August 2010. Gaslamp District. The new shop.
The line wraps around the block.
"This is insane," Jake mutters, adjusting the register for the third ti.
"This is Comic-Con spillover," I correct. "People rembered the booth."
"People rembered you."
The storefront's bigger than Pasadena. 2,500 square feet. High ceilings. Natural light from the street-facing windows. Katie helped design the layout—suggested the community art wall, the workshop space in back.
Her family's here. Parents. Two sisters. Brother.
Her dad shakes my hand. "Katie says you're the real deal."
"I try."
"Comic shops aren't easy. Margins are thin."
"They are."
"But you've got three now."
"Three now."
"That's good business. Sustainable growth."
He's a contractor. Talks like one. asures twice, cuts once. I appreciate the directness.
Katie's working the register with Jake. Greeting custors. Making recomndations. Her San Diego connections showing up—UCSD art students, local artists, people she went to high school with.
The gang arrives at eleven. Leonard's driving. Sheldon insisted on calculating optimal traffic patterns.
"The shop's spatial efficiency is 14% higher than your Pasadena location," Sheldon announces imdiately.
"Hello to you too."
"Hello. Now, about your inventory distribution—"
"Sheldon," Bernadette interrupts. "Let him breathe. It's opening day."
"Opening day is precisely when optimization matters most."
Howard's taking pictures. Posting to Facebook. "Dude. Third shop. You're basically a mogul."
"I'm basically a guy who owns comic shops."
"Three comic shops. That's mogul territory."
Raj hugs . "I'm so proud. You've built sothing real."
"Thanks, Raj."
"No, I an it. Three years ago you were—"
"Depressed and failing. I rember."
"And now look at you."
I am looking. At the crowd. The sales. The staff working efficiently.
Nine employees across three locations.
Annual revenue approaching $400,000.
From zero to this in under three years.
The Iron Fist disaster feels like another lifeti.
Noon. I give a short speech.
Keep it simple. Thank custors. Thank staff. Thank Katie.
"My girlfriend was instruntal in making this location happen. Local connections, design input, moral support. Katie, thank you."
Applause. Katie's blushing.
She walks over. Kisses . Right there. In front of everyone.
The gang makes "aww" sounds.
Her family's taking pictures.
"You're welco," she whispers.
Afternoon. Wil Wheaton shows up.
Creates imdiate chaos. People want autographs. Photos. He handles it gracefully.
"This is excellent," he tells privately. "Third shop in three years. That's aggressive growth."
"Controlled growth."
"Sa thing."
"Not really."
"Stuart. You're building an empire. Own it."
"It's three shops."
"It's a model that scales. Fourth shop next year? Fifth the year after?"
"Maybe."
"Definitely."
He's promoted the opening on his podcast. ntioned it on Twitter. His 17% stake ans my success is his success.
"I'm telling people about you," he adds. "Investors. Industry people. Your next location could have funding lined up before you sign the lease."
"I'm not—"
"You're not interested in outside investnt beyond . I know. But opportunities don't hurt."
"Fair."
Closing. 8 PM.
Sales: $8,247.
Jake's counting registers. The new employees—Maria and Chen—are restocking.
Katie's collapsed in the office chair. Shoes off. Hair ssy.
"That was exhausting."
"That was successful."
"Sa thing."
"Not really."
She laughs. "Are you always this literal?"
"Usually."
The gang left two hours ago. Promised to visit again soon.
Katie's family left around six. Her dad pulled aside before going.
"You're good for her."
"Thanks."
"I an it. She's—grounded. With you. Not performing."
"She doesn't need to perform with ."
"Exactly."
Driving back to LA. Midnight.
Katie's asleep. Curled up in the passenger seat.
Three shops.
I own three shops.
Pasadena. Burbank. San Diego.
Nine employees depending on for paychecks.
Hundreds of custors who trust my recomndations.
Industry reputation that opens doors.
I rember the Iron Fist disaster. Those 65 comics gathering dust. The terror that I'd lose everything.
Now I'm terrified of managing everything.
Different fear. Sa intensity.
Katie shifts in her sleep. Mumbles sothing.
She's been essential. San Diego wouldn't have opened this smoothly without her input.
We're building sothing together.
That's—new.
Penny was a partner in the mont. Present and imdiate.
Katie's a partner in the future. Planning and building.
Different.
Not worse.
Just different.
I rge onto the 5 North.
The road's empty. Just taillights ahead. Darkness behind.
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