Volume 2: The Rules of Survival in the Underground World
Summary: Old John teaches Jack how to use his financial knowledge to make money in the underground world—and warns him to stay cautious and trust no one easily.
Chapter 4: Old John's Lessons
Days passed, and Jack gradually adapted to life at the dump—thanks in large part to Isabella's guidance. She had become his mentor, showing him the ropes of this dangerous yet opportunity-filled underworld. Under her lead, he met several key figures: Rat, the scrap dealer, and a few other scavengers who made their living among the trash.
Yet beneath the surface of survival, Jack's hunger for revenge burned stronger than ever. He longed to return to Wall Street and expose those who had destroyed his life. Relying solely on selling scraps wouldn't be enough—he needed more money, and he needed it fast.
One evening, Isabella led Jack to the edge of the dump, where a pile of broken tires cast long shadows under the dim streetlights. Sitting atop a wooden crate with one leg missing was a hunched figure, puffing lazily on a cheap cigarette.
"This is John," Isabella said softly. "The one I told you about."
Old John lifted his head. The flickering light revealed deep lines carved into his weathered face. He wore a pair of dirty round glasses, but his eyes were sharp—piercing, as if they could see right through anyone who stood before him.
"Isabella, bringing another stray to my doorstep?" His voice was hoarse, like gravel grinding against stone.
"John, this is Jack," Isabella introduced gently. "He's hit a rough patch and needs work."
Jack stepped forward and gave a polite nod. "Mr. John, nice to meet you."
Old John studied Jack up and down, suspicion in his gaze. "You don't look like someone who belongs here."
Jack offered a bitter smile. "I don't."
Old John exhaled a slow ring of smoke that drifted into the night air. "Then why are you here?"
Jack took a breath, choosing honesty. "I need to make money. Fast."
Old John chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Money? This isn't Wall Street, kid. If you want cash, start picking through trash and selling it to Rat."
"Picking trash won't get me anywhere," Jack replied firmly. "I need something bigger."
That caught Old John's attention. He narrowed his eyes slightly, curiosity sparking behind them. "Ambitious, huh? What makes you think you can find something better?"
Jack met his gaze steadily. "Because I used to work on Wall Street."
Old John froze mid-puff. The cigarette trembled slightly in his fingers. "Wall Street? You're serious?"
Jack nodded. "I know finance. Investments. How to make money."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, suddenly, Old John burst into laughter—a deep, echoing laugh that echoed across the empty dump. "Well, well! A Wall Street man reduced to sifting through garbage. Life has a cruel sense of humor!"
Jack didn't flinch. He knew the mockery was inevitable. He simply waited.
When the laughter faded, Old John's expression grew serious. "Alright, boy. I'll give you a shot. I've got some intel—about hidden treasures around here. If you've got the brains to turn it into profit, then maybe… just maybe, you're worth something."
Jack leaned in, intrigued. "What kind of intel?"
Old John lowered his voice, his tone turning secretive. "Lately, people have been finding discarded electronics in the dump—old phones, laptops, tablets. They contain rare metals—gold, silver, platinum. If you can extract them and sell them to the right buyers, you'll make a tidy sum."
Jack's mind raced. He understood immediately. Electronics often contained valuable trace metals—metals that fetched high prices on the black market.
"But extracting them takes skill and equipment," Jack frowned. "I don't have either."
Old John smirked. "That's your problem to solve. I give you the tip. You do the rest."
Jack fell silent, thinking hard. This was an opportunity—one that could change everything. He had to find a way to use Old John's information to make his first real profit.
Over the next few days, Jack began gathering information. He asked around the dump, spoke to Rat, even consulted Isabella. Eventually, he learned of a stash of old computers buried in a remote corner of the landfill.
After hours of digging, Jack unearthed the forgotten machines. Most were broken beyond repair, but the circuit boards and chips inside remained intact—rich with precious metals.
Now came the challenge: how to extract them without proper tools or expertise.
Jack returned to Old John, hoping for help.
"Mr. John, I found the computers. Now I need to extract the metals. Can you teach me?" he pleaded.
Old John took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Kid, I gave you the chance. Everything else—you figure out yourself."
Disappointed but not surprised, Jack accepted the reality. He would have to rely on his own resourcefulness.
He scoured public libraries for technical guides on metal extraction. He learned that simple chemical processes could separate gold and silver from electronic components.
Using scrap materials he collected from the dump, Jack built rudimentary extraction tools. Then, he began experimenting.
Failures piled up. But eventually, he succeeded. He refined the metals and sold them to Rat.
The profits were small at first—but over time, they added up. With each sale, Jack earned enough to buy better tools, improving his efficiency.
As his earnings grew, so did his confidence. He felt himself inching closer to freedom—from poverty, from obscurity, from the trap of the underworld.
Old John watched Jack's transformation with quiet approval. "You didn't let me down, kid. Looks like you really do have what it takes."
Jack smiled. "Thank you, Mr. John."
Old John shook his head. "I only opened the door. You walked through it. Remember this, young man—on Wall Street, success takes brains, guts, and connections. Down here? Same damn thing."
Those words stayed with Jack long after the conversation ended. He realized that returning to Wall Street wouldn't just take money—it would take intelligence, courage, and influence. He had to absorb everything this underworld had to offer, and use it to fuel his rise.
He believed in himself now.
And he believed he would succeed.