announced, then spun perkily to attend to the small showroom.
    Gustavo came by every few days, and Antonio allowed him to hang out and kill time at the store. Gustavo presented a welcome diversion and got him out of the shop. They would sit at one of the numerous outdoor coffee shops adjacent to the entry and play chess for hours, shooting the breeze and watching the world go by. Normally anti-social, he’d made a measured effort to appear friendly since moving to Argentina. Socially adept people were not regarded with suspicion, whereas recluses were. And the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention.
    “I’ll look forward to his arrival.” He checked the time again. “Might as well open the front door, since we’re both here now,” he called after her.
    Gustavo was a character – a retired bureaucrat in his early sixties living on a pension, who always seemed to have plenty of money to throw around. He drove a new BMW and lived in one of the most expensive areas of town, which had struck Antonio as odd. When he’d probed the topic with Jania, she’d simply responded that her uncle was the black sheep of the family and always had his hands in something lucrative. Antonio took that to mean that he was involved in the black market that was ubiquitous in Argentina, and without which the economy couldn’t function. As far as he was concerned, what the old man did to make ends meet was none of his business.
    He finished up his online chores and then heard the chime again, followed by Gustavo’s distinctive baritone from the front. He quickly powered down the computer