Chapter 17: Words the Matter

Wednesday morning brought a quiet tension to the arcade.

It wasn't stress. Not quite. But Ethan felt it in his chest—a pressure, like the seconds ticking down in a boss fight you weren't sure you were ready for.

The meeting with the bank was set for 10:30 AM Thursday, and the closer it got, the more he realized he couldn't walk in with just spreadsheets and income reports.

He needed more than numbers.

He needed to show them that Level Up Arcade wasn't just functioning—it was valuable.

Not in cash. In connection.

Final Prep

Ethan had already spent the past few nights crafting his pitch.

Revenue reports.A breakdown of token sales since reopening.Machine maintenance logs.Social media metrics.Future business projections.

It looked professional enough, thanks to the Business Basics interface formatting his data into a clean presentation. But even with that, Ethan kept returning to something Victor Mallory had said the night before:

"Don't just show them the numbers. Show them the story."

So today, his goal was simple: get testimonials.

Not quotes on paper. Not something written. But real, personal words, captured and remembered.

He scribbled the idea in his notebook and posted a quick message across Level Up Arcade's social pages:

"Hey everyone! I've got a big meeting tomorrow to help secure the future of the arcade. If Level Up has meant something to you—even in a small way—swing by today and let me know. Your words might help save this place. And I'd love to see you."

He didn't expect much. Maybe a few people. A message or two.

What happened… surprised him.

Unexpected Support

By midday, the arcade had a quiet but steady stream of familiar faces.

Amanda was the first. She brought cookies.

"You're gonna crush it," she said, leaning across the counter. "But just in case, sugar."

James showed up an hour later. He handed Ethan a flash drive. "I took those tournament videos and cleaned them up. Highlights, commentary, crowd reactions. You can show the bank what community looks like."

Trevor rolled in next with a clipboard. "Testimonials. I've been taking them all day. Parents. Teens. Random dude in the Donkey Kong hoodie. People love this place, man."

But it didn't stop there.

A young couple who'd had their first date here stopped in to say how their weekly arcade visits had become "their thing."

A father came by with his daughter—Ethan remembered them playing Frogger—and handed him a hand-drawn thank-you card she'd made.

Kaylee, the DDR champion, dropped off a poster she'd made herself: a collage of tournament screenshots, printed and mounted on a simple board.

"This place made me feel like I belonged," she said simply.

And just before closing, Rick walked in—aviators, bomber jacket, same quiet strength—and placed a manila folder on the counter.

Inside: a typed letter. One page. Thoughtfully written.

"When I was younger, arcades were places to escape, compete, and connect. Now? They're gone. But Level Up brought that back. This place reminded me of who I was—and let me show others that I still am."

Ethan didn't have words.

So he just said, "Thank you," over and over again.

By the end of the night, he had:

A thumb drive of video clips.A folder of handwritten and typed testimonials.Photos from the tournament.A printed version of the arcade's growing online following.And a heart full of gratitude he didn't know how to put on paper.

He stayed late, arranging everything into a binder, writing the final version of his presentation, and triple-checking every stat.

Then he went home, slept harder than he had in days, and woke up with one goal:

Convince the bank this place matters.

Thursday – The Meeting

Ethan sat in the small, modern lobby of Crestview Bank & Trust, a black folder in his lap and a to-go coffee cooling beside him.

The building was all glass and brushed metal. Polished. Cold.

He wasn't dressed up—just clean jeans, his best button-down, and his arcade hoodie. Authentic. Respectful. Still him.

The receptionist called his name. "Mr. Reeves? They're ready for you."

Ethan stood, heart pounding like a bass-heavy menu theme, and followed her down a quiet hallway into a well-lit conference room.

Waiting inside was Carol Jennings, the bank representative who'd called him earlier in the week.

She was in her 40s, crisp blazer, glasses, posture straight. She stood to greet him with a firm handshake.

"Mr. Reeves. Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for seeing me," he said, taking the seat across from her.

She opened a folder. "Let's get started. We've reviewed the initial account details—ownership has fully transferred to your name, as we confirmed. There is still a significant outstanding amount on the property. Historically, Level Up Arcade operated at a loss prior to its closure. Our concern is whether it's now a viable business moving forward."

Ethan nodded slowly. "That's what I'm here to show you."

She gestured. "Go ahead."

He opened his binder and began.

The Pitch

He started with the numbers—clear, honest, and thorough.

Monthly revenue since reopening.Breakdown of expenses, parts, and maintenance.Profit margins before and after the tournament.Social growth.Return customers.Plans for additional income: snack bar, monthly events, retro merch.

He didn't embellish. Didn't pretend he was raking in profits.

But he showed growth. Passion. Trajectory.

Then, he slid across the testimonial folder.

"These are from players, families, locals. People who come not because it's flashy—but because it feels like home."

He followed with James's flash drive.

"I've got video highlights too, if you'd like to see what it looks like when this place comes alive."

Finally, he reached the end of his pitch.

"This arcade isn't a cash grab. It's a community space. It's alive again. And if I can keep it going, it won't just survive—it'll grow. But I need time. And I need you to see that this place isn't just worth saving. It's already been saved."

He closed the binder.

Carol sat in silence, reviewing a few notes.

Her expression didn't give anything away.

Then she looked up.

"Thank you, Mr. Reeves. That was… compelling." She stood, collecting the folders. "I'll be reviewing everything with our team, and we'll let you know our decision shortly."

Ethan stood, pulse still thudding in his ears.

He nodded. "I appreciate it." And just like that, the meeting was over. He stepped outside, binder still in hand, the fresh morning air rushing over him like a wave. The decision hadn't been made yet. But whatever happened now? He had given it everything.