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I researched several of these day trading firms, and from what I could tell, Bedford offered exactly what I was looking for—the best research systems for the buck. And the firm has been extremely proactive about marketing to me, mailing me promotional information almost every week.
    “Good morning. Welcome to Bedford and Associates,” Bedford’s receptionist says cordially. The nameplate in front of her reads Anna Ferrer. Anna has long black hair, honey-hued skin, and huge brown eyes. She’s a work of art and I feel a pang of guilt for noticing. I guess I should still be in mourning.
    “Hello.” My voice sounds strange to me after weeks of not using it very much.
    “What can I do for you?” she asks with a trace of a Spanish accent.
    “I want to rent a desk here.”
    “What’s your name, sir?”
    “Augustus McKnight.”
    “Please have a seat, Mr. McKnight.” She motions across the lobby toward a comfortable-looking sofa. “Someone will be with you in a moment.”
    I’m sure I could have kept my old sales job if I’d gone to the human resources department and told them about Russell’s attempt to steal half my Unicom profits. But I realized that I was sick of doing what I had to do. It was time to do what I wanted . Of course, day trading is one of the riskiest things I could want to do—most people fail miserably in the first few months—but I know I’ll kick myself forever if I don’t give it a shot. I have no one to worry about now but myself, and I’ve saved up a decent amount of cash with my Unicom investment.
    However, that ninety thousand is a drop in the bucket compared to the million dollars I should receive in the next few weeks as the beneficiary of Melanie’s life insurance policy. It’ll all be tax free too.
    A few minutes later I glance up from the issue of Forbes I’ve been leafing through and am met by what looks like a cherub in suspenders. The young man has a freshly scrubbed appearance with short strawberry blond hair and a freckled face barely out of peach fuzz. His tiny eyeglasses have lenses so thin they appear to be just decorative, and he’s dressed in a shirt, tie, and suit that probably cost more than everything in my closet put together. Despite his apparent youth, his confident expression suggests to me that he understands every rule, regulation, and by-law the Securities and Exchange Commission has ever approved, which is good. From everything I’ve read, day trading is a rough-and-tumble game, so I want the environment to be as controlled as possible, at least initially.
    “I’m Michael Seaver,” the young man says in a southern drawl, sitting down beside me on the sofa and shaking my hand firmly.
    “Augustus McKnight.”
    “Good to meet you, Augustus. I’m the owner of Bedford. I understand you want to rent a desk from me.”
    “That’s right.”
    Seaver pauses to inspect another man entering Bedford’s glass doors. Tall, with a mop of dark, unkempt hair, a closely cropped beard, and sloping shoulders, the guy reminds me of what the Beatles looked like in those old black-and-white film clips when they were first getting famous in the early sixties.
    “We run a very tight ship at Bedford,” Seaver says. I can tell he’s keeping one ear tuned to what Anna and the bearded guy are saying. “I personally interview everyone who takes a desk here. The press and the public’s perception of most day trading firms is pretty sleazy, and I won’t have Bedford and Associates thrown into that pool. I make certain everyone who rents a desk from me has the wherewithal and experience to handle the stress.” He leans forward and clasps his hands together like he’s praying. “You understand I can’t guarantee success, Mr. McKnight. Success depends on your research, your system of buying and selling stocks, and a little bit of luck.” He chuckles, like luck is a much bigger factor than he’s letting on. “What I do guarantee is a business environment where SEC