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“You should consider alternative investments,” Stu told him. “Growth is huge right now. If you’d put a hundred bucks into YABA last year, you’d have ten thousand bucks today.”
“Yaba?” Hawk’s eyes widened infinitesimally. “You’re investing in methamphetamines?”
“What are you talking about? YABA’s a peer-to-peer, open-source cryptocurrency that utilises blockchain technology.”
“What does that mean?”
“Uh, it’s just the protocol.” Translation: Stu didn’t actually know. “But YABA is old news now. SlugCoin is forecast to grow exponentially over the next quarter.”
SlugCoin? Shit. “Stu, Slug is most probably a scamcoin. The developers have no experience, and the returns they’re promising are unrealistic.”
“I’ve done my homework, Aggie. There’s a whole community of investors backing this project.”
That didn’t mean it was safe; it just meant that a bunch more gullible dumbasses like Stu had been taken in by the marketing hype. I wasn’t a crypto expert, but I kept my finger on the pulse. With the decentralised nature of digital currency, it tended to attract shady characters who wanted to either launder funds or simply rip off investors.
“I’d still suggest—”
“Have you looked at NFTs?” Buckley asked. “They seem like a better idea to me—you get the digital investment and the artwork or music or whatever.”
“I bought a cartoon chinchilla.”
“I like the idea of the HyperLions myself—apex predators wearing sweats.”
“They were designed by AI, right?”
“Yes, which means each one has unique features. I’m on the waitlist.”
Hawk was trying not to smile. “What’s the point of owning an AI lion?”
The look Buckley gave him… Condescension mixed with sympathy for not understanding such a simple subject.
“It’s the new fine art. Think of it as owning a modern-day version of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.”
Good grief.
“That’s not an appropriate analogy,” I told him. “It’s more like you saw the Sunflowers in Van Gogh’s studio and said, ‘Boy, I like that painting,’ and some guy who wasn’t Van Gogh offered to sell you a receipt saying you owned it. The receipt gets filed in a drawer that nobody ever looks in, and meanwhile, Van Gogh’s selling prints of the painting to anybody who wants to buy one because he kept the copyright.”
Now I got the oh-you-poor-dumb-fool look. “No, I don’t think that’s right.”
“Understanding this stuff is literally my—”
“Aggie, what happened to your hair?” Odette asked.
“Uh, nothing?”
“It’s all fluffy. And you need to get the split ends trimmed off, but the stylist can do that before the rehearsal tomorrow.”
“I have smoothing serum you can borrow,” Clarice offered.
There was no point in arguing; I knew that from experience. “Thanks.”
A sigh escaped as I looked longingly at the kids’ table. Charity and Chastity had definitely gotten the better end of the deal tonight. Couldn’t my sisters manage just one evening without pointing out my flaws? At least Hawk was doing a good job of playing the dutiful boyfriend. He made appropriate small talk, used the right cutlery, and kept his mouth closed when he chewed. To say I was relieved was an understatement.
“How long have you and Aggie been dating?” Mom asked him.
“Almost a year.”
“Really? She’s never mentioned you.”
